My Well

I haven’t written anything in three weeks.

I’ve had ideas.  I’ve had experiences that I thought would be interesting to write about.  I even sat down at the keyboard a couple of times. 

But still.  I haven’t written anything in three weeks.

I’ve been struggling.

Everything is fine.  It really is.  I’m fine.  My family is fine.  My life is fine.  More than fine.

Yes, there have been moments of stress.  Yes, there have been moments of anger and frustration.  And yes, there have also been moments of joy and happiness.  But I’ve still been struggling. 

I haven’t wanted to see people.  I haven’t wanted to cook.  I haven’t wanted to eat.  I haven’t wanted to play.  I haven’t even really wanted to pray.  Not anti it by any means, it just didn’t even occur to me to do it. 

The best way I found to describe it was that my well is dry.  My reserves?  Empty.

Even now while typing this, I’m exhausted by this simple self examination because there’s nothing left burning in the fire.  The flame is still there, it’s just smoldering. 

And yes, I’m aware that I just mixed my metaphors.  It’s just the easiest way to explain. 

All of this sounds like it’s not fine.  Like I need to go to see someone or change my life in some way and that’s what my anxiety would like me to believe too. 

It really wants me to panic.  To just let go and give in and FEEL it all as bad. 

And while it does make me sad, it’s not bad. 

It really does make me a little sad, I enjoy experiencing joy.  I am a fulfilled person so to be so listless is just…empty.  But that still doesn’t make it bad.

I think too often, when we are going throw a dry season, we desperately search the skies for a cloud and if we can’t find one, we run around looking for a sprinkler or a watering can or someone else’s pool or even just a glass of water.  And we try to convince ourselves that that got the job done.  Our well is now full again and everything is good, everything is fine, I’m not thirsty, I’ve got plenty of water, and everything is good. 

And we try to scrape up the dregs from the mud to hand out to others, just willing  our well to be full and convincing ourselves that they can have that last glass, you don’t need it.  Sludgy as it is. 

Because if we admit that our well is empty…isn’t that bad?  Doesn’t that mean we’re not okay? 

I think that sometimes it does mean that we’re not okay.  If life just keeps hurling things at you and job, spouse, kids, pets, church, mental health, self health, LIFE and you can’t catch your breath long enough to do laundry because you’re officially out of clean underwear and are trying to figure out what outfit you can be underwear free.

…NOT that I’ve ever done that…

Then you need help.  You need to reach out, calm down that all your food is coming from a window, buy the new pack of panties from Target to get you to Friday, and just be honest. 

But people can understand that because it’s situational.

What about when the well runs dry simply because it runs dry?

It’s not situational.  You can’t pinpoint the cause.  It just IS.

I’ve been very aware of mental health status the past few weeks because this is when things could get bad.  But I’ve been okay.  I’ve been safe on that front.  My anxiety and mild depression isn’t the cause of this dry spell and I’m working to not let it be a result of it. 

And that’s why I prefaced with “I’m really okay”.  When I talked to my husband about it, I said the same thing.  When I asked my church Small Group to be praying for me, I said the same thing. 

I really am okay.

It is not bad to be going through a dry season.  It isn’t.  I shouldn’t have to hide it.  I shouldn’t be ashamed of my struggle that has resulted because I can’t pull up any water.  And I shouldn’t sweep it under the rug with “I’m fine” but not be honest about why it sounds hollow. 

I’ve been here long enough to know that life is cyclical.  The rains will come again.  My well will fill.  And not only will I freely drink again but able to allow others to do the same.  It will happen. 

How do I know?  Because they always come.  Always.  God is good.  And I’m not meant to live as a dry husk. 

Which leads to the question, why is my well dry?  Why I am empty?

Two summers ago, I planted a pumpkin patch in our backyard.   Well, more like I planted some seeds and ended up with a patch. 

I planted them because my kids asked if we could and there was no reason for me to say ‘no’.  So, I said ‘yes’. 

I prayed over every one of those seeds as they went in the ground.  “Lord, just give us one pumpkin.  Please, Father.  Just one healthy pumpkin that my kids can watch grow and be excited about.” 

And we tended to those seeds.  And we asked for help from the gardeners in our lives.  (Uncle Steve and LeeAnna, you guys were awesome.  You answered the phone, were supportive, and even acted excited when I sent you pictures. So much love!)  We weeded.  We helped pollinate.  We directed vines.  And we watered. 

Some of the best advice I got was to not over water.  That it was okay for them to be a little dry.  Because that made the plants hearty.  It made them fight to grow and live and reach out those little curly cue tendrils.  That if you over watered, not only would you be hindering their growth, but you could accidentally cause root rot. 

It was hard.  I was still praying over those little plants and constantly feeling the soil to see if it was time to give them drinks.  And I smiled at the sky when it rained and God took care of it for me. 

God was good then.  We got our one healthy, perfect pumpkin.  And then we got 10 more.  Out of our little backyard pumpkin patch we got 11 pumpkins.  It was amazing. 

I’ve been thinking about that patch a lot over the last couple of weeks.  Amazed at the metaphor and trying to find the drive to write about it. And God is good now.

Why is my well dry? 

Maybe because I’m supposed to be doing some growing.  Maybe I am doing some growing and just aren’t aware of it.

Maybe I’m supposed to be reaching out, regardless of whether I want to. 

Or maybe because it’s just a dry patch and I’m just supposed to know what it feels like.

Maybe because I’m supposed to know what it is to wait. To know and to trust that God is still God. And God is still good. Even if the ground is dry.

Regardless, I am okay. I am. My life is still good.  I am still growing.  My well will be filled again. 

And whether it be a sprinkle or a storm, I will smile at the sky when God sends the rains.