That's what the book said.
She. Stressed. Harried. Exhausted.
That's the reality.
She. The very word brings to mind so many roles, so many places and relationships in which she is supposed to be. Mother. Daughter. Wife. Friend. So many areas to fail.
The dishes aren't done, the dirty laundry is piled and the clean hasn't been put away, supper made the smoke alarm go off. The children have snot down to their chin and one has crayon fragments in her diaper while the other attacks the door like a tiger trying to get out of the cage she's been locked in all week. Out of touch with friends, not doing a good job at making new ones. Family in shambles. Spouse neglected and misunderstood.
She wonders if it's like this for everyone. If it's just her that's messed up this badly. If things will ever change.
The brown and desolate miles surrounding bear down into her very soul. And she weeps. She gives in and allows the gloom to spill forth, finally acknowledging that she's not okay. She's not as strong as she needs to be. She's not at home here, and she despairs of ever really finding home.
He makes me lie down in green pastures.
He leads me beside still waters.
He restores my soul.
She. Secure. Held. Embraced. In the love of her Father.
Written as part of a community of bloggers who gather on Fridays to write from a prompt word, without obsessing over perfection. Come be encouraged! Lisa Jo's blog.
Still on my kindle... hence my absence the last two weeks. Within a month... keyboard! I hope!