Grace In the Dark

I thrive with routine and structure, and have found great success in my daily checklists and being accountable to self. 20 minutes of Mandarin practice every day. Time studying the Bible every day. Work out on the bike 3x a week. Spend at least 10 minutes outside every day. Have a concentrated period of time engaging in play with the girls every day. Write four out of seven days. Post every Tuesday on our Seas of Pure Grace Website. And repeat. It has allowed me to be present, disciplined, physically and spiritually healthy, and emotionally connected. 

However, I need to be careful to not be so controlled by the routine that it cannot shift when needed. Sometimes the routine and accountability must give way to waves of grace. This has been very true these last 10 days. 

It has not been easy. My porphyria (family genetic disorder) flared up the worst it’s been in awhile. When I was in the very middle, it felt as if my body and mind had conspired to give up, and my weary heart was barely holding on. Exhaustion and anxiety were ever constant companions, allowing me only the ability to just do the next thing. A week later and the shadow is just now beginning to lift. I feel hope again; it is tentative, but present. 

I have had an opportunity each day to say “there is grace even for this” and to follow through with that grace by not allowing shame to overwhelm my sense of belonging and worth. Whether recognizing that my body was too weak to be on the exercise bike, or allowing myself space to process and grieve off of the page. Even last night when I had reached bedtime and had yet to publish my weekly post. My mom’s words that she prayed over me keep echoing: “Be gentle with yourself.” In other words, extend grace and kindness and understanding and tenderness to the one who needs it, and accept that that person is you. 

So here I am; the wounds of recent battle just now beginning to heal. I have no analogy or object lesson, no deep theological idea, no brilliantly creative prose. Just me. And the line that is going through my head is the simple chorus of a poem I wrote as a teen:

    “He tells me to come

    Kneel down at his feet

    For in him is rest

    And in the shelter of his wings

    Love and forgiveness are shown.”

Brokenness met with tenderness. From myself, but ultimately from my Father God. Be gentle as He is gentle. 

I don’t know what your week has held, or what shadows you feel as if you are walking under. Whatever it may be, be gentle with yourself friend. There is grace even for this.