Seems wakefulness is a curse of mine.
Well or ill, I lie sleepless—
Staring at the ceiling, checking the time, mind going…
Slow or fast, just going…
Tonight it is illness and a song that sings
Of Christ’s love for me and His arms
Open wide reaching for my company,
While all I can do is cough ceaselessly,
Longing for quiet rest.
Ah, Lord, I cannot understand either of us—
Your mysterious ways and my confused, willful ones.
I am tired…
Of circumstances, of uncertainties,
Of doctors and counselors and friends with advice,
Of responsibilities that keep me pushing on and on and on…
I miss the tangible sense of your presence that once I felt
And while I long to lay my burdens on you,
Somehow, I don’t know how any more.
Someone said the other day to let you carry me.
That, too, is beyond my abilities.
So, I sit here, pen in hand,
Trying to make sense of it all
In some vague hope that getting it on paper
Will bring me understanding
…Or at least momentary surcease.
This, I have come to know again—
Married or no, it has all come back to just you and me.

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