Defeat or Victory?

Looking around my bedroom, my shoulders slump - yet again.

The last two and a half weeks have been so, so wearying. It's a strange combination of tired joy, as my physical body gets more weary, learning once more to look to the Lord for the strength I need to get through the day on five hours sleep.

And now, tonight, my stepdad just wriggled through all the boxes and bags and more dumped stuff on the floor that, a month ago, was starting to look almost tidy. I sat on the bed, just watching, nearly crying but somehow keeping them back. That seems to be a well-developed habit, how to turn the tap off so it was never there. But it's still sad. He puts Pepsi up next to me because the kid keeps jumping around the floor and getting in the way, before carrying on pulling all the books off the shelves, pulling the bookcase up and over the chest, nearly at a horizontal angle because there's too much stuff in the way. I want to help, but there's not enough room in the messy cramped space to get two people on it.

The feeling of useless helplessness is threatening to drown me, even as I repeatedly offer for him to go out the room and me to do it myself...imagining all the retorts from people - why didn't you do it yourself in the first place...

He finds my phone and hands it up to me. The screen is cracked - on the front, UNDERNEATH the protective cover. I can type in three letters of my sixteen-character password and no more.

Great. No phone. And already more money coming out this month.

More guilt washes over me for the McDonalds and the presents and buying that movie. I really should just stop spending altogether and FOCUS on SAVING. But it's. Hard. I want stuff. Merlin DVDs. Books. Biscuits for colleagues, flowers to brighten days and that occasional McDonalds McFlurry...to treat the family to chicken'n'chips for tea. And I so want to send presents and letters overseas like they do for me.

I roll off the ladder and follow him back to the living room, he going for his cuppa tea and me to tap a message on Facebook to warn people not to contact me by phone.

I finish up doing a couple more things and take my laptop back to my room, playing John Waller music and messaging Kathryn while starting to restock the bookshelves.

A little bit of quiet peace starts to flood me as I'm touching the covers of my beloved books. New books, old books, rare books, paperbacks and hardbacks. Nothing like your own little library, and I'm so thankful for each of them...the stories inside, the heroes and heroines of fantasy, faith and history.

There's just one little gap left, so I pick up a book lying a little to the side, remembering the story behind it and my reaction to it when I first held it in my hands.

Flipping open to the inscription, I read it again.

"To Sian, for being the bravest person I know."

The bravest person she knows...she wrote me a book because she didn't know what to say.

I don't feel brave. Right now, I feel like a coward, with my messy life reflected by my messy bedroom. I don't want to get up. There's too much stuff in here and as soon as one thing is cleared, more stuff is thrown in and it's like something crushes the will out of me to try again. It's. Too. Much.

"And I will move ahead, bold and confident..."

I didn't deserve that dedication.

But the least I can do is try to live up to it.
Try to keep fighting.
Keep living for the One Who makes it worthwhile.

"Taking every step in obedience...while I'm waiting, I will serve You while I'm waiting, I will serve You while I'm waiting..."

Starting with a messy room, I guess.

So pick up the courage I do not have, pray for what must be granted and...

I bend to pick up a doll and a coat.

"I will worship while I'm waiting."


Yours ever in our blessed Lord and Saviour,
~Siân