Sitting on the couch, covered in bright, happy pillows, I couldn’t even muster a smile. One hand held a tall cup of perfectly milky, steaming hot coffee, while the other was holding the iPad, opened to the book of Jeremiah. Rain was being dumped from the heavens onto the vibrant green earth seven stories below me, washing away the filth of this country, and making everything look new. I could feel the cool breeze and see the white, ruffled curtains swaying as though dancing to music no one else could hear. As I skimmed through the passages I was reading, an old favorite caught my eye and I backed up.
For I know the plans I have for you, declares The Lord.
Plans to prosper you and not to harm you.
Plans to give you a hope and a future.
I want His plans. Truly. I do. But why does it feel like this? Why does something as small as getting out of bed seem so hard. Why do minor activities, like watering the plants, take Herculean effort. Why does my body respond with tears when someone sincerely asks “How are you?”? His plans won’t hurt me. They are for my future of glorifying Him. They are to mold me and shape me, and then I realized how flexible you have to be to be molded. How sometimes there is too much of you and something has be left out. That’s what it is. I miss the parts that were already left out. I miss my baby.