Too Tired To Dance

On Sunday mornings especially, when my are ears full and my head echoing with the soaring beauty of music and songs praising the greatness of God, or a sermon reminding of His mercy and kindness and matchless glory, I sit quiet and respectful on the pew while my heart nearly bursts with gladness, only longing to run away into the woods, find a tiny clearing, and dance with all my strength where only the sparrows, the crickets, and the Lord are watching.

Sometimes when the answer comes to a desperate prayer, when a lost soul comes home, or when a thunderstorm sweeps in with it's power of swirling wind and silver rain (to me for some reason God always feels physically closer in thunderstorms), my heart fills up and swells so big and tight inside me that nothing will relieve the pressure of praise but to dance - to pound (preferably barefoot) into the grass with my flying feet, rising on my toes, lifting my hands, ducking, twirling, flying out in joy and gratefulness and praise, while my clothes whip around me, the rain runs down my face, my soul breathes, and my mind sings, in a perfect voice, a song that only He and I can hear.

Then there are times when, no matter how grateful I am to Him, no matter how glad because of His presence, His beauty, His provision, or His kindness, I go outside and simply stand, looking at the sky. My heart is full, but it is quiet. I am physically empty.

My family lives with The Grandfather, who is handicapped and completely dependent on us. My spirit aches for him in his helplessness and grateful humility. My spirit weeps for my mom and dad who are The Grandfather's primary care-givers, and both worn thin. Even with the aide who comes in and helps occasionally, Mom is worn down under the constant grind and the lack of reprieve, but she is always patient and doesn't complain. Dad has his job, is trying to get a building project completed alone, and is having some mysterious health trouble, but is present to help and do the heaviest tasks as much as he can. My spirit goes out to Trissy who is weighed down with college classes and assignments, and trying to help alleviate mom's load as much as possible, but she keeps a constant cheerfulness and a servant's spirit.

My spirit weeps almost constantly. And sometimes my eyes too.

I am immersed in my full-time job at the academy. I love my job, but it can be physically and mentally demanding at times. I'm the secretary of course, but I'm also the school nurse, the school photographer, I sub/fill in in classrooms (sometimes with only a few minutes' notice), run a multitudinous variety of errands, our PA system is in the works so I'm the human message-carrier, I run the 'snack shop', am half the lunchroom staff, still do after-school, keep the principal's coffee cup full, etc. etc. I get back to the house tired, but there is plenty to do still to help try to alleviate the burdens of the folks at home.

My body (especially my feet, back, and head) hurts almost constantly. And sometimes my mind too.

Friday afternoon as school was getting ready to let out, a parent came in and kindly asked if I was hot - it was a very warm day and I was hurrying to get the last of my work done before ringing the bell and beginning to put kids in the cars in the pick-up line. I smiled and shook my head, 'No ma'am, I'm actually not that hot, just a little... warm, and tired.'
She nodded emphatically. 'Yes, I understand exactly. Worn - that is a great word for it.'
I realized she had misunderstood what I had said, but then I realized it was still the truth. I was worn.

Worn. Worn.

So. Between sadness, mental exhaustion, and physical emptiness, I often find myself lifting my face with tears threatening, and inwardly crying to the Lord, "Oh God! I have no strength!"

The next thought that comes to me is usually one of about three. Sometimes the verse, "He that is faithful in that which is least is faithful also in much:..." (Luke 16:10) picks me up and helps me keep going - for oh how I want to be faithful!

Or, the thought that my 'load' is nothing compared to so many others'. Then the verse, "If thou faint in the day of adversity, thy strength is small." (Proverbs 24:10). And I feel ashamed of my weakness. But then I am comforted by, "...the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak...." (Matthew 26:41).

But when I am especially tired and spent (which, I must admit, is most often), after first crying to Him, I hear a little frowning voice quote, "If thou faint in the day of adversity, thy strength is small." and my soul cries out even more desperately, 'I know! My strength is small!' But then, so tenderly, "I hear the Savior say, 'Thy strength indeed is small. Child of weakness, watch and pray. Find in Me thine all in all."
I'm still tired. I'm still worn. My strength is still small. But I lean hard on Him, and the same One Whose face smiles at my dancing holds me while I weep.

He loves me the same when I'm soaring as when I'm too tired to dance.