When I think of every trial and hardship I have faced in my life, I am able to count at least one or two products of redemption that the trial grew into. Oaks of righteousness that have grown from seeds of suffering, a small forest of them from my short life. They have bored the words of Romans 8:28 into my soul, the hope for good, the heart-check of "do I truly love Him?", the waiting in anticipation.
But, honestly friends, there is one seed from which I have yet to see redemption grow. It started terrorizing my innocent 10 year-old self, who beforehand had no idea that sleep could be something so unattainable. A whole year of staring wide-eyed into the darkness. I realized at that age the loneliness of late hours while the rest of the house breathes in slumber. I prayed because they told me to pray. I was prayed over. I remember shifting from the futility of waking my parents each night to bearing the sleeplessness on my own. And at ten years old, I was forced to swallow the pill of insomnia, which leaves the throat sore as each hour passes and fades, as hopelessness grows and questions multiply.
It has never been as bad as it was in the fourth grade, and the sleeplessness faded out just as unexpectedly as it arrived. But it always found an excuse to return in small spurts. It sunk its teeth into my hormones and came at certain points of my cycle. It harassed me before giving my testimony at a women's retreat. And most recently, it has grabbed hold of my acute anxiety and thumps in my chest when I lay my head down. My most recent bout of insomnia has lasted the longest it has since I was 10.
I have yet to see anything grow from this except the amount of tears I have shed in those late hours, besides the surprise at the woman I become in those levels of exhaustion, besides the dread and the doubt that has stemmed from this.
I am ten years old all over again, asking the same questions I asked 15 years ago, feeling the same wet pillow, still counting the hours of sleep I'd get if I fell asleep right now...
I have pleaded for the rest promised to the weary. I have heard the advice from well-meaning friends and I have taken all of the pills, tried the oils, drank the tea, googled the questions, prayed and prayed until there is nothing but dry heaves of "please, please, please" that groan from my silent soul. I know now that these are not the answer. Why would the ceasing of suffering come from our striving? Suffering exists to reveal our lack of control. Do not let anyone tell you that your suffering will be fixed by changing your diet or your routine or the newest fad. Those things may help, but suffering is so painful because its purpose is to fill us with dread over the fact that we cannot control anything. We are at the mercy of something else, Someone else, and suffering calls us to surrender to something more sovereign than we've realized we are.
I am so tired.
And that is the only answer I have, that all I can do is cling to the One who is in control, though I don't know why He won't silence my anxious thoughts and give me the rest I feel so desperate for, though I don't know when [if?] I will see deliverance from this slavery of sleeplessness, though I fight anger and frustration and must remind myself that this is where I must trust that the good that is promised to the lovers of God must be planted so deep that I cannot recognize it or sense it. Fifteen years of not sensing it, it is wearing. Exhausting to surrender my "right" to know why. Guys, it doesn't feel like He is with me as I lay for hours, even though I plead for Him to help. There is no quiet whisper.
But whether I see the abundance tomorrow or in Glory, I will one day experience restoration. I will be redeemed. I will one day no longer be tired. And I know that if I was not following this God who doesn't fulfill all my wishes, I would not even have that hope at all.
I know that when we experience lack on earth, often God shows us how He fills that need. So while I wait, I will pray that He will give me the rest I need, whether through sleep or through resting in hope while I lay in somber silence.
But, honestly friends, there is one seed from which I have yet to see redemption grow. It started terrorizing my innocent 10 year-old self, who beforehand had no idea that sleep could be something so unattainable. A whole year of staring wide-eyed into the darkness. I realized at that age the loneliness of late hours while the rest of the house breathes in slumber. I prayed because they told me to pray. I was prayed over. I remember shifting from the futility of waking my parents each night to bearing the sleeplessness on my own. And at ten years old, I was forced to swallow the pill of insomnia, which leaves the throat sore as each hour passes and fades, as hopelessness grows and questions multiply.
It has never been as bad as it was in the fourth grade, and the sleeplessness faded out just as unexpectedly as it arrived. But it always found an excuse to return in small spurts. It sunk its teeth into my hormones and came at certain points of my cycle. It harassed me before giving my testimony at a women's retreat. And most recently, it has grabbed hold of my acute anxiety and thumps in my chest when I lay my head down. My most recent bout of insomnia has lasted the longest it has since I was 10.
I have yet to see anything grow from this except the amount of tears I have shed in those late hours, besides the surprise at the woman I become in those levels of exhaustion, besides the dread and the doubt that has stemmed from this.
I am ten years old all over again, asking the same questions I asked 15 years ago, feeling the same wet pillow, still counting the hours of sleep I'd get if I fell asleep right now...
I have pleaded for the rest promised to the weary. I have heard the advice from well-meaning friends and I have taken all of the pills, tried the oils, drank the tea, googled the questions, prayed and prayed until there is nothing but dry heaves of "please, please, please" that groan from my silent soul. I know now that these are not the answer. Why would the ceasing of suffering come from our striving? Suffering exists to reveal our lack of control. Do not let anyone tell you that your suffering will be fixed by changing your diet or your routine or the newest fad. Those things may help, but suffering is so painful because its purpose is to fill us with dread over the fact that we cannot control anything. We are at the mercy of something else, Someone else, and suffering calls us to surrender to something more sovereign than we've realized we are.
I am so tired.
And that is the only answer I have, that all I can do is cling to the One who is in control, though I don't know why He won't silence my anxious thoughts and give me the rest I feel so desperate for, though I don't know when [if?] I will see deliverance from this slavery of sleeplessness, though I fight anger and frustration and must remind myself that this is where I must trust that the good that is promised to the lovers of God must be planted so deep that I cannot recognize it or sense it. Fifteen years of not sensing it, it is wearing. Exhausting to surrender my "right" to know why. Guys, it doesn't feel like He is with me as I lay for hours, even though I plead for Him to help. There is no quiet whisper.
But whether I see the abundance tomorrow or in Glory, I will one day experience restoration. I will be redeemed. I will one day no longer be tired. And I know that if I was not following this God who doesn't fulfill all my wishes, I would not even have that hope at all.
I know that when we experience lack on earth, often God shows us how He fills that need. So while I wait, I will pray that He will give me the rest I need, whether through sleep or through resting in hope while I lay in somber silence.
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