One Hundred Days with Hashimoto’s. Day 13: The difficult road

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August 2016.  I pull the car over to catch the contrast: just how close can the uphill journey bring me to the sky?

Steep, dark and unknown.  I feel around in blackness trying to make my way one step further and upward.  Steep.  Dark.  Unknown.  One stride forward, I place my foot on the next inch of rocky incline, hunched over so as to catch my balance with lowered hands.  Another stubbed toe.  Dang it.  A skinned knee.  Just keep going.  I’m looking for that place I used to be.  It’s got to be here somewhere.  Instead, around and around in circles, I keep walking and stumbling.  But I want to go up!  Searching for that place I remember, near the clouds and colors in the sky.  I could touch it.  Because I remember feeling so vibrant beyond this darkness, at the summit, when every thing didn’t ache or cause an ache.  When I was weightless next to the colors of the sinking sun.

Today is a down-day.  Working through pain, and what other people might find to be normal activities, I get discouraged.  This is one of those days.  No one is here to lean my head on their strong shoulder, or to cup my face in tender palms and reassure me.  No friends dropping by for company and to sit with coffee.  A hardworking husband is out earning his pay and I stay here serving, giving, offering myself to the little ones who depend on me.  In those solitary moments, I remind myself (and am reminding myself as I type) to not get pulled down that swirling drain to the abyss of stinkin’ thinkin’.

As I pour out to others, Lord I call on your name for help.  I need you.  Fill me up.  Only you can.  Amen.

I lift my eyes up to the mountains-where does my help come from?  My help comes from the LORD, the Maker of heaven and earth. -Psalm 121: 1-2

Here where the earth meets the heaven, where darkness meet illumination, I’m reaching up.

Xoxo,

Jessica

 

 

 

2 thoughts on “One Hundred Days with Hashimoto’s. Day 13: The difficult road

  1. This is sad. It makes me realize that with four children and your new diagnosis that it is overwhelming at times. The guilt overwhelmes me not knowing the extent of your need. I love you, God is your ultimate physical and mental healer.

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