I am moody enough that I’d call it depression the last few days, off and on really for a couple weeks. I’m choosing to chalk it up to hormones and not giving it much attention. But I did fall apart sobbing uncontrollably when I went to bed last night. That was the only thing that kept my exhausted Mike from falling asleep. Finally he said in as irritated a tone as a caring husband can have “What’s WRONG!?!?!?” That’s what he usually says when he finally decides he has to figure out why I can’t stop crying. It’s so clearly not irritation that I find it rather cute and endearing. The poor man. So I told him I felt like such a horrible person and a failure and I didn’t think I was ready to be a mom. And then we went to sleep.
Anyway, this is not about me being depressed. It’s about where I am right now: sitting in the attic bedroom of a precious, precious saint, widowed 11 years ago, three children just younger than I am. She’s helping me get started in a small side business venture. I came over to go over business with her, arrived late and tired and crabby and hungry and wet from an hour and a half drive around the city in wind and rain. She fed me lunch, we talked, she encouraged me to keep being faithful and then sent me upstairs to her couch and a cozy wool blanket to listen to the wind and take a nap. Instead I pulled Elisabeth Elliott’s Keep A Quiet Heart off her shelf, a book I’ve been wanting for my own for years, because I think that as much as I need a nap, I need what Elisabeth Elliott’s got to offer even more right now.
So here I rest and I feel like a different person now because of her kindness, with the courage to press on once again, even though that courage looks more like fear to me. (Long, long ago wasn’t “Press on” my little mantra, even integrated into my business logo!?!?) After this I’ll try to go talk T-Mobile into replacing my broken phone so I don’t have to hobble along on a hand-me-down antique for the next eight months, and then I’ll go pick up Grace at the airport.
God knows what we need and gives it, but He doesn’t usually give us much at once, and it’s usually delivered way later than we think it should be. But He is good.
This poem by George Herbert been taped above my kitchen sink since I had mono this spring:
When God at first made man,
Having a glasse of blessings standing by ;
Let us (said he) poure on him all we can :
Let the worlds riches, which dispersed lie,
Contract into a span.
So strength first made a way ;
Then beautie flow’d, then wisdome, honour, pleasure :
When almost all was out, God made a stay,
Perceiving that alone, of all his treasure,
Rest in the bottome lay.
For if I should (said he)
Bestow this jewell also on my creature,
He would adore my gifts in stead of me,
And rest in Nature, not the God of Nature :
So both should losers be.
Yet let him keep the rest,
But keep them with repining restlesnesse :
Let him be rich and wearie, that at least,
If goodnesse leade him not, yet wearinesse
May tosse him to my breast.