Rest.

I joined the land of the living again today, a little battered and bruised, but feeling better at least. I think I am beginning to forget what it feels like to not hurt. My body is very colorful right now. 

I think God is trying to teach me something... like, maybe, to depend completely on Him and on His strength, rather than my own (which I currently have very little of.) But also, the whole concept of rest. I feel like I have been in a heavy storm this past week; it reminds me of a rafting accident I had several months ago when I was sucked underwater and pulled downstream, hammered against rocks and boulders before being pulled out of the water. My body has taken a lot of hard hits this week, but more than that is the feeling of not knowing which direction is up, towards "air", and the helplessness of not knowing what I'll be hit with next and the inability to "fight" my way out of it no matter how hard I battle the waves. I feel like I'm waiting for a strong hand to reach down and pull me up and out of this storm. 

Sometimes--when I was rafting, for instance--a hand does come and pull us out of the storm. But other times we are left to ride it out, collecting bumps and bruises along the way. In those times, I think that our only hope is to ride it out at the very center. Every storm, no matter how intense, has a quiet, peaceful place at the center. At the center of the storm, clinging to the Calmer of storms, I know that there is hope. I want to shut my eyes to the pounding waves and jagged rocks and learn to rest in the middle of the storm... but I am still working on that.