Come and Drink

The last couple weeks have been…for the lack of a better term…weird.  Running has been on a hiatus.  I have not been planning when and where to run, but rather when and where to stretch and which stretch will make me magically all better.

None have.

Don’t get me wrong, I am improving.  I did do a little running this weekend and I have much hope that soon I will be back to pounding out the miles.

In this two weeks, I have spent a lot of time begging God to bring the strength back to my leg.  But I realized today, I haven’t spent much time, if any, asking Him to be my strength.  To be my source of satisfaction.

This weekend really highlighted this for me.  I have been fighting against a desperate blanket of depression.  Despising the fact that I could not fix it with my running and worried the lowered meds wouldn’t be feasible long-term.

Thankfully the Lord reminded me that much of that depression is coming because the Ibuprofen I have been taking for the leg reduces the effectiveness of my primary bipolar medication.

Yet, even today, among some amazing time with Christian friends I adore, there was an emptiness, a hollowness.  I know a great deal of that is my inability to live in the moment and it is my overwhelming fear that I will screw up every single friendship I have and that maybe I don’t even actually have any friends, but that is a separate topic.  Tonight, I realized where that emptiness really is coming from.  I am not allowing the Lord to be my portion, I am not allowing the Lord to satisfy my desires.  Just as I realized that this verse popped up, literally, on my phone.

 Revelation 22:17 The Spirit and the bride say, “Come!” And let the one who hears say, “Come!” Let the one who is thirsty come; and let the one who wishes take the free gift of the water of life.

I want the water of life.  I want to draw close to Jesus.  I want to trust Him as I often forget to do.  I want to allow Jesus to walk with me, not just keep Him from afar in a boat, there to send me a life preserver when I realize I am drowning.  I want to allow Jesus to heal some of those hurts that make interacting with others so scary.

I said to a friend recently, “I don’t think anyone knows how broken I am.”  And that’s true.  It’s the gift and the curse of high-functioning depression.  I do everything I am supposed, I look normal.  I laugh and joke.  Thing is, hiding how broken you are–includes hiding it from yourself and God.  And, somehow, that needs to change. I don’t know how to reveal to God how broken I am and let him step into those broken places, but for once, I am going to start with acknowledging I have kept Him out–and pray it does not get worse before it gets better.

In my mind’s eye, I am envisioning a lot of struggle, but there may be nothing visible.  Maybe the Lord will just open His arms and say I have been waiting your whole life for you to acknowledge the broken and that will be it.  I don’t know, what I do know is I want my hunger and thirst to point me to the Lord, to point me to him.

 

Survive til you Thrive!

2 Responses to Come and Drink

  1. Love you, my friend. Your ability to share so clearly is important, for others and for you.

  2. Oh, how I love this. Yes, this is so exactly where I have been too. Love you, friend. Thank you for sharing this.

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