"First thing we're going to do is get you to take a Zicam," she said, leading me to the back room and diving into her purse. "You need to be on something to boost your immune system."
I smiled, a shadow of my usual self, and told her I was already on medicine, but thank you all the same. My body grumbled that it was sick and tired, but would be able to take the punch of disapproval I knew was coming.
The last two weeks were–in a word–depleating. Emotionally, I felt like my heart had gone through one of those meat grinders butchers used to make the insides of sausages. The holidays were at once a symbol of a family finally all together after 18 months apart and the reality that a new part of my heart would be leaving for–what feels like–an even longer five.
Several weeks of up-all-nights and a New Years caught in the rain caught in my chest and came out as a cough, a fever and general exhaustion. I was behind on work, feeling overrun and, honestly, overwrought when I showed up to C,D, and E Squad's Project Searchlight. I'd dreaded the drive to Gainesville, honestly believing that my incompetance was showing, that I just wasn't measuring up on the great golden measuring stick someone, somewhere had to measure me against.
Instead of staying home (yes, I probably should have. Sorry Mama.) an extra day to rest, I powered up the highway and went straight to work. Everything in me prepared for a lecture on why I wasn't doing a good enough job or why I hadn't answered the thirty emails still in my inbox.
Nothing prepared me for grace.
Instead of condemnation, I was met with concern. She pulled me into the aptly named "Cry Room" along with several members of the prayer team and wrapped me in her arms. She prayed with compassion and clarity, overwhelming me with the depth of her love for me, and the strength of the Father's. Her words rang true alongside those already spoken over me.
"Daddy, hold Heather's heart," she said. I remembered his mother telling me that the LORD would hold my heart while he was away.
"Overwhelm her with your peace," she said. I remembered the peace I'd felt spreading through me as we prayed before he left.
"Cover their communication. Protect it supernaturally. I remembered him asking me to trust that he would communicate while he's gone.
And then she sent me home.
I went home and dropped into bed, past the point of physical exhaustion. A few hours later, I got out and sank into the tub for almost an hour, letting the water work magic on the tension in my shoulders. And I realized that my whole drive to Gainesville was full of doubts and anxiety and feeling–again–the need to have my entire life in order or be thought a complete failure. I wanted–okay, want— to be perfect, to have all my life in order, to not be a burden to anyone or have anything to complain about or feel overwhelmed by.
I want my planner to be color coded and my days to be organized. I want to eat organically grown spinach and cook every meal every day and never forget to do my dishes. I want to weigh a perpetual ten pounds less than I do yet somehow not care about my appearence. I want to be the most creative writer, the girl who doesn't have to say no, the biggest prayer warrior, the incredible friend, the most wonderful, strong, stable girlfriend.
And in truth, as I replayed this list of "must be's" and "to-do's" in my head, I was sure that this was something that everyone at work and at home was holding over my head. And I was sure I was failing. It made me just want to quit everything, hide in a hobbit hole, and never, ever, under any circumstances, come out again.
I am not okay with having limits. I am not okay with my heart feeling stretched and broken. I am not okay with the expectations I've put myself under.
And no, I am not okay.
But I guess, for tonight, that's just going to have to be okay.
