Tired

 Sometimes I'm just tired. Tired of trying to figure it out, and when I don't feel like figuring it out, tired of just knowing that the world is full of pain, loss, suffering, grief, heartache.

I'm tired. It's Thanksgiving week and I want to be thankful. I want to reflect on all God gives, does, Who He is, the ways He blesses.

But then I just cringe and think: an SUV plowed into a group of people. There's anger, there's rage. There's confusion. And it all just makes me tired. And it isn't even MY pain, MY story, MY suffering.

And my son goes to a funeral for a guy who accidentally overdosed. 'Poor choices' some would say. 'It was bound to happen someday.' And true enough. That is so. If you mess with drugs, you take huge risks. But what of the pain, the waywardness, the lack, that brings about a yearning to self-medicate? What about that? It makes me tired just thinking of it. And I don't even carry this grief. Not much anyway.

This world is tiring to look at. I know it's a downer to read: it's even more of a downer to express.

Yes, there is beauty. Yes, there are still, quiet moments where before a fire I can reflect and find the settled calm I seek. But even in those moments, I wonder if I am not very spoiled. Self-indulgent. That I live with luxuries I barely appreciate. Those whose family were carelessly shot may not find this settled calm before the fireplace. Even in admitting this, I find my tired-soul sighs and says, 'Lord, have mercy.' And it isn't said in an exasperated, fed-up, resigned manner. It is a genuine prayer: Lord, have mercy, IN my tired, in the tired-weary world that seems to have lost its way.

Oh we long for the festivities around the table. The fellowship, laughter, ease, abundance. We yearn to be surrounded by warmth, each other. What about the 'each-others' that are missing? What about the homes that have one less seat at the table, or so few at the table because the fellowship table has not expanded? They too, I imagine, are tired.

Shall we welcome blessing and not hardship? Shall we claim blessings and ignore the losses, the griefs? Shall we chug down some coffee to shrug off our inner 'tired'? Shall we grit our teeth and white-knuckle our way to efficiency, accomplishment, celebrations? Or shall we acknowledge the mixed-bag that life is - the presence of soul-weariness, the depression of 'this isn't how it's supposed to be'? Shall I pretend my tired away? I cannot; not physically, not emotionally, not spiritually.

There is no way to mask this tired: To try to hide it, like dust-bunnies under a carpet. We can scurry to clean-up for guests. We can toss the clutter into a closet. But the tired in our eyes, the weeping soul that whimpers in the dark - these cannot stay hidden for long. This tired must be brought into the open, must find the light of day to shine brightly into its fragmented brokenness. This tired needs to find soothing balm at the throne of Grace.

I will bring my tired and commit it to God. The God whose heart carries my tired and holds it - holds me - when I cannot.

I like only to write what is positive, what is whole, what is repaired. This tired in me, it is yet un-healed. It is raw and open and sits on me like a sleeping dog who refuses to budge; whose settled warmth doesn't care if I'm comfortable or not. My dogs teach me things, even when they sleep, you see. I wonder if writing about the imperfect scares me or my readers more? I take that tired and say, 'Oh well, here you have it.'

It would be easy to scan the blogs for 'What to do when tired!' '42 pick-me-ups for your daily fatigue!' 'How to cope with chronic depression!' 'How I beat the winter blues!' 'Spiritual tips for your journey through loss!'

Yeah. Search those blogs. 

But in the meantime, I will make space for this tired. For this weary, ragged, imperfect world, whose madness seems to have simply ramped-up of late.

I cannot get caught up in the news. Yet, I cannot escape what happens in the news either. There are always sorrows, losses, griefs to be borne. I cannot hold these all. My life brings enough tired as it is.

I look around and see the tired world and say, 'I am tired too.'

Will you sit with me in my tired?

Will I sit by a fire and bring my tired self, my weary soul, to the God Who speaks to me in the flames?

Oh I hope so. This tired must have somewhere to go.