Slip, Slipped, Slipping

Most of us have moments [days, weeks] where things seem undoable or unachievable, maybe even hopeless.  If you’re fortunate not to have experienced such times, you have been truly blessed.

Yes, I too have blessings to count; thank you, God.  There’s a roof overhead, an ample wardrobe, and a chocka-block full fridge (ask my happy, rounded belly).  But there are also challenges that have started to overwhelm.  That faith I’ve cleaved to has started to dissolve and an unsettling darkness is enveloping me.

Of late, I’ve felt myself slip.  In fact, I’ve slipped a few times, but pulled myself back up . . . only to find I’ve started slipping again.

To be someone who finds perpetual joy in daily tasks, no matter how mundane or routine, would be awesome.  To get up every morning with a “hello world, here I come!” would be amazing.  I long to be a good Christian, a Mother Theresa who does good and never questions or complains, worries or frets.  Alas, I am not.  Moreover, I’ve recently, and sadly, discovered I’m not Superwoman.  An increased office workload coupled with taking care of Mom when not at work is taking its toll.  

The coat of optimism has slipped from my weary shoulders; goals lay like shattered glass at my feet.  I’ve slipped under the bedcovers in search of [temporary] escape, only to find faceless beings and shadowy obstacles invading my restless sleep.  But I’ve also slipped to my knees in prayer.

One day, I hope to slip into a realm replete with hopefulness and positivity, where faith and cheer once again abound . . . and the only slipping back would be a result of slipping—in comedic fashion—on a banana peel.