I wish I could tell you that last night wasn’t horrible. That the migraine that had already wasted most of my yesterday had not just continued to build as the day crept forward.
I wish I could tell you that those extra pills I had taken right before bedtime had actually worked. Or that they’d even helped. Even a little bit.
That they hadn’t just knocked me out cold for three hours only to have me then awaken with the pain and queasies even more intense. I wish I could tell you that they had done more than just leave me feeling too loopy to get out of bed.
I wish I could tell you that it didn’t take me an hour of fantasizing about it before I could finally gather the strength to get up. Walk to the kitchen, Debi. Open the freezer. Wow, the light is so bright in there. Feel around on the top shelf. My migraine ice pack. It’s always right there, ready for my fumbling reach. I don’t even have to open my eyes to find it.
I wish I could tell you, after going through all that work, that the ice pack had helped. That its mere weight pressing down on my head hadn’t just intensified the pain. That the last thing I actually remember from the long, restless night was not me angrily pushing it off my head, onto the pillow. I wish I could tell you that it hadn’t then slid down between the headboard and the wall. All the way down to the floor.
I wish I could tell you that the headache was gone this morning. Or that it was even a little better. It’s not, my friends. I’m sorry … but it’s just not.
I wish I could tell you, as my wits have slowly started to return today, that I was able to just ride out the rest of this headache in privacy and solitude. I’ve been down this road many, many times before – I know that this will go away. It will.
And nobody needs to ever even know about it.
And … if you want me to be even more brutally honest, I wish that I didn’t feel so compelled to confess this whole thing to you. That I wasn’t sitting here right now struggling so hard to just make sense of these jumbled up, still slightly-dopey thoughts.
Because, darnit … after I hit the “publish” button, people will know about all this. And then everything is wide open for anyone to see. Every stinky little grammatically incorrect bit of it.
I don’t want you to think that I ever share any of this for pity. Or to make anyone worry. And I’m sure not trying to draw attention to myself by publicly whining about my ridiculous little woes.
My “little headache” doesn’t even begin to measure on the chart of comparison to what else is going on in the world right now. I totally get that.
But I tell you all this simply because this is my truth.
And … for some bizarre reason … I’ve been called to share it.
And … simply based on the fact that you’re here with me at this very moment … apparently you’ve also been led right here to read it, as well.
There’s something deep down within me that won’t leave me alone – it absolutely pokes and needles at me – because it thinks that you need to know it.
My story, that is.
That you deserve to know it.
Not the fluffy, pretty one.
But my stripped-bare, honest and raw story.
Yeah, that’s it.
That’s the one.
If you’ve been following “Growing Nurse Debi” for any time at all, then you know that I basically speak of finding beauty in your circumstances. Whatever they may be.
That somewhere deep within us … we all somehow possess the power to choose to do this. That’s pretty much my perpetual soapbox mantra. Just find the beauty.
Well … if you want to know my real truth from last night, in those hours of blinding darkness, I didn’t give even a single thought to choosing anything other than trying to stop my pain.
There was no beauty there in that pit.
And not even a thought of looking for any.
Honestly, I didn’t even care.
Just make it stop.
So, see … the thing I most wish I could tell you today is about how I clung tightly to our Father during my long, restless night.
That I was drawing infinite amounts of peace and comfort from all the faith I have in his omnipresent beauty and grace.
That I was dredging up from the depths of my heart all the blessings that I’ve learned and experienced in my many years as a follower of Jesus.
That the beauty from those memories was completely washing over my misery with the warmth of his healing.
I wish that I was sitting here today singing about all this to you.
That’s what I wish.
And that I would be doing it loudly.
And obviously with perfect pitch.
But … as we all know by now … this is not my truth today.
But it’s also not the entire story.
God was quick to remind me this morning that, even though I hadn’t given him a single thought through even a moment of that incredibly long night, he was still there, anyways. He never leaves or forsakes us, my friends.
And that, even though my mind was too preoccupied with pain to even remember to pray for help, this did not stop him from hearing the groans of my heart, anyways.
He’s reminded me once again today that, once you’re His, there is absolutely nothing that can ever separate any of us from his love. Not even for an instant. I can’t do it. You can’t do it. No matter what we do or even forget to do.
So this is why I open myself and share.
Not to weigh you down with my nonsense, but instead to lift and encourage you. By pointing straight to the grace and hope of God through what he’s done in my own very personal and particular story.
Through both the easiest and most difficult of days, God has never once failed to show himself to me. Even when I’ve so miserably failed to reach out to him. He strengthens me, anyways – pulling me ever closer to him.
My prayer for all this today is that somehow you’ll be nudged to notice God’s presence in both your light and in your darkness, as well. He’s there in both, my friends. He promises.
And that this will then fill you up to the overflowing so that you can’t help but turn and point someone else to your own hope, as well. Because you just never know who may be really needing to hear it. They may not even know it yet themselves.
Thanks for growing with me. ❤
“For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” (Romans 8:38-39)
“So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” (Isaiah 41:10)
“In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans. And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for God’s people in accordance with the will of God.” (Romans 8:26-27)
2 thoughts on “On wasted days and restless nights.”
When you have gone through such a maelstrom of pain, it heals your soul to be able to look back and see God was standing next to you. He truly didn’t leave.
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He never leaves, never forsakes. ❤️