“I’m so exhausted and yet I feel like I’ll never sleep again. ”
I'm home again. Greeted by the same smell of my favorite candle, the same view of the park across the street, the same tumble weeds of pet hair that I left three weeks ago on the way to my mother-in-law's deathbed. Its all the same.
Except for me.
I find myself pacing the house in discontent, at once so completely desperate for rest and anxious for movement. Nothing feels right. Nothing IS right.
I can't help but wonder if something essential in the DNA of my life has mutated, as if the very chemical makeup of "me" has changed over the last year.
And perhaps it has - Death takes a heavy toll.
Here at the end of so many things - childhood, parenthood - I'm not sure how to begin again. Too old to go back and too young to go forward, I stand in the in-between.
My mom's voice crackles on the other end of the phone, "I am too tired to engage Hannah, I don't know how God can use me anymore."
I sigh, because I feel the same way. Bone weary. Soul weary. The kind of exhausted that comes after every resource has been depleted, the whole of your life poured out in tears.
"How can God use an empty, cracked vessel like me?"
The question hangs thick over the phone line.
And I think about funerals. About the day my dad died, the day my mother-in-law died. I think about the lines of well-wishers and mourners. The tears and the hugs and the never-quite-enough-words. I think about the blur of faces and the church pews and the sopping wet handkerchief in my hand. About the pictures and stories and songs. And I try to remember what meant the most to me, what brought me comfort in that darkest of moments.
The answer comes to me slowly, decisively.
It wasn't the cards, the sympathy, the flowers, the funeral itself. What brought me solace, what spoke to my fragmented soul, was solidarity. It was the people who showed up, who held my hand, who cried with me. It was their very presence, more than anything that they did or said, that acted as the hands and feet of Jesus.
I talk into the receiver, whisper truth into the heart of my mama and myself, push back against the fears and doubts of a broken down life.
"Sometimes engagement in the Kingdom of God looks like just showing up."
This is freedom my friends - to recognize that God's presence is present in those who just show up.
“You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden. Nor do people light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a stand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others...”
Once a candle is lit, it doesn't have to work to push back the darkness. Once the Spirit of God is within you, you carry His light wherever you go. You are the light of the world and no fatigue, loss, brokenness or exhaustion can stifle the flame.
So when you feel as though you have nothing left to give, like your life is a wash, like you don't know what to do or how to engage with the world, remember this:
Your presence has power because it is consumed by the flame of God. Like a scented candle, you give off the light of heaven and the fragrance of salvation.
“In the Messiah, in Christ, God leads us from place to place in one perpetual victory parade. Through us, he brings knowledge of Christ. Everywhere we go, people breathe in the exquisite fragrance. Because of Christ, we give off a sweet scent rising to God, which is recognized by those on the way of salvation—an aroma redolent with life. ”
Everywhere you go, every time you show up, you bring with you the aroma, the light, of life.
Dear Heart - he is not finished with you yet.