Gentle Reader,
No chat for me tonight. I plain forgot about it.
Kate says: tired.
Go.
In 2010, I began feeling tired all the time. And achy. Like I was always just about to come down with something. No matter how much I did or didn’t sleep, I never felt rested. Sometimes, I had a fever for no apparent reason. Not high enough to be alarming, but present. Though I have never been a party-hearty kind of gal, it became apparent that something was wrong.
Fast forward eight years, a dozen or so CT scans, the same amount of ultrasounds, four MRIs and four surgeries later – I’m still tired.
No, not tired. Exhausted. Always. Every day. I rate my level of weariness on a scale of “I can push myself to do what needs to be done,” which is a good day, to “I slept for fourteen hours and I still need a nap.”
From the outside, I probably look like a lazy person. My alarm goes off at 6:00 a.m. every morning. Three-fourths of the time I stumble out of bed, only to fall asleep on the couch minutes later. I strive not to. I pull my breakfast (vegan, soy-free) protein shake out of the refrigerator and open my Bible. I blink my eyes wide and attempt to focus my fog-filled mind. It’s hard.
Yesterday I lay down, after lunch, with the thought, “I just need to close my eyes for a few minutes.” Then it was three hours later. I woke with a start, feeling guilty. The afternoon was gone. Hours that will never return.
People ask me how I’m feeling. Usually, I say, “I’m hanging in there.” And it’s true. I would like a new body. In fact, I long for a new body. I will never be thankful for malfunctioning organs and a poor immune system. But there’s a lot of sweetness in and among the bitter. I learn to sit at the feet of Jesus. I learn to find my value and identity in Him, not in myself or what I can accomplish.
Walking through the days in this body of decay prompts me to think on Heaven. The culmination of all things. The presence of God. No night, no pain, no sorrow. There, I won’t be tired. And that promise is enough.
Stop.
