Originally published 11/15
That is what it costs to get the vandals and Sophie fed on a chronically bad morning. And I just I had one. I’ll confess that I am chronically ill. Tomorrow I will chronically deny it and tell you I am fine. Today I admit it. Not as an excuse… It really is a bad day. I am, Chronically fatigued and chronically in pain.
Especially my left second toe.
It hurts so bad that I cannot bear for the sheets or socks to touch it. And I chronically wonder if I am alone. I chronically wonder if I can make it funny. And I chronically wonder if I will feel better tomorrow.
It isn’t funny. I chronically question why I am laughing.
And stupid Facebook, we have a love-hate relationship, chronic flashback notices. A flashback of my first half marathon. Sigh. I have traveled 1,000 miles in 5 years flat on my back. Well, four years. It was a year after that that I tore my calf muscle and plantar fasciitis. And that started my descent into… chronic.
Chronic steroid injections were the first culprit. But it doesn’t matter because here I am. Chronic. Chronically tired. Chronically weak. Chronically grumpy. Chronically chubby.
And I broke up with Americanized Jesus because He wouldn’t help me and then Real Jesus was like, “You need to get a grip and apologize.” And I was all “No.” And I did a small stint giving Buddha a shot but then I felt like I was starting to look like him, complete with chronic belly and chronic hair loss. And then just as quickly as I thought I was getting it… I realized I am chronically in love with Real Jesus. And I apologized for being a chronic pain in the butt.
And He chronically reminded me, “I never left…”
And I want to be chronically comfortable. Chronically fit. Chronically energized. I just am not. And it’s is cold out. I have the chronic metabolism of a Barbie, and the body temperature to match. I chronically dread the change of seasons. I am chronically told I don’t look sick? And then I get a chronic headache. And all I want to do is sleep and eat processed carbohydrates.
And the chronic circle continues.
And I feel chronically guilty because it’s not cancer, although at one point they thought it was. And I feel chronically sad that I chronically complain. And I am certain some days my family is tired of me.
And I have been to dozens of doctors and have chronic medical debt. I am chronically told, “Welcome to fat and forty!” Although, if they were listeners, they’d have heard the whole mess started when I was 38. I have sat in my car outside their offices and chronically cursed them.
So I’d love to have a little cheese with my chronic whine, but I can’t have dairy. And who wants cheese if you can’t have a cracker and I am chronically allergic to wheat. I am chronically told what to eat and what not to eat. It is chronically exhausting.
This much I hold true… Jesus is chronic. He is chronically consistent. He is chronically kind. He is chronically helpful. He is not hateful. He is chronically listening. He is chronically patient. He chronically heals. He is chronically wonderful.
I may not feel better, but He offers chronic resources. He fills in the gaps. His yoke is chronically easy, and His burden is chronically light.
In the midst of chronic abdominal cramping, He is near. In the chronically sleepless nights I call to Him. He chronically reminds me He is my hope.
Tomorrow might be better. I chronically pray it will be. But if it is not, He is enough.
I have friends who deal with chronic depression, chronic pain, and chronic illness. The rally is in our chronic God. He is the beginning and He is the end. There was no promise of life without chronic struggles.
As sure as our three-year-old will chronically say, “hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, wook at me…” 4,987 times today – My God’s mercies chronically reign new.
So I had a chronic meltdown because the song that was playing on my iPod when I finished my first half marathon, “I’m With You…” by Avril Lavigne, came on the radio an hour after my Facebook notice. I felt like a chronic failure. One who spends $8.65 on a chronically icky breakfast for her chronically wonderful babies. A chronic flood of memories of when boiled eggs and fresh fruit salad were all that I would feed my precious children for breakfast… on our way to homeschool track. Which we chronically attended.
And I chronically miss my son, who I chronically feel I failed. As I barked at Sophie to hurry and eat her donut so, we won’t be chronically late… I can hear “I’m with you…” in the background.
And they me see cry and chronically apologize. I am certain they will need chronic counseling.
I am chronically confident the counseling sessions will be short. I will go with them and readily admit it’s my fault.
And I will chronically strive to be better. I will chronically follow my strict regime. I will chronically blog. I will be chronically honest. I will chronically speak wellness. I will chronically believe. For this much I know…
He is chronically with me.
But He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weakness so that Christ’s power may rest on me. 2 Cor 12:9
May your floors be sticky and your calling ordained. Love, Jami