AWAKE WITH MY EYES CLOSED

Night 3 at the Slightly-Less-Than-Premier-Inn was probably the worst. I think, because it was always going to be followed inexorably by a Monday morning.

I was lying awake with my eyes closed, almost too tired to cry; who knows how Sammy was doing next to me! Perhaps the same. Perhaps slightly more afraid, slightly more troubled.

Now, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. Plenty of people have thrown in the offer of a sofa bed or a place to crash, but it’s not easy to disrupt ourselves from this port in a storm to another. I appreciate it. Sometimes I feel as though the tattered sails might not make it across the harbour.

As we walked down the corridor to breakfast, Sammy told me that her coat, which she’d wrapped herself into before leaving the room, felt like the closest thing to being home right now. Apart from being with you, she added, sweetly. My heart wobbled with worry and shame. I know I haven’t let her down, I know it’s not my fault, and I have tried my best, but I still feel as though I’ve not been a good husband or leader on this journey, or that there have been a thousand things I could have handled better. Pesky emotions.

Rich was telling me last night about their insurance claim several years ago. I must have looked wide-eyed as he told me about the awful negotiation phase - that bit that’s yet to come for us - in repairing and replacing. This week, on top of exhaustion and displacement, could be difficult. Hence, I suppose, being awake with my eyes closed in the middle of the night.

I’ve got to dig a little deeper haven’t I? I mean in the secret, battery-charging, sacred space of faith. I’m not saying that this is what this has all been about - I can’t spiritualise the problem like that, and I won’t believe that God brought this on us like some sort of horrible training exercise. No. Life’s just messy, and sometimes things happen. But even in the valleys, the challenge is to lean closer to Jesus; to walk nearer to him, to learn his rhythm in the difficulty and (if it’s the right word) suffering. If I’m reading it well, I think suffering is somehow a mysterious path to intimacy. But there are more qualified sufferers out there who could probably go much deeper into that thought.

Somehow today is about navigating the working today with a head that’s dizzy from tiredness and a heart that aches. Meanwhile Sammy’s at the house, helping the clear-up team fumigate and strip the contaminated surfaces. She’s planning on opening all the windows when she’s there, just to get that crisp autumn breeze blowing through our house. It feels like a prayer: come and blow on through, come and do what only you can do. Yes please and amen to that.