I’ve been in a funk for awhile now. It mainly impacts my motivation to get the little things done…the laundry and the dishes and the making-dinner-kind-of-things.
The thing with a funk is that it is hard to pinpoint. I’m not completely depressed, or completely overwhelmed, or even just completely sad.
I think a funk has a touch of all those things. Plus tiredness. And mopiness (how on earth do you spell that?!)
Maybe, possibly, this is because I’ve heard of so many little ones lately who are struggling simply to survive. To live through the weeks of infancy.
There is Andrew who was waiting for heart. He received the heart transplant, but now struggles to get the kidneys back in line and the heart beating to the right rhythm. I can’t imagine the stress of his journey on his family.
There is Asher….he was born with his intestines forming on the outside of his body. He had one AMAZING surgery and seemed to be growing and doing well. But now, at just 5 months old, he has been diagnosed with leukemia.
Baby Pearl was mentioned in our prayers this morning at church….that God would be gracious however many days she has.
There are many more in the list of people who need our prayers, who are struggling through the days with mind-numbing illnesses and pains and fears and struggles.
The funk settles in.
I think, as well, my mom’s dementia impacts me more than I want to admit. There is that sense that if we begin to weep or mourn or allow the fullness of the situation to impact us that we won’t be able to stop. And we have to stop because there is laundry to do and dishes and making-dinner-kinds-of-things.
That is why my Dad amazes me…because he never gets a break from the situation, and for the most part he wouldn’t want one. There are times it is frustrating, and times he is glad to go to the office, but for the most part he wants to be with Mom because he loves her. Even though it is overwhelming sometimes and sometimes it just flat hurts.
I think I am beginning to understand that the funk settles in when the needs around us are overwhelming and we don’t allow ourselves the freedom to feel. To mourn. To weep even though it may be hard to stop. Because, I think, we are meant to feel the weight of our brokenness and to know that we need to help. We need to not run from it.
We need to declare that this is not right, this is not what we are meant for….this brokenness is….broken.
There is something deep in us that knows that there is something more whole, more beautiful, more full, more pure, more life-filling than anything we can imagine…and we long for it when we are faced with babies whose intestines are on the outside or whose hearts don’t work right. Or when we are faced with strong, amazing, beautiful, wise women who don’t know that the baby in their arms is their grand-daughter…the only daughter of their only daughter….
And it’s okay to feel funky on Monday. But maybe we need to let ourselves feel more than funky so we can move to feeling the impact of a God who saves us from the brokenness and who will make all things new.