2 am beautiful (standing)

2 am, again. Some things can be found at this hour that cannot be found elsewhere. Like, my husband's beautiful sleep breathing. Sometimes answers, conclusions, clarity. Sometimes the opposite. Sometimes Jesus.

I am just so tired.

I am tired of running. I'm running out of self. I have been for awhile. I think to myself, "lean on Jesus, and you can do it. Look at all of these people making it...your life is beautiful: challenging, creative, full of people that love you, full of things you love. Get it together."

This weekend, I will organize the pulling off of the creative end of a new series, a foot washing service, and a prayer room. Not just any prayer room either: a prayer room in a mold infested, dilapidated building. I will write three papers. I will not read all my reading and then I will feel guilty. I will talk to people, pray for people, and look forward to the next week of all the same intensity. Part of me loves this. Part of me is dying.

In the middle of this season of low lows and high highs...of knowing that if I could just get out of bed, then I can do it...if I can just push past tears one more time, then I will make it...if I can just get started, I'll feel better...Jesus has found me. Right here at 2 am.

Yesterday, I yelled at God. It might be the first time. I tell people it's okay to do. He already knows what you are feeling. I even used the word "freaking." I said to him, "JESUS. IF YOU WANT THIS TO HAPPEN, YOU ARE GOING TO HAVE TO HELP. PITCH IN. OPEN YOUR EYES AND SEE WHAT NEEDS TO BE DONE. AND FREAKING GET ON IT. WHAT DO YOU EXPECT FROM ME? YOU PUT ME HERE. NOW TAKE CARE OF IT."

I screamed it, right there in my car driving behind Mounds Mall, crying like a maniac.

Today, as I painted in my moldy, dilapidated prayer room (with more people than I ever would have expected who just showed up to help me)...the city inspector walked in. He said we couldn't be there. He said we were against fire code. I rolled paint on the wall, and I fought back tears. He talked and he talked, and I rolled and I rolled. Phil stayed steady beside me. And we stood there, and we rolled paint.

And that's when I understood what it means to stand. Having done all to stand: stand. Stand because God promised he wouldn't leave me. Stand because God is bigger than me. Stand because he put me there, it's his work, and because he is "freaking getting on it."

And he did. And my prayer room is up. A lot of work yet, but it is up and it is okay and it is going to happen. Not by my strength, but by my standing.

Tonight, at 2 am, I sat at my drawing desk with Phil asleep in the bedroom. I could hear him breathing (can now) as I tried to draw up floor plans for the setup tomorrow and lists for Sunday. And I said, "Jesus, I am so tired." And he said, "Kylee, go to sleep."

So I wrote this note because I am moved to tears by my Jesus. My strength to stand. ...my strength to go to bed, wake up tomorrow, and stand some more.