Back Stroking

So many times today I felt like I was gasping for air. (And forgive me because I don't seem to be able to articulate well. Thoughts don't seem to join into sentences the way I intend.)

I'm not much of a swimmer; don't feel completely comfortable in the water, don't love it. I can't even float well. About the only thing I like to do is the backstroke, because my face is (mostly) out of the water and I can breathe, look around (sky is particularly beautiful) and move without such effort.

That's how I feel. . . as if just my face is out of the water and I'm moving, because if I don't move, I'll sink. I'm not comfortable, it's not pretty, and I'm not making much progress. The water laps around my head and I feel how close it is to covering me. I'm happy that it's not and yet I can't really totally relax, either.

I'm gasping for grace. I'm moving through the day, slowly, and it's not pretty, and yet I keep going because I have to. I can't get enough grace in. I just want to breathe in deeply, inhale great lungfuls of God's peace and assurance. I'm humbled, recognizing so many weaknesses in all my life. So needy, so needy I feel.

Move to Richmond. Keep breathing, stay afloat. Nurse the baby. Teach the kids. Love my husband. Invest in people. Pray. Make food. Clean up. Breathe, move. Run. Work. Love. Cry. Feel the waves, the water holding me and breathe, because my face is still in the air and the grace above me stretches forever.