Fleece Blanket

 I feel sad.

Why?

I don't know. I just feel sad.

Okay, try to think of happy things and put on some nice music. We can go for a drive this afternoon.

Okay, I will try. Thank you. 

I sat in my office, wrapped in a purple fluffy blanket to keep warm, Christmas piano music playing softly in the background. My boss had just come in a couple of minutes earlier and asked me to look up the hiring information for an employee. Perhaps my role did consist entirely of searching for an action in the last two years of minutes, minutes that were taken by a person who was presently sitting in his office and could just as quickly look up the information. After the door closed behind him, tears instantly sprang to my eyes. 

I swallowed hard, even as I let a few tears trickle out so as not to overflow the pool that seemed to never run dry. Reaching for a tissue, I dabbed my eyes quickly, worried someone would come in and ask why I was crying. Thankfully I could blame my seasonal allergies and mercifully, nobody knocked, neither did my boss barge through the adjoining door as he was wont to do. After a brief chat exchange with my patient husband who was in an online class, I settled down. I had things to do, after all, and couldn't dissolve into a puddle of tears for the rest of the morning. I took a deep breath, reminded myself that I didn't have to accomplish much today other than showing up and being present, and turned my attention to a small task I knew I could manage. 

The tears have been coming a lot lately. Twice at work last week. Unbidden. Unwanted. Unstoppable. I tell myself I shouldn't feel this way; after all, many others have a much more difficult life than me right now. I have more than enough food to eat and savings while others are struggling just to afford the essentials for their families. I have my health when many with COVID-19 are fighting for breath. 

But it's been a hard year. Lockdowns, economic crises, the pandemic, and on top of the every day life, the unexpected challenges. 

I told my students this morning that God is there with them in the midst of the storm--He is found in the gentle whisper. I am learning that these times are not for hurrying to memorize tomes of Scripture and dehydrate barrels of apples in preparation for the end times. These are times to hold on tightly to God and sit with Him, listening for His quiet gentle voice of comfort. As I reset my pace of life to what I can manage, maybe just waking up one morning with a smile instead of fear, or maybe just sorting files for a morning instead of tackling another difficult project, I am learning to be gentle with myself. To wrap myself in a purple fleece blanket at work so I can feel like I'm being held in comfort. 

It's okay to be sad.