There's Tired, and There's Tired

"I don't feel no ways tired,

I've come too far from where I started from.

Nobody told me that the road would be easy,

I don't believe He brought me this far to leave me."

Bored? Yes, relegated to staring into fathomless space.  Tired? No. In truth, I yearn for a project I can sink my teeth into.   How aimless have I become? How much worse can it get? How much more will my world be turned topsy-turvy, helter-skelter? What do I expect in the aftermath of this pandemic I find myself mired in? When will it end? Do I feel like an inexperienced traveler (read, hitchhiker), stranded on a  moonless night in the middle of nowhere? Yet, I have come too far from where I started to curl up into a  fetal knot and do what?

I've been tired over and over again, even when I didn't know whether the source of the fatigue matched the condition.  Juggling family, a long commute to work, and ensuring the family had clean clothes and nutritious meals principally kept me tired.  No safety net, so I'd just plod on through muck and mire until worn threadbare, then quietly quit.

How do I chart the distance from there to here, from then to now? It depends.  Sometimes an almost imperceptible change in perspective or perception helps.   I remember when it dawned on me, "I am not alone, not the only one feeling this way!  Other people---lots of them--- have survived the same disappointment or losses. Actually, I'm as "normal" as the next person."

I learned the release of "going with the flow, of not letting setbacks or detours become permanent monuments.  Absolutely, nobody told me the road would be easy! Absolutely not!  In truth, the heritage of slavery left little room for Mary Poppinesque fantasies. Rather, the Blues birthed in centuries of that "Peculiar Institution" served up dirges, not victorious drumbeats.

Sunday sermons recounting sagas of sin, salvation, and redemption underscored an "I've got the right to sing the blues" coda.  Yet within the chasm of harsh truths, Sunday worship produced hope from hopelessness, trust from distrust, and beliefs sparkling into bright tomorrows.  The (late) troubadour Bill Withers captured the angst and the promise:

"When the day that lies ahead of me

Seems impossible to face

And when someone else instead of me

Always seem to know the way

Then I look at you

And the world's alright with me

Just one look at you

And I know  it's gonna be

A lovely day..."

Over the years, I've come to understand that one of the Names of God can be seamlessly substituted for the person being sung to or about.  I'm not being "sacrilegious" because I'm not "religious."  I just remember that Rev. Johnnie Colemon, pastor, and founder of Christ Universal Temple (Chicago), pronounced years ago, "All music is God-music."  I agree.  Especially when its theme is love.   

My North Star  on love directs me to First Corinthians 13, verse 13: ""Until then, there are three things that remain: faith, hope, and love---yet love surpasses them  all." So above all else, let love be the beautiful prize for which you run." Hallelujah!