I got home very late last night. Knees buckled. Lungs exhaled. Body collapsed on the bed. Andrea, who was laying there asked, "What's wrong?" 

"I have nothing left." I whispered. "I'm spent." 

She put her hand on my head, tousled my hair (or lack thereof), hugged me, and said, "It will get better. You just have a lot going on right now. Just keep doing what you're doing. You're making progress."

Of course that's the kind of answer we all hate to hear (especially from a woman who is 32 weeks pregnant and working full time) but she's right. 

I responded to her by groaning, throwing the pillow over my head, and drifting off into dreamland in my shirt, shoes, and jeans.


Or was it a win?

As odd as it sounds, it was such a relief to admit my defeat out loud: "I'm exhausted. I have nothing left." It had been mounting for days. I didn't want to admit it, but it had. 



I would like to think that life is a formula that I will figure out some day soon. I've come really close a few times over the years, but just when I think I'm finally seeing the predictable pattern, the universe throws me a curve ball.

I suppose we are in process…. always.

This is grace. We may think it's God harming us, when in fact he is lovingly prying us from the all too familiar sin of "self-reliance." We are here to learn many things, but near the top of the list is learning that we need God and we need each other. 

This will never change. It is hardwired into us as people.

The Apostle Paul said it this way,

If we can start to open our hearts to this, we'll see these seasons that overwhelm us as gifts. Maybe not in the moment, but we will certainly see it in hindsight. Though these seasons feel weighty and draining, God is using them to get us to a place in our faith where we are able to genuinely admit, "I can't do this without you God, and I can't do this without community."

That can just be something we say, or something we actually live.

I pray we embrace the latter. 

If you're hurting today- if you're overwhelmed today- break the silence. Tell someone you trust. They likely see it already anyway. Tell God about it, too. He knows. Neither are alarmed. Those who know us best know that we are human.