A Monday Kind of Love


I heard the devil this morning. “Aw, hell, she’s up,” he said.
 
Some mornings I rise and I don’t feel a single thing. Not good, not bad. Nothing. Then there are days like Sunday. The days when I wake up and feel every… single… thing.
 
It was the worst kind of pain: unidentifiable, dull, and heavy, weighing down on me from all sides; the kind of pain that the devil cooks up in his favorite cauldron. A succulent stew of sorrow, sweet to the devil’s lips.  The kind of pain that he dips his fingers in and tastes before serving on his finest china to the best of believers.
 
“I can’t get up,” I rasped to my aunt across her bed. My plan was for us to spend a fun Sunday together. I’d probably said a total of four sentences to her the entire day. My sulking stretched a vast valley in the king-sized space between us. I, on my side, was in a land of my own, a land where my appetite, voice, and vitality had all been banished. The blankets were heavy, my chest was heavy, and my stomach screamed “no more!” after half a grapefruit.
 
“I can’t get up,” I’d said. “I can’t eat and I can’t care.” She replied with wise, barely-heard words: words that graced my ears but scarcely grazed my conscience. I would save them for later, for when I actually wanted to pick myself up.
 
I spent this Sunday in bed. Literally. After early service at church, I came home and slept on and off from about noon to nine. I continued to lie there until about ten, and then had the nerve to shower, read, relocate to another bed, and be out for the night by eleven-thirty (& slept through the night too!).
 
And then I heard the devil. “She’s up, she’s up!” he said. His plans had been thwarted by grace. By 7:30 a.m. I’d already prayed and received my Monday kind of love from God.
 
Monday’s love is not the sweet slow dance of Sunday. It’s bittersweet: a tough new beginning but a chance to get it right. Monday kind of love is a love of second (& third, & fourth, & fifth) chances. A do-over love. A rejuvenated love. 
 
This morning God told me to get up. “This will not be easy,” He told me “but I have a blessing for you. And the only way to it is through it. It will hurt. but when you cry cry out to Me.
 
Psalm 23:4 says: “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for You are with me; […]” So, yes, I still have to go through it. Yes it will hurt. Yes I will cry. But I will never be without help: “My help comes from the Lord” (Psalm 121:2). Whatever help I need, He will place in my path. 
 
And no matter where I leave off in my walk with Him, I can stand firm in God’s promise that I will be sought and delivered: “For thus says the Lord God; ‘Indeed I Myself will search for My sheep and seek them out. As a shepherd seeks out his flock on the day he is among his scattered sheep, so will I seek out My sheep and deliver them from all the places where they were scattered on a cloudy and dark day. I will seek what was lost and bring back what was driven away, bind up the broken and strengthen what was sick […]” (Ezekiel 34:11-12 &15-16).
 
God has promised me that He will see me through. It won’t be easy, but, He will pick me up if I stray. He will bring me back, & we’ll hit the re-set button, & we will get it right. That’s that Monday kind of lovin’.”


*This piece was inspired by Tyece of Twenties Unscripted & her latest issue of her Newsletter, “Sunday Kind of Love.” You don’t get it it if you don’t get it. 

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xo,  Roco

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