That Feeling . . .

 

You know that feeling that's hard to describe because it doesn't fit neatly into words? Yeah, that one. It doesn't matter if it's happy or sad (except that sad is sad) because it defies a description. 

How many times do we just gloss over those? How many times to we obsess? I don't know. But what I do sense in myself is that I'm tired of doing either one. I'm tired of being tethered to extremes while the river of life is rushing by making currents around me.

For decades, my familiar zone has been crisis. I don't like to say "comfort zone" because it's not comfortable. But in some ways priorities are easier. They present themselves surrounded by disaster. I think it's easier to stack sandbags against a flood of disaster than to dream of a new life.

So here I am on yet another "adventure" of breakthrough looking for the sandbags and some sort of directive of where to start stacking. I'm realizing that the only disasters on the way are tied to other people--people I love, people who have been battered by life alongside me, people who have different hurts, and people who cope in ways I can't comprehend.

I don't have the strength for this.

I know. I know. I can do all things through Christ. The joy of the Lord is my strength. But now I'm asking for what? There is a grace for God's will. Is His will for me to stay in these trenches? What does that look like without me being an enabler? Am I to rise up myself and later offer a hand? How do I stop the erosion? Should I stop it? 

At one point I decided to not do anything until I knew what to do. 

Sigh. That seems like a neverending place to be. So I feel like I need to shift--just not now, not in a sleep-deprived state. For now, I think I need to be satisfied knowing that I expressed something instead of glossing over the undefined discontent in my soul.