Raspberry Iced M

Today I caught myself saying, in the middle of tearful prayer, “Lord, I don’t want to be here anymore.”

There was no plan. But today has been one of those days when the weight of my circumstances has been unbearable.

I said, “Lord, I’m going to do [the work] because You told me to. But I don’t want to do it. This hurts. And I don’t want to do it.”

And then I took my truck keys out of the ignition, grabbed my purse, and walked into my house with crusty eyes, convincing myself all the way up the porch steps that the people in my home would never know I was falling apart in that moment.

Having faith is hard. Hoping is hard. Breaking my flesh and interrupting those desperate, ruminating thoughts…hard.

I want this blog site to be a positive contribution to the world – even if posts inside it only resonate with a few people.

But today I can’t put on a typographical smile and pretend I’m okay. Because I’m not.

I’m falling apart over here.

I’m tired in a way that sleep won’t resolve. It’s the kind of tired that comes from carrying regret. From replaying the past. From wishing I had made better choices in the last 38 years.

It’s the kind of tired that whispers, “Maybe the world would be better without me in it.”

No drama. Just genuine ponderance.

While peering out the window of my truck after therapy this morning, scanning my big front yard and watching the tree leaves flutter in the breeze, I prayed:

“Lord, I do not feel like my life has purpose or meaning anymore. I have no friends, and almost all of my relationships are strained. Everything I touch falls apart. And I don’t understand – if I make everything worse, if I’m not making any progress or positive impact, if I’m isolated and lonely – why You won’t just come get me. It’s not just that I don’t improve people’s lives – that’s bad enough. But what I do is actively make people’s lives worse. Please end the suffering of my loved ones that exists because of me – and just come get me. I can’t do this anymore.“

Sometimes when people talk about despair, it becomes a dramatic display of crying, breaking down, and losing control.

Not me. Not today. What I prayed was just an outward display of quiet exhaustion, because pounding away at my goals every day, just to make a hair’s width of progress…well…it hardly seems worth it sometimes. And today, during that moment, I had honestly concluded that the world would be an easier place for others to live if I wasn’t in it.

Objectively, I know that my life has value, because the Lord’s Word says so. But the choices I have made that have not been ordained by Him? Those are the ones I worry about. And in a state of hopelessness, I worry if the damage I’ve done is permanent.

I sat in silence after that prayer, half expecting no response at all, or at most, His correction. Instead, what I got back wasn’t a voice. It was a realization: The Lord does not ask for permission. If He wanted me removed from this world, I wouldn’t still be here.

I woke up this morning. I’m breathing. And my story isn’t finished.

Regret can feel like a life sentence sometimes. I replay the same moments over and over. I think about the things I wish I had said or the choices I wish I hadn’t made or the people I wish I hadn’t hurt. Today I allowed that regret to bury me.

But regret can do something more positive, too. It can wake us up.

The truth is that immediate healing/deliverance doesn’t always come after a single prayer. It can. But that’s not how it always happens. And in my case, the quiet, tender voice of the Holy Spirit reminded me today that sometimes the miracle lies within the hard work.

Therapy sessions. Honest conversations. The discipline it takes for me to look at myself in the mirror every day. The unnoticed but constant dilemma and subsequent inner turmoil that exist when choosing the next right thing over the next easy thing.

It is uncomfortable, tedious, and at times agonizing work. And I don’t want to do it.

But I’m doing it. Because He said so.

He hasn’t removed me from this world. He’s left me here to do something harder – grow. Become more honest. More accountable. More grounded. And He won’t honor or answer a prayer where I give myself permission to escape or give up just because of regret. He has denied my request, as if to remind me that I don’t need escape. I need strength to endure. Discipline and wisdom to make better choices. And courage to sit with my pain.

If you are in a season of regret or shame, please remember that He will not give you a task without also providing every tool you need to complete it.