These are some photos I've seen recently on various social media sites & they all have got me thinking, or praying, or smirking in agreement.
Fibromyalgia is a moody booger, and with these returning migraines comes dizziness, mood swings, and irritability (among other things). It's all I can stand to be around even one other human being, let alone several at a time.
I'm so sick of it. Sick of sickness. Sick of the fast sinking feeling that comes over me when I am around motion, conversation, trying in vain to ignore pain, pain everywhere, every second of every day.
It's exhausting, and piled on top of literal sleepy time exhaustion, it's just too much.
So I feverishly paw through scripture, clinging to words, underlining, straining forward even when I don't feel I can stand even one more moment like this, ONLY because God carries me through each of those grueling minutes.
When I say that I am not trying to sound oh so spiritual. I mean to say, very literally, that I WOULD give up if not for God. I do not have the strength to endure Fibromyalgia without Jesus. True story. Probably the truest story I have ever told in my life. Perhaps there are some who power on through without Him, but I am
not one of those people. I have wanted this to be over... Not life exactly. I've not been suicidal, but I could be if I didn't know that God is with me. It's that brutal. I've begged to die sometimes. I've agonized and lamented and pleaded to be free from this life of severe limitation & forever sickness. It's not for the faint of heart. Or perhaps it is, and in that faint, bleary, I just want to give up, that's when God steps in. The cliche Footprints saying hung on walls and plastered on journals, and calendars everywhere.
He carries me.
Every single time I want to close my eyes, fade away, not feel this burden in my very skin & bone, and yes, even the soul after a while (the human spirit can only sustain so much)- that is when I am carried.
It comes as whispers to my heart, shared promises in the Bible, silly gifs on websites, confidences with soul sisters, flowers growing among weeds, the way the fading sunlight hits the trees...
Carried, every single day.
I used to think I was so strong physically. I lifted heavy things, I worked hard from the age of 16. I endured a miscarriage, a near cervical cancer scare, and many other hardships as a young woman. But it took this monster, this Fibromyalgia hell, to show me that my true strength comes only from the source of all of my life's breath.
Jesus.
Alone I fight for awhile. I breathe hard and deep and flail around, but it is only when I draw from Him, put my thirsty limbs and heart and mouth on refreshing holy water, and gulp deep, that I understand the depth and reality of genuine strength.
And that is what gets me out of bed every single day. Gets me into the shower where the hot water wakes me alive again.
I am lucky.
It would be very easy to just drown in this miserable prison. And sometimes I wallow. Sometimes I cry and have an attitude and hate my limitations. That's real. That's sickness.
So, I am much more grateful on the days where living comes just a bit easier.
And I close my so tired eyes, and I beg for this thirst to be quenched daily, that I won't run dry, that I won't stop seeking tomorrow.
And He comes to me, tenderly holds His cup of life to my sagging spirit, and urges: "drink."
And so I do.
