Not long ago I mentioned how much I'm enjoying Sarah Young's Jesus Calling. I find myself continually coming back to the entry on April 30:
"When some basic need is lacking--time, energy, money--consider yourself blessed. Your very lack is an opportunity to latch onto me in unashamed dependence."
When I read these first two sentences I simultaneously cringed and rolled my eyes. It was a bit too Pollyanna-ish and didn't seem to take seriously the problem of pain. But then I read on...
"When you begin your day with inadequate resources, you must concentrate your efforts on the present moment. This is where you are meant to live--in the present."
My days have been beginning with inadequate resources lately. It's been a physical and mental fatigue that has settled deep within my bones. In many ways the only way I can function is to be completely focused on the present moment. Following a recipe requires my complete attention. Conversing with John requires my complete attention or I will literally lose my thought part way through a sentence. Changing a diaper requires my complete attention.
As a self-confessed
I desire to carry this concentration on the present along with me regardless of what my sleep patterns look like. While I do not enjoy my circumstances, nor do I want them to persist, this is the kind of person I want to be at all times: one who is fully living in the present.
I need to pause for a moment and acknowledge something that's been gnawing at me since I first posted about Sam's sleeping problem (which has quickly escalated into Sam's breathing problems). I find myself struggling to know how to talk about pain. I have a hard time knowing how to express my own difficulties knowing that every thing is relative. I teeter between feeling sorry for myself and then feeling enormously grateful for all we have.
I walk into Riley and see children unable to walk. We had a delightful conversation with a beautiful 16-year-old girl with cystic fibrosis waiting to see the Sam doctor Sam will see. We see children without the ability to talk, hear, see. We see children who appear to be perfectly whole yet are living with a death sentence hanging over their heads.
Things started getting really rough with Sam in March. He was waking up four or five times a night, often screaming. Often crying for no apparent reason for an hour or two. It felt brutal. And yet, multiple times, as I walked to his room in the middle of the night I was reminded of the sobering fact that many, many friends and acquaintances would give all they had to be able to comfort a child in the other room.
And yet this is our "present". And I'm trying to figure out what it means to live fully in our present in a way that acknowledges the deep-seeded suffering of others without diminishing our own difficulties.
Despite my desire to live fully in the present, I do regularly pray a prayer for the future: "Come, Lord Jesus, Come."