Tuesday, February 4, 2014

be Real with me

i see you sigh when the new day dawns.

pulling the covers back over your head and lingering a little longer underneath the warmth, i can see how you hesitate to step your feet out and begin a day again.

life feels heavy sometimes. the days are burdensome with all their responsibility and such. 

you carry these immense expectations of ourselves and others, and it's just so hard to make everyone do what you think they should do.

     (why, oh, why can't they just do what they know is right?!)

you know you can't control and really, that isn't your plan. yet, you feel compelled to help and guide, and it aches so much to see everyone so reckless and seemingly mindless.

surrendering their care feels a little bit like carelessness on your behalf. it makes you squirm inside and think maybe you are being irresponsible with your influence.

you're entitled to feel what you feel and think what you think.

taking your foot off the gas and pulling over to take a break in the day feels a little bit like playing hooky and you worry about causing more of a distraction than creating good, hearty discipline. flittering about in fun is good, just not all the time.

your heart really wants the best for all of us, i get that. we have work to do that requires order and structure, focus and attention, and so . . .

     when he doesn't seem to remember all that together you put into yesterday . . .

     and when she seems to have forgotten the simplest reminder . . .

     and we all seem to be too carefree . . .

i get that you sometimes just want to scream: doesn't anyone care but me?!

whimsy is our way, though i see it isn't yours. you have a more organized way to each day. we need you, just as you need us -- whether we each know it or not. 

and so, i'm praying because that's what i know how to do. 

     i'm praying your grip will be loosened . . .

     i'm praying for your willingness to let us be us will be widened . . .

     i'm praying we won't dismiss you and your ever loving heart . . .

     i'm praying we pay attention more to the details and not scrimp on being responsible . . .

     and i pray we all learn to live our days barefoot and frantic-free.

let's hold each other up today. 
let's let each other be, as we are -- fully and free. 

i'll appreciate you for you. and him for him.

and let me back up to say that i first appreciate me for me.
     (which, as you know, is truly no small thing.)

i'll step into the me that i am and invite you to do the same for you. 

when you sigh as the new day begins, i'll not ridicule you for not being happy-clappy sunshine-face mister-ready-for-the-day. i'll let you be and trust that you'll find your way.

and when i'm struggling to get my popcorn-brain thoughts to settle down, will you let me be as I am, too?

will you hold me and remind me that we each have our struggles? will you just let the quiet be between us without making me feel less than and you feel more than?

remind me that we all have days that make us sigh.

     days that make us want to scream . . .

     days that make us want to stand on our heads . . .

          or spin the plates wildly . . .

          or simply want to humph and sit in the sun.

because, i forget sometimes that i'm not the only one who gets lost on any random day that ends in y. and i forget sometimes that we're all allowed to have moments when we want to run back in bed or frankly, run right away.

when i see you sigh, as much as i sometimes want to rebuke you or fix you, i need to see your real.

i need to be reminded that grown men cry and hurt and get discouraged, and that big girls can cry, too.

i need to be reminded that we don't have it all together all the time, and we can't be all things to everyone without coming apart a little at the seams.

i need to see you are Real

so sigh on, my dear. the days are heavy to bare.

i can't promise you today will be any better than the other day, or that everything today will be okay.

what i can do is accept that you have feelings and you are human.

     i can climb into bed with you and pull the covers over our heads . . .

     i can hold you and sigh right along with you . . .

     i can take your hand and stay with you through this uncertain and brand new day.

this is my worship. 

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