fragile

(For Audio Reading scroll to the bottom of this post)

Beloved,

It’s ok to not be ok.

I know it doesn’t feel ok, believe me, I know.

As the leaves begin to fall, so does my mood. I like this time of year and appreciate its beauty, but as the clouds start to close in, the days feel darker and my energy drops. I never want to admit just how close I live to the edge of not ok. Why do I want to appear better than I am? Is that the human condition? Some of my dearest relationships have come out of me saying, “I’m not ok.” Some of the best times I’ve had on this planet have been around the table, breaking bread with others who are willing to admit just how not ok they really are.

“I’m not ok.”

It was the end of August when we got home from our vacation. What had been a wonderful experience as a family was met with a sobering reality. Summer was coming to a close which meant school starting back again. Big life changes were about to happen in our home. Our oldest was heading off to college, our middle starting freshman year of high school, and our youngest moving into his big boy bed. None of me felt ready for any of it, and still it came.

I began to feel it in my body before I could articulate it. Headaches, fatigue, easily irritable, thoughts racing, chest tightening, and emotions at the surface. I saw an image in my mind of my feet standing at the edge of a cliff, my eyes peering over into a dark abyss below. I searched for a name for how I was feeling…

fragile

I don’t like that feeling. It feels so out of control. What I could really use is a hug, but instead I get frustrated and want to start pushing everyone away. I don’t want to admit (again) to myself or anyone else just how close I live to not being ok.

Does anyone else feel fragile, like no matter how hard you try to hold it together, at any moment you could break into a million pieces?

You are not alone.

Like the leaves changing color before they fall off the tree, so my world is changing before my eyes and I feel as if I could fall too. How much more fragile the leaves are this time of year, the slightest breeze and they could be swept away. How fragile I feel when big changes come, like a tsunami of emotion could swallow me whole.

How fragile I feel when big changes come, like a tsunami of emotion could swallow me whole.

I am learning that when I recognize my own fragility, instead of hiding behind a mask or building walls to keep others out, I can be vulnerable, I can let my true self be seen and connect deeply with a trusted someone. In those times, I need to reach out. I can be scared, but I must let someone know where I am.

I recently met with a dear friend who reminded me that it was ok to feel how I was feeling and understandable. She encouraged me to listen to my body and that parenting from my bed or the couch was ok. It felt good to talk to someone who understood. I looked at my calendar and made a plan. Energy wise I couldn’t do everything so I picked the things most important to me and said no to the rest. I noticed a difference in my body as I took these kind steps toward myself.

What if the fragile parts of us, the broken and easily broken, are the most beautiful parts of us? What if when we let those parts of us be seen, life happens, connection happens, deepening of relationships happen? What if we become less and less afraid to be seen, are willing to risk more and more letting ourselves be known, and we open ourselves up to receiving love in our fragile broken places?

How often do we marvel at things that are fragile? Like a newborn baby, a butterfly, or fallen leaves laying in an array of color on the ground. How kind are we to those who have just had surgery, broken a bone, or who are elderly and can’t get around as well? What would it look like if we were to marvel at our own fragileness?

Marvel:
– to be filled with wonder or astonishment
– intense surprise or interest
– Amazement
– Awe

Maybe “Not Ok” is not so bad. Maybe God is changing the way I see Him, myself, and the world around me when I feel this way. What if feeling fragile with my feet at the edge, alerted me to something more, to someone more? What if instead of looking down into the abyss, I looked around me for community and connection with others living at the edge?

Feeling fragile at the edge of Ok, I turn to my friend Jesus and I tell him how I feel,

Jesus, I feel fragile, and I don’t like it. I want to feel strong and put together, not weak and like I could fall apart at any moment.

He holds me as I lean into him, and he lets me tell him everything I am feeling. It doesn’t seem like he is surprised or in any hurry. When I look up and my eyes catch his, they are kind and understanding, they offer comfort and peace. He is not disturbed by what is happening around me or within me. He is the same yesterday, and today, and forever. He is my rock, my firm foundation, my refuge, my security. 

As I take my eyes off of the abyss below and lock them with my faithful companion, the edge begins to blur and I see a doorway that leads to greater intimacy and freedom with my best friend and Savior, Jesus. He is inviting me to more, to more than just ok. He is inviting me to more life with him, to truly LIVE from that place of abiding in him.

Abiding in Him, means staying with the one who is the same yesterday and today and forever. The one who came fragile as an infant, vulnerable and weak, as an example of how he wants us to come to him.