tired of this

i spent the better part of this late afternoon curled up on the couch.  i'd like to tell you that i was cozied up to the comfort of a blazing fire.  but alas, not today. for you see, we are out of wood.  winter has, officially, run just a little too long.  the two "ricks" of wood we ordered last fall have dwindled -- six months of winter will do that to the wood pile...to the woman as well.  dwindled.  that's how i feel today curled up near the cold of naked hearth.  no fire, no warmth...just winter.  we are in the midst of some kind of wicked storm on this 14th day of april -- an incredible mix of snow and sleet and rain. at the moment, our entire back wall of windows is being pelted with ice -- like great handfuls of marbles tossed upon the glass.  a-rat-a-tat-tat. it is unbelievable to hear, inconceivable to see.  it is april.  the weather can't seem to make up its mind:  one minute we have flurries and the next we have rain.  in between there is ice.  a-rat-a-tat-tat it taps and taps and taps.  the pounding, the pelting, the pulsating all in perfect staccato seeming to say: winter. winter. winter.  just won't go away.

i'm not going to lie, we're all a little tired of this.

and tomorrow's unappealing agenda isn't helping the ice-storm of today.  tomorrow morning i go back into surgery to remove another mass from my breast.  remember i had to do that last spring?  just one year after a double mastectomy in may of 2011 i had to head back in for another biopsy.  and this spring (i'm using that seasonal word loosely here) the scar tissue has come back.  again. and surgical removal is required. again. rat-a-tat-tat. a woman doesn't plan on annual surgical biopsies after she's had a bilateral mastectomy.  she just doesn't.  but we have to take out the mass and biopsy it one more time. we must. i'm not overly concerned about it.  my oncologist and surgeon are both pretty confident it is nothing but gnarly, miserable scar tissue, but because it's in the same spot as the original tumor, it is prudent to remove, test and be sure.  of course it is.  so back to the hospital.  back under anesthesia.  back on the operating table. back into the biopsy waiting game.

i'm not going to lie, we're all a little tired of this, too.

the weather.  the cancer.  both feel pretty darn yucky on this sunday evening as i stare out the darkening window, listening to the cold smack of weather against glass. fragile.

so, i guess what i want to know on this wild night is this:  what's your thing?  what's got you feeling weary tonight?  what's got you a little worn out this evening?

my guess is we've all got a little something.  something which wears us out...wears us thin...wears us all the way through.  what is tapping belligerently at the glass window of your life? rat-a-tat-tat. what is pelting you with fear and frustration on this april evening? rat-a-tat-tat.  perhaps you've got something you've been dealing with just a little bit longer than ever expected.  you thought you were done.  you thought it was over. but, somehow, in someway, it continues to gnaw or plague or pelt.

we all know it is in these worn out places which the devil wants to dwell.  he wants to climb right into our thoughts through the tired thread-bare holes in our head.  he wants to whisper his lies and make us believe the sky is falling.  rat-a-tat-tat.  he wants to pelt us with pain of hopelessness. rat-a-tat-tat.  he wants to weaken us with the weapon of fear.

don't let him.

don't give in to the weather or the cancer or the anxiety or the betrayal or the bitterness.

i know it seems hard right now.  i know it full well. i feel the terrible tired in my bones tonight, too.  but friend, i want to encourage you to find that sliver of hope.  you won't find it in yourself.  you won't find it in the forecast.  you won't find it in the results. you'll only find it in Him.

and if you're feeling at all like i am tonight, then it's time to go looking.

yesterday i snapped this picture of my boys down at our lake.  a small rim of water had finally melted after this half year of winter.  finally, we could see a thin sliver of open water.  it wasn't much,  but it was enough to send my boys to the basement in search of their kayaks.   and before i knew it, my two crazy sons had launched a kayak into this mere slice of stream -- like they were chasing spring.  like they were chasing hope.  it tickled me to see it.  to see them go looking for spring in the midst of the massive, frozen lake minnetonka with nothing more than a kayak and a good dose of boy-hope.

we're all a little tired of some stuff,  aren't we?  

but that's exactly the time to get into the boat.  find that small sliver in the worn out places of life and go looking for hope.

His Hope.

"but those who HOPE in the LORD 

will renew their strength. they will soar 

on wings like eagles;

they will run and not grow weary, 

they will walk and not be faint."

~ isaiah 40:31

one may go a long way after one is tired. ~ french proverb

* and a big shout out to the husband who in the middle of my writing this piece, braved the dreadful weather and headed out to the store...  for firewood!  we're back in business, my friends.  and it's a good thing.  rat-a-tat-tat!