Do you ever feel like you’re treading water? Struggling to stay afloat, to not be consumed by waves of despair, to fight the undertow of anguish that tugs at your heart and jeers you will never breathe joy?
That’s how I felt this week until, propelled by anger, I bobbed to the surface and blurted out the truth festering in my heart: I resent autism.
I resent the yelling and screaming and angst it causes my child. I resent that it makes me feel like a failure as a mother. I resent that it robs Jeff and me of time together, just the two of us. I resent that it makes me give more time to Jack than Kristen. I resent that it masks the beauty in my son and often makes me want to run from him, shouting and crying. I resent that the stress it causes has made me look permanently exhausted and aged beyond my years. And then, I resent my resentment.
When does this end, Lord?
Today as I join Him for our weekly cup of joe, I read these words:
“I will bless you,” says the God who comes to where you are. Who comes in the heaviness of the day, to the space where the weight hangs on the edges of you, so you just keep holding your breath, so you just keep forgetting to breathe. But the weight of everything melts like thinning snow in the heat of His words: “I will bless you.” He will not burden you. He will not break you. He will bless you – the God of invincible reliability, the God who has infinite resources, the God who is insistent love. You can always go ahead and breathe – He will bless. You can always breathe when you know all is grace.” Ann Voskamp, The Greatest Gift
I have to exhale resentment to breathe Joy. I have to breathe Joy to fill with Hope.