Speechless

I just feel like I’m mad and grouchy and done, and so far it’s only been one day of school. I wonder how I ever made it through the last semester, and I’m scared for the next six weeks. I tell myself things like “just make a list of what you need to do this evening and do it” and “at least you got some time to spend out doors. even if it was napping exhaustedly.” But what I really am is resentful that I’m back in class.

Back where people have the audacity to insist on evaluating if I’m learning. Back with the stress of needing to retain everything, to pass the licensing exam or to be a competent clinician. Back to literally watching the clock and begging to be let out soon. And back to the awkward dynamics of classmates who are friendly, but really won’t be my friends beyond school.

I’m just so tired, and I wish people would stop asking things of me. Even asking me to be sociable. I know it’s not good to isolate myself, and that avoiding all social situations only makes the awkwardness and loneliness worse. But when I feel like snarling and snapping and barring my teeth, I feel like it’s time to go. People seem to think that’s not acceptable behavior, but I just feel like I don’t have the energy for any thing else.

I have been complaining to God that He never seems to show up in the basement of school, where I have all my classes. People say He uses us like paint, uses us as His ministers, that He works through us in ways we don’t understand. But it’s hard to even pretend any of that, when your afternoon consisted of trying to find a way to stay seated for two hours. Not speaking. Not taking notes. Not even, really, learning much. Just trying one position after another in attempt to stay up right, because guess what? Sitting upright takes muscles, and I don’t have much of those left. Really, God? What’s that supposed to mean?

It’s not that I resent hardship. I do resent hardship with no apparent purpose. And maybe the fault there lies in the inability to see “apparent” things, I don’t know. Sometimes I think of Elijah (Elisha?) praying for the eyes of his servant to be opened, so he could see that “more are those that are with us than those that are with them.” The pointlessness and stupidness and unproductive and senseless nature of all of this has bothered me immensely. But just because I can’t see the reason, doesn’t, I suppose, mean there wasn’t one.

I know that on an intellectual level, but on a day to day level, I know I am frustrated and resentful. There’s a long line of errands to do tomorrow, none of them really that hard, and I guess the list really isn’t that long. But it feels that way, because I’m so incapable of handling anything right now. And all those things are going to be so hard tomorrow, and for what? Such a huge investment of energy of all the resources I have, with precious little to show for it. And that makes me made, because if I have to work that hard for it, suffer that long for it, I want to see something come of it. I want to see something.

And tomorrow is just an allegory–a metaphor?–for these next six weeks. Unreasonably hard and trying. Precious little to show for it. No real meaningful point that I can tell. Awkward and lonely and sad. Like the last semester. It’s not exactly that I’m desperate to get better as much as I’m desperate for either (a) less effort or else (b) more meaning. If it’s going to be meaningless, it shouldn’t be this hard. And if it’s going to be this hard, it should be meaningful. This feels more like, I don’t know, being flogged for a crime you didn’t commit.

Funny choice of words, that, since it’s exactly what happened to Jesus. Somehow He went through with it all. But I do feel so directionless, and it seems like Jesus was never directionless. Although it does say He often withdrew to pray. I thought maybe these six weeks could be a time of me withdrawing to pray, but I don’t even know what to pray, or how to listen. I feel like, well, I already said what I wanted to say. And He can answer whatever He wants, any time right now. So. . .what’s left?

That’s not very elegant. I know that. But it is pretty honest. The truth is, I’m like the mouthy son who goes off to work anyhow. I’m complaining, and I’m mad, but I am still trying to be obedient to what was asked of me. Sort of like Job, I’m complaining, look, could things please just make sense? Because none of this makes sense. But God doesn’t seem to answer those prayers. So it feels like maybe we’re not allowed to pray those prayers. But I don’t know what to pray instead. “Please stop hurting me,” comes to mind, but it’s kind of hard for me to get behind it, because I know that compared to the alternatives, I’m being quite protected.

God must have a plan. God does have a plan. But then why is it so far away from me that all I can see is trying to figure out how to sit relatively up-right, and how to go about getting broccoli? I want to be let in on the secret. “There’s a very good reason why you had to wait 3 months to see a specialist; here’s why:. . .” Instead, I feel like all I get is, “No, you can’t quit life. Yes, you really do have to get up tomorrow.”

Well, darn.

What else am I supposed to say?

 

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