A hot brick

Dear Heavenly Father. I don't think I can do this.

Not because the world is currently suffering a pandemic. Not because I’m a front line healthcare worker in this covid-19 business. It’s not even my crazy kids who seem to fight and be unhappy much of the time despite my best efforts. 

This. I’m referring to the scorching hot, jagged brick that has been hurled into my glass-mirror of a marriage and has shattered it—into a million, tiny, unrecognizable pieces. 

The mental and emotional turmoil that comes with these painful experiences usually leads me of of two ways: bitterly turning inward to face things myself or humbly turning to God. 

I did the first for a few excruciating months. I didn’t recognize myself. I lost weight. I cried, sobbed, and cursed God for this dumpster fire my life had turned into. I lost all patience with my kids. My husband moved to the guest room and we would go days without speaking. I was robotic in the day to day functions of my life. I went to work to escape my house, but lacked focus and patience there too. 

Something had to change. I did not like the person I was. I was tired of crying myself to sleep and waking up puffy, boogery, and pissed off as hell. My sweet, darling children, who were innocent in all of this, were receiving the brunt of my ragged emotions. 

So, I prayed. It was awkward. I felt like God and I had been fighting for months, and I was coming back as an angry, prodigal daughter. It was a hard pill to swallow: 

Dear Heavenly Father, I don’t think I can do this.

Then don’t. Let me. Hand over the brick and I’ll carry it awhile. When it cools a little, I’ll give it back.

But...there’s a part of me that likes the heat, the searing hot pain. It’s an excuse to shy away from everyone I love, including you. 

Nothing you do by yourself will heal this blistered wound. You need me. 

But I can do it, I think.

You can not. Period. Your heart is broken and I’m the only one who can fix it.

...Ok...here. Please help me.

If you’re struggling with a heavy, hot brick, please hear this: God does not give you scorching, blistering bricks and expect you to hold hold them in your bare hands. Please let Him help you. He has helped me despite my stubborn, bullheaded, imperfect self. He has also inspired me to seek out other helpers because true healing takes many hands: licensed therapists, trusted friends, and good, inspiring books. 

Some days aren’t easy. Healing doesn’t happen overnight. Sometimes I want my brick back because that soul-numbing pain seems easier to endure than the hard work of healing. But I’m not ready to hold it—it’s still too hot and painful and God knows that. 

One day, I’ll take it back, cool and smooth, and see it for what it taught me. For how it changed me. But right now, God will hold it and allowing Him do so has saved me.