I’m tired. Not the kind of tired that goes away with a nap or 10 naps or even a year of naps. I’m the kind of soul-tired that comes from having multiple facets of life change or even completely fall apart and then rebuilding it all into something entirely new that you never even imagined it would be. Maybe multiple times. The kind of tired that can only be healed with time and continued efforts and mostly God’s grace. You know what I’m talking about; I know you do. I’ve watched many of you rebuild your lives after hard things, too.
I imagine myself at some point sitting down with a therapist and telling her all about my deepest fears—the ones I’ve overcome and the ones I still face. Except, I don’t have the energy for that kind of conversation, so mostly I’ll just sit there and look at her with eyes that say it all, and she’ll miraculously just know. And then I’ll lie down on the desk that sits between us and fall asleep.
That’s what some of my prayers feel like these days, actually.
This is my boy in January. A January long and cold and bleak, but also full of new beginnings and depth and fragile crystal beauty. Januarys are like that.
