exhaustion: a song

tired. tired. tired. tired. tired.

tired. tired. tired. tired. tired.

tired. tired. tired. tired. tired.

tired. tired. tired. tired. tired.

tired. tired. tired. tired. tired.

This is my song.  My never-ending, perpetually stuck-in-my-head song.  I am tired.

This third pregnancy - whether it be a different gender, or life events, or simply the third trimester -  has complete knocked me out.  I think about bed and sleeping too often; I sleep when the girls sleep; I rise when they rise.

It's humbling and frustrating to say the least.  My other two pregnancies didn't treat me this way.  Sure, I was tired at times... but this debilitating, mind-numbing fatigue?  No... I didn't feel this tired.  Only eight and a half more weeks to go... I find myself chanting.

I downloaded the Fighter Verse app on my phone last week.  It's a Bible memorizing application that gives you a section of Scripture to work on each week.  The app costs $2.99, but it comes with all sorts of helpful tools to memorize.  I need this.  Because, try as I might, I can't rise before the girls to read the Word.  And during their nap time, I inevitably fall asleep.  And come evening, I'm useless to the world and to my family.  I plop on the couch and if anybody dare want me to do something away from that comfortable perch, it ain't happenin'.

Our verses for this week are Psalm 96:1-3.  While I made breakfast for the children this morning, I had my phone sitting on the counter, the Fighter Verse app open, reciting the verses for me outloud.  It repeats itself over and over.  Bella came over to listen, too.

Oh sing to the LORD a new song; sing to the LORD, all the earth!  Sing to the LORD, bless his name; tell of his salvation from day to day.  Declare his glory among the nations, his marvelous works among all the peoples!

 A new song? thought I.  What new song can I sing to Him?  I'm tired, that's my perpetual song.  Tired and more tired and more tired on top of that.  Sing that to Me, my dear child.  Sing that to Me.  So I shall.

Father, I'm weary.

I'm weak and so teary.

My body feels the weight

of the babe and our great

load of life and duties.

But, You are Rest.

You promise You will be near

during the tests

that spin and whirl

when bearing babes and rearing girls.

Please, take this, my song

of exhaustion and long

hours and minutes spent often

dreaming of dark rooms and

soft cotton.

Remind me that exhaustion, too,

is made by You.

And will be transformed into light

and days that are bright...

one day.