Monday, March 4, 2013

when missing the recycling truck causes a nervous breakdown

This morning, I missed the recycling truck.

Not a big deal, right?
Well, two weeks ago it was President's Day.
The week after that, we could barely get out of bed with the stomach flu.
In short: we have a lot of recycling building up.

I was really looking forward to this morning to get rid of excess amounts of bottles and cans and paper.

I never really know when the recycling truck is going to come.  Some days, it's really early.  Other days, it doesn't come until well after noon.  Usually I can sneak my way out there during Gwen's quiet time, so that's what I did.  It was 8:30, and I started the trek to bring out the recycling (you should know we have a REALLY long driveway, and so it takes a couple minutes to walk even just one can down there, let alone 1 recycling can, 2 plastic bags full of plastic, and four paper bags full of paper products... while pregnant).

As I grabbed the first load of recycling to take down the driveway, I saw the recycling truck pass by.  There was no way to stop them.  The can was too heavy for a pregnant woman to run down to the curb.  It was pointless.

And then?
I started sobbing.

Ridiculous, right?
No really: you can say it.  It's ridiculous to sob over missing the recycling truck.

I sobbed all the way inside.
I continued sobbing until I realized that I wasn't really sobbing about the recycling truck.

I was sobbing because that immense peace I talked about two weeks ago is gone.  I am no longer the cool-and-collected pregnant woman just "taking things as they come."  I am frantic.  I am losing sleep over living in this anticipatory state of "WHEN?" -- clutching my clenching belly with hope, wondering if this fake contraction could possibly be the beginning of a real contraction -- waking up at night in a sweat, almost finding myself mid-prayer, "Please, God, please..."

Most of my life is lived in a false state of control -- thinking, foolishly, that I have control over my life.  From my daily schedule to my diet to my Bible study to my reading to a million other things, I feel myself in control.  But I'm not in control.  And there's literally nothing I can do to take myself out of the waiting game at this point.

I just have to wait.

And I hate it.

And it's getting to me.

So I sobbed.  And sobbed.  And told God, "I just can't do it any more.  I can't be strong.  I can't pretend I have peace.  I just can't."

The reality?
I never could.

And as I prayed-sobbed through some Psalms this morning, God helped me remember that my present struggles (and can they really even be considered struggles?) are nothing compared to the glory that will come someday.  And He reminded me that a few more days of anticipation -- a couple more weeks of waiting -- is nothing compared to the full story taking place here.

I am just part of the full story.
My daughter is just part of the full story.
I need to keep perspective.

It doesn't mean that I'm at complete peace again.
It just means... that God has heard my cry, and He has comforted me.
And I know that I wasn't meant to do it alone.  Any of it.

I’ve tried to stand my ground
I’ve tried to understand
but I can’t seem to find my faith again

like water on the sand
or grasping at the wind
I keep on falling short

please be my strength
please be my strength
'cause I don’t have anymore
I don’t have anymore

I’m looking for a place
that I can plant my faith
one thing I know for sure

I cannot create it
I cannot sustain it
It’s Your love that’s keeping me

Please be my strength…

at my final breath
I hope that I can say
I’ve fought the good fight of faith

I pray your glory shines
through this doubting heart of mine
so my world would know that You

You are my strength
You and You alone
You and You alone
Keep bringing me back home

Gungor, Please Be My Strength

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