Back to Reality

You know the feeling... the "slump"... that you have from coming back from vacation?  The dragging yourself around to be productive because you now again have to?  The I-could-not-be-less motivated blues?

It's like you've been in this tiny bubble of bliss and then POP, it's gone.

We got home from an eight day vaca of glory last Sunday night.  It was the first time since our honeymoon that me and my hubby went away with just the two of us for more than a couple nights.  It was a celebration of our 5 year anniversary so that tells you we were definitely over-due for it.  It was fantastic!  This last Monday however, not so much. 

I began the dreary task of unpacking all of our never-ending junk that we had taken and the extra junk we got there and brought back.  I piled together our mountain of laundry and began the loads.  Despite my pre-vacation attempts to leave the house neat and clean for when we got back, all I saw now was grime and clutter.  I went to see what I could put together for brunch and was greeted with the Fridge of Death.  Don't ask me why I forgot to get rid of the already outdated milk before we left or why I felt the need to save spaghetti in there the whole time we were gone.  Yuch.

Then as I unpacked I began to realize the things we had forgotten and had unknowingly donated to the resort we had stayed at.  Sigh.

Amongst the joyous day back in reality were some awfully nagging thoughts and worries that I had been carrying with me for a while and had enjoyed my eight day break from.  Now, though, I felt the need to pick that burden back up, and as I worked around the house my mind worked on solving my problems.  Actually, nothing was solved.  That's the essence of worry-  fretting over things we can't solve. 

Around the worry circles went my mind... again, and again, and again. 

And as I was unpacking a glass and putting it into our kitchen cupboard I knocked it on the edge, and glass came shattering down around me like sharp rain.  At first I was utterly frustrated at breaking something we had so carefully packed and traveled with and it was only two inches away from survival.  Then I realized the red dripping down my face and the nausea hit. You see, I don't do blood.  Can't handle it.  So as I fought the nausea, I debated between looking in the mirror to see how bad it was and possible passing out or just waiting and seeing when the blood stopped.  As I debated and nearly vomited, I decided instead to just collapse on the floor.

And as I curled up in a ball with my head down to fight the dizziness, I started sobbing.

Not about the blood.

Not about the glass.

Not even about the fridge.

I started sobbing tears of complete frustration and sadness about the thing I kept worrying about.  And the sobs came harder and harder. 

I finally found myself where I needed to be.  And I stayed there for quite a while.  Sitting Indian-style next to my bed crying and pouring out my prayers to God.

I laid it all out there for Him- told Him how it was (in case He didn't know) and begged Him to move in this situation.  There I was vulnerable, weak, and hurting right before my Master.  And as I prayed and held a bloody paper towel to my face, my sobs decreased and His peace came. 

I now have the tiniest cut to the left of my right eye as a reminder to not worry nor forget the lesson I learned to pray instead.  I ended my prayer that day thanking God for that cut.  That broken glass was the last straw that snapped me out of my enslaved mind and gave me the freedom to let go and let Him.  Too bad it takes breaking things and feeling pain to get us to pay attention to Him...

Or is it?