I'm writing from the front porch today. Granted I might be rushing the season just a bit, but with my favorite sweatshirt and an afghan, I'm warm enough to sit here and hear the truth that March has in fact skipped away like a lamb and left spring in its wake.
I can hear the redwing blackbirds "dum-tweedle-dee"-ing from the trees along the creek, and a song sparrow serenades me from the garden. In the pasture, a killdeer screams in alarm about dangers real or perceived. Even the ubiquitous doves sound different, coo, coo, cooing from every direction. Spring has (finally!) arrived.
(Excuse me while I go inside for a second afghan. And warmer socks. And a mug of tea.)
I was tired to death…or tired from death. I was no longer actively grieving, although some days still brought (even to this day still bring?!) waves of unexpected sadness. Rather, I was tired of grieving, tired from grieving. I wasn't depressed, I was exhausted.
I didn't know how to pray about what I needed, so I asked a few friends to pray about my longing for rest. I clung to what I have come to call the Prayer of Pooh (as in Winnie the…), a simple phrase that I think God understands, "Oh, help." And God in His perfect timing answered their prayers and mine in one of His signature "Blessings in Disguise," a bout of bronchitis that would.not.quit.
For more than three weeks, resting became my required priority. I fulfilled my daily responsibilities with minimal energy investment…when functioning from a deficit, all output seems to dig the hole deeper, so I propped my shovel in the corner and rested.
I drank a lot of liquids, and rested. (Ahh, tea.)
I read some books, and rested.
I took a nap most days, gladly. (I have never been a napper. Ever.)
I was content to watch the world go by.
I thought about what was happening in me as I embraced the season of rest. (I'll write more about what I learned in a future post.) It truly was God's best gift to me, one I never would have imagined, nor would I have requested it. But it was what He gave, and what I most needed, a season of rest.