Monday, August 29, 2011


I seem to have a chronic case of Tired these days...can't remember the last time I didn't feel like I needed some rest, both physically and emotionally.

When some folks get tired, they get sappy - everything seems very silly, a cause for laughter. Some get crabby. Some slip into Zombie mode. Me, I tend to progress from befuddled, to quiet, to weeping. When I'm really tired, just about anything will make me cry.

So I've been crying a lot lately. Which can be very frustrating. A friend says, "Hello!" I cry. Their cheerful expression changes to a look of great concern. "What's the matter?" No, no one in my family died this week. No, I have not been diagnosed with some terrible illness. Really, I'm just tired.

My church family at Grace can testify to this perverse tendency. Sunday morning is the low point/high point of my week. I drag into Sunday morning service with an empty tank...except for the tears. But I walk out with a heart that is full, strengthened, encouraged, not so overwhelmed by thoughts of the week ahead.

I missed worship at Grace yesterday, and am already wondering how on earth I'll shoulder the responsibilities of a new week. No matter how I needed or desired the blessing of corporate worship, I just didn't want to spend another Sunday morning falling apart all over my sisters and brothers. (Yes, Teresa, I'm still battling that pride monster....grrrr!) I wanted to be all alone with my Father instead.

After the kids left for church, I spent a good hour and a half on the front porch swing. A cup of coffee, a cool breeze, and God's Word. It was like taking a long "bubble bath" in the Bible...much better medicine for a weary soul than anything Calgon can offer!

Then, a long walk back on the farm...hadn't gotten out for a walk all week. The trees looked so fresh; the fields smelled so delicious! This wasn't my typical 40 minutes/4 hills workout. No, this was a slow, I'm-in-no-rush-to-get-home kind of hike. Back to the Robin Hood Tree, the Cowboy Hideout, the Great Hall, up the creek, around to visit the Three Sisters, down through Narnia, up to the old fallen-down barn...

I prayed, and listened, and thought. Let my mind run down insane rabbit trails, so that it could put a burden down at the end of each one before coming back around to more prayer.

It was a very good Sunday morning. A private mini-retreat. A Sabbath rest.

I'd like to say the day ended in such glorious sunshine, but, no, it ended in shadow and more tears. Had to claim again the promise that, in God's economy, not a single tear is wasted. He has good purposes in all the circumstances of my life.

Still reading through the Bible. This morning, found myself in Psalm 126. Coincidence? I think not. Those who sow in tears shall reap with shouts of joy! He who goes out weeping, bearing the seed for sowing, shall come home with shouts of joy, bringing his sheaves with him! (v. 5-6)

Nope, not a single tear is wasted. God has a good purpose for each one. A purpose that, ultimately, leads to joy. A good word, a sweet Providence on Monday morning for a weary woman prone to weeping.

1 comment:

Suzanne said...

We Catholics call this "offering it" - a reference to the fact that we can make every thought, deed, word, and feeling a prayer offering to God all day every day. In His Divine Economy, He wastes nothing. All our human pain can unite us to Christ in His Passion, to the Blessed Virgin Mary in her seven sorrows, and to all the Faithful that have preceded us in death. You are right, no tear has to be wasted. Keep offering yourself, weeping and laughing to Our Lord, and you will shout with joy "bringing in the sheaves" (aka sheets by some tots).