I’m Sick of the Daily Bread

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I’m weary with waiting. It’s too much, Lord. How did the Israelites last 40 years in the desert? I am only 7 years in and my soul is parched. I feel lost. I feel sick of the same thing over and over again. I am wandering and I am hoping I will wander into the Promised Land; the Promised Land of breast milk and a honey of my own. But there is no end in sight. There is no timeline. Please God, please don’t make me wander for 40 years. Please Lord, please lead me there soon.

I’m just going to be honest, I’m sick of the daily bread, I’m sick of the manna, but I don’t necessarily want quail coming out of my nose either. I just want to be done this wandering. I know I’m being childish and whiney, but I dare you to try and wait for your heart’s desire for 7 years and not have a moment of weakness.

It’s not that I doubt God or His timing…but I doubt me. I doubt my ability to wait on Him. I doubt my physical and emotional strength to continue on. I am so fatigued with fighting.

How long, my Lord? How long until you remember me? How long until you fulfill your promise to your servant?

I had a dream the other night; I thought surely I must die. I was pregnant, at last. It was early on, I wasn’t really showing, but I was pregnant. I had spent hours cooing and singing to my little one snuggled safely in my womb. Then, pain…deep in my belly…and blood…I needed help, but the only person with me was Angie and she had just gotten out of the shower. She couldn’t find her towel or clothes. I crawled out of the bathroom to find help, and that’s when I started to scream. My body was in labor and it was trying to birth the child. My heart and mind fought my body; every contraction was a war between my physical being and my emotional being. I desperately tried to hold onto the child that was not ready for this outside world, but my body could not contain it and I began to push. The loss was too great. If I didn’t die from the physical pain I would surely die from the emotional pain. I gave one last scream knowing it would be my last and knowing my child would not even draw breath when it emerged, and then I woke shaking and drenched in sweat.

I felt like I’ve been in a stupor since then. My anxiety is high and my heart is fragile. Every phone call from an unknown number (I get at least two a day) I hope is a social worker telling me we have been matched. But every time it is not. And every time I want to drop to the floor and cry from exhaustion and waiting and loss. Where are you Scout? Where are you my dear child? I am searching for you.

I so desperately want to neatly tie this entry up with joyous worship and a bow. I don’t want you to be left feeling uncomfortable and as if you must encourage me or fix me. But I can’t. I can’t do it. I’m sorry; I don’t have the energy today. Today, I am simply in grief with the waiting. I can’t make excuses for my God, and I don’t want you to either. Just sit here with me, please. Feel the sorrow and exhaustion with me. Don’t leave me alone here, please just enter into it with me. I don’t need you to be miserable, I just need you to understand the spiritual and physical discomfort this grief brings. Not just from the sorrow, but mostly from the inability to make excuses for my God. If everything happens for a reason, what is the reason for this? I pray tomorrow I feel different, but today…today I am too tired to keep fighting.

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2 thoughts on “I’m Sick of the Daily Bread

  1. I’ve been thinking about you a lot over the past few weeks. I’m currently waiting for the doctor to call any day with the news of whether or not I have lymphoma. This waiting with no control over the situation is one of the most difficult things I’ve had to do in a long time. But I’m reminded that this kind of waiting is only a tiny taste of the waiting that you have endured. I pray that God will fill your heart with renewed strength during this time. He is often working behind the scenes for us in a big way, even when it isn’t apparent to us.

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