August. I don’t care for it. It’s hot and humid (my two least favorite weathers), and I’m usually on the tail end of a “everyone gets vacations except us” sort of a pity party, and it marks another year of infertility. This marks the end of year 4. It’s hot and humid, dumb old August, and it’s 4 years of unanswered questions and “trying not to think about IT.”
Maybe this 4th anniversary of noncontrol is triggering my growing realization that I have no control over anything. It could be my inability to control my own sleep, as more nights of insomnia warp my brain into emotional, useless mush. Or maybe it’s the fact that I’m pouring every piece of me into a child I love endlessly but can’t even call my own. Or maybe I’m feeling like I have no control because of court dates and meetings and nightmares I can’t fix, but want to so desperately. Or the utter out-of-control chaos of life with a toddler in general (meal times, date nights, travel, tempers, leaving the house, schedules, all of it really). Or it could be the fact that I have my heart set on THINGS of this world that I shouldn’t have my heart set on. Bigger houses, cuter clothes, another paycheck. It could be the pressure of being a freelance artist I am beginning to really feel in this busy season- the working so so hard all day and making hardly enough to pay one bill (definitely not enough to repair the car for the 5000th time, because what I really needed was another dadgum car repair) and not knowing when the next project will come through. It could be work schedules for Dave and more nights of putting D to bed by myself, knowing I will have only one evening this week to really see him, so we better get all our sweetness and fun and all our arguing and all our relaxation into those few hours. This life is insanely hard. Though it is blessed through and through, it is hard. Whatever the reasons are, I am feeling them all at once. I am racing to grab on to the last thread of control in my life and I can’t find it. Anywhere.
So tonight as one more pretty house I wished for slips through my fingers, one more year of infertility ticks by, and one more night of being physically unable to sleep when I JUST WANT TO SLEEP, I bring it all to the feet of Jesus.
Because many are the plans in a person’s heart, but it is the Lord’s purpose that prevails.
Because he said, “come to me all you who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest.”
Because, Lord, weary doesn’t even begin to cover this mess.
And because the only reassurance I have in being wholly out-of-control is knowing that I was never intended to be in control. For that I am thankful. In that I find peace.