I woke up this morning feeling just awful. Well, was woken up really, by my daughter who usually sleeps far later than I do. My daughter who probably hasn’t had enough sleep, but refuses to settle back into bed right now.
It’s been a stormy morning.
One of those mornings when nothing seems to go right and I’m just on edge. When I just want to curl up and hide and cry somewhere. When God feels impossibly far away. I hate this feeling.
So I attempted my morning journaling. Attempted to write it all out. Cue the tears.
I think I scared my daughter. She doesn’t like to see me cry. Me crying means something in her little world is very wrong. So she did what she so often does when she senses my upset. She came over to offer a hug and we snuggled for a bit. It helped.
Don’t get me wrong. I don’t depend on my child for my emotional support. She’s far too young for that burden. But sometimes a hug, a snuggle, a few words from her remind me of the true source of my support. Help to reconnect me to God and the support only He can offer me.
There’s a calm, a refreshing quiet, in the wake of the storm. But only by weathering the storm can I experience it.