TOES

I am less than a week away from a family holiday at the beach: FIVE MORE DAYS.

The past several months have been physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausting. I am counting down the days until I can step away from the stress for a moment and breathe.

My family made this trip the first time last May. We had such a lovely week everyone agreed a repeat was in order.

Last year, I did not get excited about the holiday in the months and weeks leading up to it. I have a long history of deep disappointment, and I was certain something would come up at the last minute to keep me from going.

Something did.

The day before our holiday was to begin, I followed an ambulance taking my mom to a hospital 3 hours from home. Over a a long sleepless night, still wearing the scrubs I'd worn to work the day before, I resigned myself to the fact that - yet again - my hopes of rest were frustrated. I was exhausted, but there was no rest in sight.

Then my younger sister rolled in like the cavalry and took over mom duty: Suzanne showed up at the hospital and ordered me to leave, go home and pack, and enjoy my family for a week. 💖

This year, I have been slightly more optimistic heading into the first full week of May. My youngest created a GoogleDoc for meal planning: I signed up to fix dinner on our first evening at the beach. I've stocked up on snacks. I planned a couple of rainy day activities for the grandkids, just in case. I've pulled out summer clothes to pack. And Saturday, I got my toenails done.

A pedicure is a rare treat for me. Like, maybe once a year? As I relaxed in the oversized armchair, the young man at my feet soaked and trimmed and moisturized and massaged until my tired calloused feet looked and felt brand new.

We chatted as he worked, and watching him work, I thought: "He is like Jesus. This is what Jesus does. Jesus washes feet, cuts away dead skin, restores the broken and weary, gives new energy and hope. And joy, He gives joy, sort of like French Raspberry #066."

I was almost in tears by the time the young man finished. I wanted to say to him, "You are so beautiful, so much like my Jesus" - but I didn't, because I thought that would be weird, and I was afraid he wouldn't understand.

(I am so tired of feeling "weird" - that label is burned so deeply into my soul - and I'm tired of being afraid. My therapist and I are working on that...baby steps.)

Today, I am thankful for gentle hands and a glimpse of Jesus. I am thankful for red toenails. I am thankful for my family. And I am thankful that rest is coming soon.

WITH FRIENDS LIKE THESE

The past month and a half - work, home, life in general - has been a little hairy for me.

If you've known me for very long, you may be thinking, "Seems like this theme keeps repeating itself, Camille. Are you serious?"

Life just seems to have this cycle for me where things get really hard, and then I get a breather, and then things rock along pretty steady, and then problems or difficulties arise and pressure starts to build again like steam in a boiler. Neck muscles turn into steel cables, I develop chronic indigestion, and restful sleep eludes me. I find myself thinking, "This is too much! I can't do this anymore!"

Deep weariness - weariness of not just body, but of soul and spirit - isn't "fixed" by an afternoon off, a trip to the nail salon, or just-one-more margarita. Yoga - when I can make it to class - helps unkink the knots in my neck and sunshine brightens my mood, but even these do not relieve soul weariness.

Jesus said, "Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you. Let me teach you, because I am humble and gentle at heart, and you will find rest for your souls." (Matt. 11:28-29, NLT; emphasis added)

I am so thankful that God has given me friends who, when I am overwhelmed and discouraged, lead me back to Jesus, the source of true rest.

It is nice to have a safe place where I can put down the weight on my heart and simply breathe. A place where the coffee is strong, the conversation easy, and at the end of the day, a warm bed and soft pillow are waiting.

Christ will hold us fast. But we need gospel friends to hold us close. - Albert Mohler

TINY HOUSE

When I checked on my favorite slow-growing tree in the yard yesterday, I found a house nestled beneath a brittle last-fall leaf.

This tiny house has survived winter snow and ice, torrential spring rains, and ferocious windstorms like the one that took down power lines and hundred-year-old trees in the nearby town of Obion last week.

Do any of us with our brick-&-mortar, concrete, steel, and treated 2x4s live in such safe, snug little houses? I doubt it.

And yet, while incredibly strong and durable, this tiny house is also incredibly fragile. I could have crushed it my hand. If I had committed such violence, the snug resident curled up inside would not have simple counted it unfortunate and then crawled off to begin the labor of rebuilding; no, such violence would have destroyed not only the home, but the occupant as well.

This beautiful coccoon, dancing in the warm spring breeze, is a picture of trust. Trust provides a place of shelter, strength, and resiliency from which incredible storms can be weathered in safety. So strong, and yet so fragile.

I love this time of year, every day greener than the day before. Trees thrum with the music of bees. The irises my sister gave me are just beginning to bloom and my grandmother's rose has a hundred swelling buds.

Spring looks, sounds, smells, and feels like hope to me.

My favoite tree unfolds tender leaves, and beneath the detritus of summer long past, new life waits.

DEAR DAUGHTERS

Twenty-four hours, three hours of sleep. Now, headed in for another full day of work.

That's a lot for this old woman.

Before I left home, my mother complained, "You do not need to go to work today. You need to stay home." No doubt she was concerned about my safety on the road. No doubt she was also feeling neglected.

"Mom, I'm 60 years old. What are you going to do? Write me a note to give my teacher so I can be excused from school?"

As I drove to the office, I thought about what Mom said. If one of my daughters was driving in to begin a full day's work after a 24-hour shift, I would have felt the same way. "No, dear daughter, do not go to work today. You have done enough. Stay home - you need to rest."

But me - I am supposed to be able to do it all and then some. Work, Mom care, all-the-things like groceries and meals and laundry and doctor appointments and car maintenance and keeping up with housework and the yard. And if it feels like too much? I'm supposed to suck it up, stop feeling sorry for myself, and get back to the task at hand.

So I drove, and I wept, and I stumbled into work.

During morning meeting, I thought about my beautiful daughters. I thought how it would grieve me if they felt like they had to keep on doing more and more and more, way past the point of exhaustion, how it would break my heart if they felt like they could never DO enough to finally BE enough. I thought how angry I would feel if someone demanded of them, "No, but you must do more..."

My dear daughters already are enough, just like they are. 

Then I thought: I am Someone's daughter, Someone's beautiful, precious daughter. And He loves me. And He tells me, "Enough, dear daughter. Rest."

And so, after morning meeting, I drove back home.

Emily, Martha, Helen, Abby and Carly: My dear, dear daughters...you have no idea how greatly each one of you blesses and inspires me every single day. Thank you for being the beautiful women you are. Thank you.