In these days of wild uncertainty, many of us seem to find ourselves riding an emotional rollercoaster unlike ever before.
I wish I could say I was right there with you, but it seems my entire life has been an emotional rollercoaster, so this intense intermingling of grief and joy and dread and hope is nothing new to me.
For a week I might be perfectly happy--I’ve found my introvert self hasn’t noticed much different in staying at home for days, weeks...months. I’m surrounded, still, by members of my family, and, still, need time by myself. I wouldn’t even say that these weeks of social distancing have refreshed my person-weary soul because, in fact, it seems I’ve been around people more than ever day in and out.
Yet, there comes a day--inevitably--of immense, soul-crushing grief. I wake up after sleeping through four alarms (yet again) and I don’t want to push myself out of bed, brush my teeth, make breakfast, drink coffee, and read my Bible--all of them: wonderful commodities and luxuries I’ve enjoyed and cultivated as part of my typical morning routine. Yet, I wake up on these days with this foreboding anxiety pitting in my stomach, yes, already, at 9am in the morning. I stretch beneath my fuzzy blanket, trying to cool the sweat of the night from my skin--trying to formulate some sort of prayer thanking God for yet another glorious morning, but the heart palpitations and an absurd number of racing thoughts that aren’t thanking God for yet another day tell the story of anything but new-day glory. No--the palpitations and thoughts speak of deep glacier fear, the war-trenches of grief, and the dull impatience of when-will-this-be-over.
