Thursday, December 8, 2011

Thinking, That's All: The kind of tired

I am the kind of tired that can't sleep at 10 p.m. but craves the comforts of a warm bed come morning.

The kind that can't muster a lie of good when asked how I'm doing

but can't find the energy to explain that I'm wrapped in a constant state of healing.

The kind that can't hide what I'm really thinking about when asked about the recovery.

The kind that showers but doesn't bother with hair or make up.


I am kind of tired that falls open arms into the strong embrace of a husband

the honest inquiry of a beautiful friend during a morning play date

the warm, unexpected hug of a neighbor dropping by tick pick up tangerines,

the offer of help from caring hands I've barely before grasped

the comfort of honesty sprawled out in a email penned by a soul sister who shares her struggles.


I am the kind of tired that laughs at silly jokes of a giggly four year old that I might have missed were I not sunken into the couch

the kind that melts into the space between two little bodies in the early morning instead of hopping out of bed

the kind that falls to her knees and chokes out honest, raw, emotion-drenched prayer, lit by the glow of a Christmas tree, beneath shimmering ornaments.


The kind of tired that forces me to allow myself

to be carried

instead of moving myself forward

and finds

that, oh.

Oh my.

Your yoke really is light; it's mine that's been heavy all this way.


  Photobucket

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