Today, I don't feel like pacifying my disquietude by musing over the higher good that stillness is supposed to bring. I said my prayers this morning. I see the blessing of having more time to spend with God, but I can't help but feel that this sort of lifestyle should be reserved for those who are in their last days of life, not for a lady who should be in the prime of her existence.
Would you play me a violin tune? Can I have some whine with my cheese?
But why should I have to be strong all the time? Is there any room for grieving the life I have lost? If so, how can I do that and yet accept what is?
Sometimes I think I can win against God's design for my life by rebelling against this illness and refusing to find peace in it. Like a child who holds her breath until she turns blue because Daddy won't give her a lolly, I think that I can somehow punish my creator by refusing to accept this stinking Lyme lot. Of course, in the end, it hurts only me, and gets me no further along the healing path.
God may want me healed in the fastest manner possible, but why do I have this dark premonition that doing so requires me to first be OK with things as they are? Do I fear that embracing a life void of recreation will resign me to it?
The battle rages on. You may notice that my posts are paradoxical. I'm not a hypocrite but my thoughts are divided by the whims of my biochemistry, my broken nature and my relationship with God. Some days, my mind is in the right place, but on others, I lollygag in the tar pit because it's nice and cool there, and the higher road just feels too high.
I guess I could find a nice book and sit out in the sunshine. It would be some kind of compromise that would help me to put the self-inflicted whine and cheese party to rest, as it dresses up the monotony of a routine that seldom changes.
Yes, I feel fortunate to have seen the world. But it is a painful life to lose. It's OK; I think today I'll just be sad for what I've lost.