I'm in that stuck place.  Metaphorically speaking, I've ridden my bike to the coast, the warmth and salty sea beckoning me, the pastel blue waves lapping, speaking.  Yet I can't pedal anymore.  I'm weak. I'm inadequate. I'm vulnerable. I'm staring ahead at a concrete block where I'm parked, another gray block at my back.  This stuck place offers no movement.

Life feels too hard--my job a wet blanket I can't shake off one more time.  I let the smotherng weight of it rest on my shoulders, clammy and uncomfortable. Heavy.

Daily life is expensive.  The car needs work. That much?  Really?

The gray already showing in my hair?   No, I can't have the gray.  There are children starving.  I am too vain.  But I go ahead and dish out the money--relieved that I look better--at least to me.

A notice in the mail.  Your mammogram is past due.  It's been a year?

And the roof.  Yes, that's in need of replacement.  Nineteen years already?

And the financial guy--"You really need to save more.  Retirement looms, and you're not near where you should be. Your will needs updating too." Attorney fees.  More money.

And the marriage.  We are quintessential ships passing in the night.  Different schedules.  Different energy levels.  Going through the motions.  Emotionally distant.  "What do you need at Walmart?" "Did you call Pete to get the estimate for the repair?"  A goodnight kiss, a thread of connection.  "I love you," we whisper.  A faint heartbeat.  We long for the weekends.

Life--on and on--it's no surpirse that I'm stuck.  God knows I'm stuck, my hands soldered to the handle bars--paralyzed by stress and duty, suffering clients, aging, and financial obligations. God is not intimidated by my weakness.  He is not turned off by my inadequacies, my neediness.  He is not frightened by my vulnerability.  He welcomes this humanity.  God is the lover of my soul. I'm the beloved. The receiver. I'm in the clear with him.  He's strapped an umbrella to my bike, promising protection from life rain. He's not committed to giving me strength, but rather being my strength--in the rigidity, in the often flavorless world. He says, "Place your feet on the pedals, move out from that stuck place.  I am your resilience. I am your resusitation. There are new views, new venues.  Trust my lead. Learn how deep is my love for you.  My tenderness.  Head on down the coast on your bike, follow that blue line, my sparkling ocean a sapphire pathway."  

I breathe.  That's all it takes to loosen the rigormortis. A resurrection.  And I pray.  "Father, good father, kind father.  Relentless.  Furious to bless.  Superlative mercies.  The one who clasps my hand and lets me feel the warmth of your flesh.  Breathe on me.  Trail my path.  Lift me up.  Hallowed be thy name."