I want this to end.
I can’t do this anymore!
I don’t want to go through this.
How much longer, God?
Why this?
Have you ever uttered these desperate pleas in prayer? I most certainly have. And even as I type the words, my memory drifts back to significant moments in my life where my cries fell at the feet of Jesus, and He mercifully met me with love, grace, and peace that surpassed my limited sight and understanding.
This past year has been the hardest season of my life. Circumstances beyond my control have caused me to feel, as Paul said, “…burdened beyond measure, above strength…” (2 Cor. 1:8). And through it all, the word that keeps coming into my heart and mind is “overcoming.”
The coffee mug slipped from her hands and shattered across the kitchen floor. Debbi stared at the brokenness scattered around her feet — a perfect picture of her life: everything was in pieces. She allowed the tears to come. It wasn’t about the mug; it felt like it was everything, all at once. The argument with her husband that morning. The mounting bills on the counter. Her mother’s declining health. The kids’ constant needs. The church commitments she’d said yes to when she should have said no. Her relationship with her best friend which now felt strained and broken.
“Annie, I’m really concerned about your dad’s low oxygen levels and his worsening, deep cough. At his age, there’s a real danger with pneumonia — something you want to get on top of quickly. And his heart failure is a delicate complication. My strong recommendation is that you take him in to the emergency room.”
“Annie, I’m really concerned about your dad’s low oxygen levels and his worsening, deep cough. At his age, there’s a real danger with pneumonia — something you want to get on top of quickly. And his heart failure is a delicate complication. My strong recommendation is that you take him in to the emergency room.”
Imagine for a moment that you’re in a workout class. You probably know the feeling — a hot room, a big whiteboard listing every brutal exercise you’re about to endure, and maybe a group of people beside you, sweating it out on the same journey. The intensity is high. Your strength is fading with each passing rep. You feel like you’ve given it all you’ve got, and you’re ready to call it quits and head home for the day.
It was a beautiful, early morning in June and the cheerful sounds of my one year old thump-thumping down the stairs caused me to cease my vain attempts at getting just a little more sleep. I would say I sat up and swung my feet over the edge of the bed, but the process of sitting up was arduous — I was seven months pregnant with twins, and the adjectives “slow” and “painful” applied to nearly every movement.
The season brought warmth, birds, and flowers, but I barely noticed the beauty and life around me. I was caught in a funk darker than the bleakest winter day. Physically, I had been sick with an infection I couldn’t shake. Spiritually, the enemy was assailing me through the bitter words of another. Emotionally, I was in turmoil because of the failing health of my husband.