I woke up at 4 a.m. this morning fully awake and unable to get back to sleep. We are coming to the longest day of the year and there is light in the sky until nearly midnight. The rising sun is already casting its day glow at four in the morning.
“His mercies are new every morning…”
There must be a reason God has awakened me so early this morning. It’s not just to watch the sunrise, although it’s hard not to be enthralled by the red glow behind silhouetted trees. Not a cloud in the sky, or a breath of wind. It’s the start to a perfect day weather wise, but my heart is heavy.
A precious friend is battling tongue cancer. She has such a positive attitude and I laugh at her daily Facebook postings as she faces her diagnosis and treatments with faith, strength and humour. However, I am also praying for a Pastor friend in hospital in a life and death struggle with Covid. Miracle prayers are needed.
It reminds me that the sun rises, but it also sets.
There is that circle of life, the rise and fall of the sun, the unending passage of time. I can’t slow the progress, or stop it no matter how hard I pray.
“Teach us to realize the brevity of life, so that we may grow in wisdom.” (Psalm 90:12 NLT)
Each rising of the sun is the gift of a new day. It is not to be squandered, but cherished and then celebrated at day’s end because God has walked with me through it…
…one day at a time.
Morning glory is blinding me now as I write. The sky colours have changed from dark hues of reds and orange to vibrant yellows and gold.
“His mercies are new every morning…”
I think about how I will fill up my day. There is much to do in so little time. I want to run ahead of schedule, get things done so I can enjoy the day’s end knowing I’ve accomplished all the tasks I set out to do.
God reminds me gently that there is no need to rush. There is a time for everything…
The prayer requests kept coming and coming! Marriage troubles, health issues, child custody battles, impending surgeries, cancer treatments, financial burdens, job layoffs, and Covid cases kept filling up my prayer journal. Whenever I listened to the news, I got tense. To be honest, I was so over-burdened with bad news every day, my own personal mental health was starting to be negatively impacted. My husband could see that it was taking a toll on me and thought a week away camping would do us both the world of good.
The weather was great the first night in the mountains. I luxuriated in not being “connected” online and could tell that I was starting to relax somewhat. Then just before midnight I got a call from my brother. The lateness of the hour was disconcerting, and I hesitantly answered my cell phone. I could tell right away that he was not quite lucid, he was rambling, not putting words together well. His wife came on and quickly told me that they were in the hospital and he was heavily medicated. My brother, Jack had a terrible fall and landed on his left arm basically driving his wrist bone through his elbow. Basically, he broke so many bones in that arm, the doctors were contemplating amputation. He was scheduled to have surgery in the morning.
When I got off the phone with her, I started to tremble. Then I burst into tears. It was too much to take in. My husband tried to comfort me, but I felt like an enormous weight was upon me, and I could hardly breathe. “Let’s pray!” he said, and as he lifted my brother and his wife up in prayer, I silently nodded in agreement, too emotionally exhausted to respond in turn. I didn’t sleep that night, nor did I venture far from our trailer the next morning, staying close to the phone to hear how the surgery had gone. Mid-afternoon, I finally got a call from my sister-in-law telling me that Jack had been in surgery six hours and the doctors had to put in a plate to repair the wrist damage. He’d have to have more surgery in the future, but for now his arm was mended as well as they were able to and he was going to need time to heal.
I praised God. I did not lift my arms up to the heavens, and burst into song as I thought I would. I just managed a weak, helpless, whispered, exhausted “thank-You” and then I burst into tears again.
I am weary.
There is a heaviness that has clung to me over these past few months. I guess some people have started to call it “Covid Fatigue”, and I suppose that definitely adds to this burden I seem to be hauling around with me. Ever since my last bout with cancer, I have felt battle-weary. I’m just not “with it” as much as I would like. Physically, I’m fine, but mentally I’m exhausted. Jack’s accident seemed to have pushed me close to that precarious brink.
Yesterday, our Premier announced a three stage plan to get the Province back to “normal” after the pandemic. A 70% vaccination rate, where Albertans aged 12 and up would have their first vaccination, would allow Alberta to be fully open with no restrictions. He seemed hopeful that we could even celebrate the Calgary Stampede in early July. Immediately, the naysayers and critics responded with expected negativity, but to me, the Premier’s announcement was just the best news, coming at JUST the right time! In fact, that little bit of good news was just what I needed to feel more positive and upbeat; looking forward to the summer ahead.
This week, I’ve connected with my brother by phone and text numerous times. He was actually released from hospital the next day after his surgery. Truly an answer to prayer! Until the Covid restrictions are fully lifted, I can’t go in person and give him a gentle hug, but that reunion may be coming sooner than expected! I am definitely looking forward to seeing him soon. He’s home recuperating and it warms my heart to see him get his sense of humour back. This morning he posted on Facebook: “As a follow-up to previous posts about my “little spill” last week…I was able to connect with the young man who called 911 for me, and thank him personally by text. As it turns out, this gentleman owns a fall protection safety company. I met him just 15 minutes too late. You can’t make this stuff up, folks.”