Rarely do I tell myself or you, my reader friends what to do.
And I woke to find my bible as my pillow, drool and sweat from my sleep deprived brow, forever ruining Psalm 34. I tried reciting scripture over and over and over in the hopes of achieving some peace under the low limbo pole.
I know how low the limbo pole is and I also know, I am not an actress. For just a few minutes as I recite scriptures, I look truly peaceful. The point is I ended up watching my Facebook live videos, something I rarely if never do. Negotiating fair trade and equal pay for the lonely, depressed, and life in libo day sleepers, right after I wake up. If napping were a vocation, I would be the boss, advancing quickly in the ranks to CEO. Unable to sleep by night, I have succumbed to some wickedly powerful naps. Wait, the Sunday nap has been frequent, also on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and twice on Saturday. I like Thai food, chips and salsa, and Hot Yoga (well, wait, I like being done with hot yoga.) Pilates, spin, and swimming are my favorites, also, Zumba and the Sunday nap, but I confess, I haven’t done much of those things lately. I am a lot of things.Ĭhubby, weary, tall, busty, compassionate, obstinate, and a wordsmith. And last night as I tossed and turned, shadow dancing the current crisis, I finally gave up and began scrolling through my cyber life. However, the Word, when I read it out loud does something to me.Įvery morning for the past few months I have logged in online and clicked on my Facebook and then created a live video about a particular scripture for each particular week. Christianese and happy platitudes aside, I find it most comforting to admit, they aren’t helping. And He, Jesus that is, is wholly invested in all the things that have me weighed down, trying to maneuver my size 14 butt under and impossibly low limbo pole. Click on that… wait, I mean, “Jesus loves you.” And, He does. Those are the actual thoughts that pop in my head, and here is the place I resolve them. Hateful critics call it clickbait, but that’s just because they don’t know me. So when I sit down to write, it usually starts with a title. I replaced the “cook dinner” energy into “order pizza online” energy, and traded straight up for, “write a blog post about life in limbo” energy.īy now you must have gleaned the knowledge, “she is blogging for herself more than for us.” Guilty as charged. In fact, the energy it took for me to sit down and write this is energy I robbed from the children. I will not lie to you, I am discouraged. And once again, the tunnel is further than it’s ever been and miles from where it was just a few moments ago. Then, suddenly, without much warning the whistle blows and a heavy steam engine slams into me head on… I am fully coherent to the fact that the light was just another speeding locomotive. “How low can you go? How low can you go?” It seems as though the light at the end of the tunnel is getting brighter, more clear. You know, I have had the limbo song stuck in my head for days now. I know many of you reading this will identify, we are in the same boat.Ī life in limbo, collecting remnants of hope, wearily trying to stay steady under an impossibly low limbo pole.
Alas, I am run down, worn out, and hung up to dry. Then I hold my breath in anticipation for the bar to be raised and I will walk upright, even if just for a moment. I diligently highlight all the Good News in the Good Book. Yes, the choir hymns encourage, “don’t worry be happy,” and reference the scripture line and verse. I just left them at the vet to be dipped in a sulfur solution to kill a fungus. And no, I haven’t buried a loved one, and all my cats and children are in fairly good health. My life has been in limbo for an exceedingly long period of time. Christian Life in Limbo: How Low Can I Go? REALLY LOW
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