We’re now in the double digits- month 10- and I have to say that I didn’t expect tiredness coming to hit me. Why do I always think I’ll be the exception? It’s amusing to me that I read blogs and hear things about people being exhausted and desensitized and just not pouring forth as much, and I somehow write it off, thinking that surely it won’t happen to me. At the brink of month 9, I was pumped and ready to take on the last 3 months full force, but in the last week I’ve had to face the fact that yes, I am tired. And yes, it’s okay to admit it. And yes, it’s even okay to be tired.
Now what God does with that tiredness is the fun part.
Last week, I had a breakdown. It wasn’t caused by one big thing, It was just all the seemingly small things compounded in a way that I couldn’t even articulate whatever it was to myself, to God, or to my teammates.
But fortunately, my teammate forced me to articulate it. I was sobbing while listening to All Sons & Daughters and trying to talk to Jesus, and she came over and started asking all these pointed questions. I didn’t know the answers to most of them, but I verbally processed on her as she waited, listening patiently.
Through this, I realized I was tired. Not just physically fatigued, but tired in every sense of the word because I’d been carrying burdens that were not mine to hold. (I didn’t even know I was doing that! But then again, do I ever realize that I’m carrying burdens in the midst of it? Because that would imply that I’m choosing to do it, and why in the world would I choose such an absurd, unpleasant, impossible task?!)
No wonder I was tired. Tired of striving to hear from God. Tired of trying to make others happy. Tired of fearing judgment and wondering what others think. Tired of working out/eating healthy and not seeing or feeling fruits of my labor. Tired of asking God about my passions and future and not getting much clarity. Tired of hearing about other people’s amazing time with the Lord and His plans for their futures, then trying to live vicariously through their experiences. Tired of living the prayer, “I believe, I believe! Lord, help my unbelief!” and not seeing a difference. Tired of asking Him to romance me and not feeling it at all. Tired of praying for my family and feeling like my faith life is somehow bringing them further away from the Lord rather than closer. Tired of trying to keep it together. Tired of being insecure about everything, even about my relationship with Jesus.
I was tired because I was holding on to things that were ultimately out of my control.
Sure, I can pray, but God speaks to me when and how He decides. And it’s not to spite me, but it’s to do what is absolutely best for me. If I got from God what I wanted all the time, I’d be like a child given candy every time she asks, which is not exactly a product of the best parenting. And God is not a good dad; He’s a perfect one, the best one. So of course He’ll make sure I rely on Him by not revealing everything to me at once. He knows how to woo me back when I’m frustrated as heck.
Faith is believing the unseen, after all, isn’t it?
“…blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.” [John 20:29]
And “hope that is seen is no hope at all. But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.” [Rom 8:24-25]
So true and yet so painful to receive. There’s an odd pain in the unknown, and while I usually handle the uncertainty quite well, I guess God was showing me that I couldn’t always have it together. So I bawled. And as I begged and worshiped and wiped my tears and snot, I came to appreciate where Jesus had me. Raw and vulnerable, not hidden. He met me there because His love is truly unconditional and not demanding. My teammates assured me it was a beautiful place to be, gross as it might feel, because growth was happening as I shed tears and hope was being rekindled as I received truth again.
I then had an epiphany about the way I’d been praying. I knew God could handle my stuff. It’s not that I’d been afraid or ashamed of being real with God, of throwing a tantrum at Him. But I’d been so desperate to make spiritual progress that I’d been praying as though I were fine. It’s like I was trying to convince myself that I was okay by praying ‘okay-ness’ over myself.
I’m okay. I’m okay. I really am. Just give me patience. I want to keep asking, stop being selfish and people-pleasing, and try to listen for what You’re saying. So, uh, speak to me, please? Romance me? …Maybe? Or… not… if that’s not Your will at this time…
While doing this—praying flimsy and unsure prayers—I forgot to be completely real with God. I was trying so hard to be a better, future version of myself that I forgot to be the present me… who was confused, frustrated, upset, and tired.
So of course He would use this current, broken mess to melt down in front of my team and get me a step closer in being sanctified. Of course He’d remind me that His strength alone is holding me up.
Of course! Jesus does a variation of this pretty much every time—you know, using the brokenness to reveal beauty—but hey, I’m a forgetful human and that’s okay. I guess I just get to enjoy the surprise every time. Besides, the pattern may be old, but the stories are always new. Now that’s pretty cool.
Here I am, God. Here I am, world. I’m humbled once again.
I’m determined to own who I am, because the world doesn’t need a perfect version of me. There’s only one of me and no time to waste not being me!
