Sometimes I wake up in the morning and roll over. I don’t bounce out of bed to workout. I don’t cheerfully kiss my husband and make his coffee(okay that actually never happens—for various reasons). I don’t greet my children with a sonnet. I don’t sing in the shower. Plainly speaking, some mornings suck.
This morning was one of those mornings. I ate too many raisins last night and had a hangover. Now you can laugh, but I do actually get raisin hangovers. Too much sugar of any kind makes my body wonky, or more aptly described, cranky as a dark, hot and smoky place. And so I laid there in bed with my black and twisty thoughts as I wondered what the point of it all is. Why bother to eat healthy? Why bother to exercise? For that matter, why bother to go to work? Why bother to make money so I can pay the mortgage? It’s meaningless. All of it. And truthfully, I’m just tired of the merry-go-round. I want to stay in bed. I want to get off.
I stumbled grumpily down the hall and into the kitchen to make tea when I heard the shuffle of little feet behind me. The high-pitched whine of a dejected child was my first indication that I was not alone in my unhappy land. Suddenly, I found said child wrapped around my waist, shaking and sobbing. He said, “Mommy! I had a bad dream.” And I thought, I really don’t have the time or patience for this, but I’m his mom and I need to show up. Because dreams about killer clowns that are on fire and still chasing you surely call for some kind of positive intervention. And since I was once a child with vivid nightmares(and an adult who still suffers from them occasionally) I knew how important it was for me to set aside my woes and speak life into my little boy. Whether I felt like it or not. Because that’s what mom’s do.
But as I drove to work my brain was churning. I was thinking about life and living, and how doggone tiring it is. I thought about the struggle to survive and the longing to thrive. How we end up working so we can eat, but that same work can leave us feeling like we are dying inside. And then at night we try to rest only to be tormented with nightmares because our harried brain is still trying to process the nightmare of everyday living.
I write this from suburban America. From my cushy home with indoor plumbing. From a sturdy chair I bought at Wal-Mart. With clean skin and no physical evidence of deadly pestilence. Shouldn’t I be dancing in the streets? Why do I wake up with this feeling of meaninglessness?
In 1979 The Clash released a song called, “Lost in the Supermarket”. Joe Strummer gave voice to this longing for meaning. “The kids in the halls and the pipes in the walls make me noises for company. Long distance callers make long distance calls and the silence makes me lonely.”
I don’t think I’m very different in my longings. I tried to sate my palate with food, but I was still hungry—hungry for meaning—and once morbidly obese, hungry for hope to be free of the extra weight. Once I lost the weight, I found I was still hungry. I began to feel this hunger to validate my journey. I wanted my struggle to have a purpose. I felt a need to be known for more than just the shape and size of my body. Because I feel like I am more than what I look like. I am a soul in possession of a body not the other way around.
“Thieves in the temple. Eve and the apple. Everybody’s twisted baby, trying to fit.” – Matt Nathanson
So on mornings like today when I feel empty inside—when I feel the need to reach for the donuts or ice cream or cookies to stop the noise that makes me feel lonely, I pause as I look for an answer. The cookies and ice cream are a symptom—a distraction if you will—of the real problem. I wish nightmares only happened at night. 
I wish killer clowns weren’t real. Deep down I wish I had someone to hold me and tell me that one day everything is going to be okay. Because the idea that my life has no meaning, that my suffering is not valid or that it is random and purposeless does not comfort me. I want to know that not only is evil real, but that there is a cure. I see evil all around me, but I also see it in my own fractured and self-seeking heart. I no longer want to walk through life blissfully unaware of my self-destructive nature. I want to face up to it and see it fixed. I want to be healed of my brokenness. I want to see others healed of theirs. I want an answer to the problem of evil of and suffering. And I want it right now.
Psalm 46
God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear though the earth gives way,
Though the mountains be moved into the heart of the sea,
Though its waters roar and foam,
Though the mountains tremble at its swelling.
The Lord of hosts is with us;
The God of Jacob is our fortress.
Be still and know that I am God.
I clung to my little boy this morning. I prayed over him. And then I left him to face the cold and cruel world alone. Sure, there are teachers. There is a bus driver. There are other adults who would try to protect him. But there is also a cacophony of noise clamoring to distract him from the truth. And the truth—as I shared it with him this morning—is this: You are uniquely created and precious to me. I love you. You are beautiful and brave. And though I can’t be with you, God is. And God is bigger and better than me. And he loves you even more than I do. Because of that, you are safe.
And I took a mental picture of his innocent face. His slack-jawed smile and his wide open eyes reminded me how I must look to my father in heaven when I take my bad dreams to him and He tells me I am safe.
He is the conquering King. Death is dead. He killed it once and for all on the cross. His death gives my life meaning. For today, tomorrow and even after I am gone. I am loved. And if you are reading this, so are you.
❤️