I'm in a place right now where there is within my very soul an epic battle going on. The ultimate good versus evil. The consummate life versus death battle. Part of me is mad. Really, really mad. And I want to fight. Hard. And win.
The other part of me is completely spent. I feel like I have fought the good fight...I have run the race with all I had...and I just can't summon any reserves. I was feeling better yesterday than the day before. A friend came yesterday to take care of Jacob, which was wonderful, because I couldn't do it.
Then, 4 AM, Jacob comes in our room crying and coughing. Stuffy head. Runny nose. Cough. I'm like, really? Is this REALLY my freaking life?? It's almost laughable. If it weren't so pathetic.
I don't know what the Lord is trying to tell me. I really don't. I pleaded with God to give me a clear sign if I was NOT to go forward with the Rituxan. I don't do subtle. (I know, shocker!) I'm a hit-me-upside-the-head-with-a-2x4 kind of girl, and God knows that. So I pulled a Gideon. I put out the fleece. I got nothing. So I went ahead. And it was a big, fat failure. And I lost any ground I had gained health wise.
It's like, I'm not Paul. I can't stand in the cesspool, in chains, with poop up to my knees and sing Hallelujah. I just don't have the strength or character or something.
I believe God is good.
I believe He loves me.
I believe that He has a plan for me. I thought I knew what it was, but it included me healthy. So obviously I was wrong on that one.
I believe that God can use anything for my benefit.
I believe He wants what's best for me.
But for the life of me I can't understand why He won't just let me come up for air.