It’s been a few weeks. Three of them whipped off the calendar page in a big gust of January wind, and I sit here trying to chase them down.

I haven’t been feeling awesome for the last few weeks. January has felt like a hangover compared to December. December was so good. November was so good. And then January hits, and all I want to do is sleep. And, no, as far as I know, I’m not pregnant.

I’m not sure if it’s my diet. Maybe I should quit dairy like I’ve done wheat and oats and caffeine and most processed sugar. Food allergies run rampant in my family.

I’m not sure if it’s my job. I put a lot of pressure on myself there.

I’m not sure if it’s my kids. My son had a rocky start to the second semester and getting him back in the swing of things was definitely stressful.

I’m sure the fact that not practicing yoga like I have for the past two years isn’t helping.

But long story short, I feel like thieves came January 1st and stole all my energy, taking my shitzpa and mojo with them.

I’m feeling low and slow and sleepy and overwhelmed. Sapped.

I haven’t been writing. Haven’t felt like writing. Getting my fingers to move across these keys feels like a chore. It feels like starting over for the 6,658th time in my life.

I haven’t been praying as much as I should either or reading God’s Word, but I started again yesterday. Woke up again early today. And here I am typing away for the first time in three weeks. Huh.

I’ve talked to my husband and my mom, my sister and brother. I’ve cued in some of my friends, “Hey there. I feel like crap.” They’ve been more than obliging to listen to my struggle and offer their support. God bless them. God bless them all.

I don’t know what all this is, this midafternoon desire to curl up on the couch and sleep away the rest of the day. I don’t know what this is, this anxiety that’s pushing against my ribcage. But I know I’ve experienced it before. It comes and goes, ebbs and flows in different seasons in my life. I’m sure you can relate.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Wait for it to pass. Lace up my exercise shoes. Talk to my doctor. Pray. Be honest with those I can trust. Write. Be shored up by the assurance that life is hard, but God is here…life is hard, but God uses all of it. That’s why he shared all of those stories with us in the Bible, to show us how he works in good and bad things. There is purpose in pain. In Joseph’s. In Paul’s. In Ruth’s. In Esther’s. In Dana’s, too.

Sometimes I get to the end of a hard time, and I can turn around and see where the pain brought me, how all the rocky places sanded down my rough edges. Sometimes, that meaning is hidden away, stored up for a later date when it’s meant to be revealed. Usually those times I have waited for understanding have resulted in the deepest, most satisfying joy.

Until then, the clear, unmuddled part of myself reminds me that God uses it all. He sees me. He hears me. He brings purpose to my pain. There is a reason for all things. This too shall pass.

It’s been a few weeks. It might be a few more, but in these searching times, when my eyes feel cloudy and I can’t see the point or the end, I hang on to the One who’s just beyond my sight. My grip around His hand, a little bit tighter. His grip on me, overwhelming.