late-night feasting on truth
If I started every blog apologizing for how long it's been since the last blog, you'd probably all hate me. Oh wait, I'm already doing that. That's alright, let's move on, okay?
Nothing is quite noteworthy besides the fact that I finally get warm running weather, I have my maxi skirt back from our apartment, I now follow more food Instagram accounts than people ones, and am really getting into James Taylor. We were on the road all last week and so our diet consisted mainly of trail mix and Caribou coffee (sorry haters, we were up north). Oh and we also have kind of have two announcements but we can't say until our prayer letters have reached our supporters (hate that I have to clarify this, but it's NOT a baby).
Fine, I'll tell you one of them: Jon and I are extremely close to perfecting our biscuits & gravy recipe!
The wind is warm and soothing, and our roommates (AKA the people who let us live with them while we finish up support raising) haven't turned on the AC, so here I sit in this blissfully warm, open home, while my husband and I take a few minutes of alone time (necessary when you're together 24/7).
Sleep has been difficult the past few weeks, and though random bouts of insomnia have been my personal thorn in the side since 4th grade, I have in no way learned how to handle sleeplessness well. Essentially, by 3 am, I have moved past negotiating with God (I will stop eating food off my husband's plate when he isn't looking!) and am reduced to saying the words "Please God please God please God" over and over again while tears stream down my temples into my hair, pounding the mattress with my bitter fist.
Sometimes, when I'm feeling ultra-spiritual, I just pray for God to give me comfort, trust, and patience while I lay there blankly, but those feelings never come. Since fourth grade, I've never felt joy or comfort while I lay in bed for hours, worsened now by my husband's ability to fall asleep within seconds. Quite frankly, all I feel is bitterness.
Desperate, I began clinging. Starved of spiritual feelings, I decided to engorge myself with truth. "God works all things (yes, He works THIS!) for the good of those who love Him, nothing is without purpose, He is near to the brokenhearted and downtrodden, He is able to sympathize with my weakness, this problem awakens me to the reality that this world is not my home, His mercies are new each morning (hallelujah because my mercies sure won't be new tomorrow morning), He gives power to the weak, and strength to the powerless..." on and on I went. I didn't stop. Every truth I knew about my Father and His plans for me, I doused upon myself.
It was the most comforted I'd ever been. Rather than flimsy feelings sifting through my fingers as the clock ticked on, steady truth held me until I finally drifted off. Praise Him.
Nothing is quite noteworthy besides the fact that I finally get warm running weather, I have my maxi skirt back from our apartment, I now follow more food Instagram accounts than people ones, and am really getting into James Taylor. We were on the road all last week and so our diet consisted mainly of trail mix and Caribou coffee (sorry haters, we were up north). Oh and we also have kind of have two announcements but we can't say until our prayer letters have reached our supporters (hate that I have to clarify this, but it's NOT a baby).
Fine, I'll tell you one of them: Jon and I are extremely close to perfecting our biscuits & gravy recipe!
The wind is warm and soothing, and our roommates (AKA the people who let us live with them while we finish up support raising) haven't turned on the AC, so here I sit in this blissfully warm, open home, while my husband and I take a few minutes of alone time (necessary when you're together 24/7).
Sleep has been difficult the past few weeks, and though random bouts of insomnia have been my personal thorn in the side since 4th grade, I have in no way learned how to handle sleeplessness well. Essentially, by 3 am, I have moved past negotiating with God (I will stop eating food off my husband's plate when he isn't looking!) and am reduced to saying the words "Please God please God please God" over and over again while tears stream down my temples into my hair, pounding the mattress with my bitter fist.
Sometimes, when I'm feeling ultra-spiritual, I just pray for God to give me comfort, trust, and patience while I lay there blankly, but those feelings never come. Since fourth grade, I've never felt joy or comfort while I lay in bed for hours, worsened now by my husband's ability to fall asleep within seconds. Quite frankly, all I feel is bitterness.
Desperate, I began clinging. Starved of spiritual feelings, I decided to engorge myself with truth. "God works all things (yes, He works THIS!) for the good of those who love Him, nothing is without purpose, He is near to the brokenhearted and downtrodden, He is able to sympathize with my weakness, this problem awakens me to the reality that this world is not my home, His mercies are new each morning (hallelujah because my mercies sure won't be new tomorrow morning), He gives power to the weak, and strength to the powerless..." on and on I went. I didn't stop. Every truth I knew about my Father and His plans for me, I doused upon myself.
It was the most comforted I'd ever been. Rather than flimsy feelings sifting through my fingers as the clock ticked on, steady truth held me until I finally drifted off. Praise Him.
Comments
Post a Comment