I woke up on Sunday full of lament. The depression that had been crushing me was now a throttling choke. I woke up straining. Strangled and gasping for air, for truth, for relief; I woke up.
I woke up on Sunday already giving up. Begging for it, the answer to the question depression always asks: Why am I here?
All night long, relentlessly; a jangling chorus, a litany of failures, a litany of fears, a litany of shame. Making a list, my brain ordered them into meaningful classifications, one by one, a citation of what’s gone wrong.
Then, I went from listing to knee-deep in real water that came in while we were sleeping. While he slept and I tossed about listing endlessly my disappointments. They were a song, the cacophony of my failures, singing and dancing in a winged frenzy above the bed. Those songs have always been there for me, silent to him.
The water is rising around us and soon I forget my question, my list while living the longest day that I can remember. We vacuumed 600+ gallons out of the basement, while it kept coming.
That day, on a Sunday, I woke up, realizing the only one who declares me a failure is me. I am my own worst enemy. Only I am disappointed and angry with me and
I am angry at God. I thought God and I had big plans.
A missionary kid, I watched my parents traverse each Continent of the world, going where others feared, doing what others wouldn’t, changing things, making good happen, and always leaving us to DO THINGS. I assumed – I thought I would be a part of this in the end, do something big, significant. Eventually I would do something special.
I thought I was special, when I was doing, making, performing, achieving. God and I, I thought we had plans.
I woke up on Sunday and realized, failure isn’t at all what I thought – and when life took a detour for me, into shame, regrets, sin, my mistakes, it all taught me and turned me into a new person.
Redeemed, New and Different, I woke up.
And knew, again. And the question changed.
What is success in life if we cannot be there for our family, to be nurturing, teaching, holding, comforting? What I rarely felt growing up, this is my offering now. Even though it isn’t within my control what my children choose to do with their lives, who or what they become, I woke up on a Sunday and realized.
I’m no big shot, except in my kid’s lives and there I am. And I’ll struggle for this to be
Enough. And I know it’s not forever
Except it will last forever, for them.