At The End of Your Rope?
by The Rev. Cynthia P. Brust, Rector
I’m a generally positive person – view the glass half full sort of woman. Now, don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not Pollyanna, pie in the sky, or rose-colored-glasses person either. I worry and fret with the best of them. I crave order and stability in life, family, home, work, and the church. I’m also high energy, passionate about mission and ministry along with caring for my flock. So, this pandemic has played havoc with me emotionally and spiritually. I really relate to these words another blogger put on paper.
Emotions are high, frustration through the roof, and lament is on our lips. Peace and harmony left the building with Elvis.
As all of us have experienced, I’ve had highs and low, ups and downs, good days and bad. But last night, I truly felt at the end of my rope. Negativity washed over me…doubt assailed me…anger crested…faith and hope stretched taunt like an overextended rubber band threatening to snap at any moment. I slept badly; woke up tired and edgy with a long task list and little interest in tackling it. So, I lectured myself. Get a grip…suck it up…put your big girl pants on…finish your message for the Weekly Update and write the blog post for this week. I gave it the old college try to no avail. And then I found myself typing these words into my search engine:
What do you do when you’re at the end of your rope?
I know. Really creative. But before you roll your eyes or scoff, guess what popped up? Words of wisdom from Dallas Willard:
God’s address is at the end of our rope.
I hope all of us who are battling COVID fatigue or depression will hang onto that simple truth. The Lord is always – not sometimes but always – right there at the end of our rope. His Kingdom hasn’t gone away or receded. It has always been and shall always be. It’s available to us right where we are. Even at the end of our ropes.
I wish I could say these words wiped away all I was feeling, but, of course, they didn’t work magic. I didn’t suddenly wake up to discover the last 19 months were actually part of some bizarre sci-fi nightmare I had after too much pizza late at night. But the more I read these words, the lighter and freer I felt. As though I were being held in a fierce hug in the arms of one who so dearly loves me that he is loath to let go. Someone who gets it…truly understands. I felt the freedom to feel and voice, perhaps confess everything I was feeling – without fear of judgment, impatience, platitudes, lectures, or punishment.
It’s more than okay to come to me with lament on your lips. With anger and frustrations and grief and fear and doubt. Come unto me all that travail and are heavy-laden…I meant that.
Sometimes we just need a solid reminder that we’re not alone in this. Not only you and me as individuals but all humanity. And we also need to find ways to navigate from man, I’m tired of this to I’m at the end of my rope. A friend reminded me this morning of the importance of self-care, including just breathe. For intentional breathing exercises or breath prayers to exercise, self-care looks different from everyone. The Psalms sooth me. Listening to classical cellists play calms me. Play is essential emotional and spiritual health – from walks on the beach to dancing around the kitchen while I cook to the ever-present book du jour to sitting on our lanai to cuddling Gatsby the cat to riding my bike. All remind me of life and how much there still is for which I am grateful. None of these simple activities erase the effects of 19 months of the isolation, frustration, and life-on-hold of pandemic. But they do help me maintain equilibrium. They do help me remember God’s address. Right there at rope’s end.