I am tired; the tired that leaves you feeling numb. The tired that causes sleep to be elusive. I am worn. I am battle weary. I do not say this in an attempt to feel sorry for myself. No, I say this because it is hard for me to admit that I am anything less than strong. To say that I am tired is to admit that I cannot do this on my own. To say that I am weary is to say that I need my people to come along side me and fight this battle with me.
I push. I push through pain. I push through exhaustion. I push past the one’s who want to help and try to do it on my own. I have pushed to the edge of my body’s ability to cope. I feel it in the ache in my muscles from being on alert for so long. I feel it in the numb and detached feeling that is in my mind. I feel it in the robotic way I go through the day doing all of the things on my to do list. I feel it in the way that old, unhealthy habits become the go –to method again.
I have made the choice not to rest. I have made the choice to push beyond my limits. I have made the choice to go through the motions of life, because I don’t have the energy to be present. I have felt this in all of the aspects of my life, but it has hit me hardest in worship. I love to worship. I love to sing at the top of my lungs… everyone else around me may not appreciate that, but I do it anyway. But I haven’t been able to do that.
I hadn’t planned to go to my church’s night of worship, but a friend strongly suggested that perhaps it would be a good thing to do. I went. I sang. I felt numb. In my numbness the voices that tell me I do not belong began to flood my mind. I looked around at all the people giving their all in worship and I hated myself. I hated myself for not feeling like I was giving my all. I hated myself for feeling so numb and detached.
At one point we were asked to give a shout; a shout that would tear down walls; a shout of victory. What erupted from my lips was not a shout. It was a scream. It was a gut-wrenching cry because there were no words. It was the groan that expressed what my words could not say.
In the same way the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do
not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself
intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express.
Romans 8:26 NIV
Eventually that primal cry ended and the tears began to fall. I began to say aloud the thoughts that had been yelling in my mind. I cried until I felt empty. I cried until the rage subsided. I cried until I could sing again.
The tired is still there. The feeling that there is too much to do and too little time to do it remains. But, tonight I was reminded that even when my words fail, the Spirit speaks for me. He intercedes on my behalf when I don’t have the ability to speak. I am worn, but I am not alone.