I’ve had it. I’m over it. I’m empty. Or at least that’s how it feels. This pandemic is taking its toll, and my bounce back is no longer bouncing. I feel more like a deflated balloon.
Part of the problem is, well, life. Because the things of life that might feel manageable--you know, when we’re not in a pandemic--just keep piling on. Uncertainty. Loss. Grief. Conflict. Care for children and elderly parents. (I am dealing with the latter.) Decisions feel nearly impossible to make, because what we know today will most likely change tomorrow.
And life is loud right now. So loud. Protests and the urgent need to listen, to learn, to stand against injustice. The divide over basics like masks and the protection of life. (Why this is debatable escapes me completely.) The divide over defunding and reforming law enforcement. Oh, and the very loud divide over a certain upcoming election. Which will only get louder. The fear mongering. The misinformation. I am only stating the obvious now. And the obvious is enough to send me straight to bed for a nap.
I need the quiet desperately these days. Stillness. Rest (and not just the nap kind, although that can help). In this kind of space I remember. I remember the goodness of God. I remember Christ in me. I remember I am held in an unyielding embrace with great tenderness. And I can start to breathe again.
Sometimes I have to get loud to get quiet. I have to voice my prayer of lament, my disappointment, my exhaustion, all my complaints (it can be quite a list). I have to come to the end of myself. Then I can hear again, the word of truth and life that comes in the quiet. This morning, this came fresh
Whom have I in heaven but you?
And earth has nothing I desire besides you.
My flesh and my heart may fail,
but God is the strength of my heart
and my portion forever.--Psalm 73
Nothing on this planet can fully satisfy. And maybe seeing so many things so clearly broken, so far off the rails, in our world right now makes that easier to see. “Getting back to normal” (and I think that ship has sailed) will not satisfy. My idea of what might be nicer or easier right now, that won’t satisfy either.
We are made with desires too big for this world.
Which is why these two words are so important. “But God.”
My flesh and heart fail. They are failing me now. But God is the strength of my heart. My portion. Forever. Yesterday, today, and forever. God in me to strengthen. God in me to satisfy. The Creator God of the Universe. In me. I’d completely forgotten. In the quiet, I remember. And I receive again the gift of presence. Like manna. Enough for the day.
So let’s take a few moments and hold space together for quiet.
Breathe deeply. In and out.
As you breathe in, feel the breath of God fill your lungs.
As you breathe out, exhale your laments. Release your burdens. Share your longings.
Repeat this practice as you empty your heart.
Now read these verses slowly, contemplating them for a few moments. Then rest in the stillness and wait.
Whom have I in heaven but you?
And earth has nothing I desire besides you.
My flesh and my heart may fail,
but God is the strength of my heart
and my portion forever.
Invite Holy Spirit to fill you again. Breathe deeply in and out. Feel the breath of God, the presence of God, the love of God filling your body. Strengthening your heart. Rest in this place. This is enough.