Lord, I don't know what to do

"Lord, I don't know what to do."

I heard the words of my husband from the place he sat beside our bed.

What a way to start a prayer. I thought.

 "Lord, I don't know what to do." 

What brokenness. What surrender. What peace. 

He had pulled up a chair beside the bed where he held my hand rubbing his thumb along my knuckles.

His black-brimmed hat adorned his head, his wild rag tied in a loose square not laid over his chest, his spurs chimed as he shifted his the weight on his feet in a lean forward with elbows on knees. 

I felt bad for keeping him from the horses and the chores. But there he sat, like he was never going anywhere.

I look up and see one single tear escape from underneath the hat brim.

"I hurt when you hurt."

I catch a glimpse of the love of the Father in this ruffed up, tender-hearted cowboy.

A distant Scripture verse comes into focus, something about God weeping over His children.

Thank you, Jesus.

The loud sobs that had been racking my body settled into silent tears. 

Peace.

The wailing and the sobs had hit me like a loaded rig out of nowhere, the weight of the day exploding out of me.

Triggered beyond a cognitive recognition, I had sat on the floor attempting to take my shoes off to step into muck boots to feed up. I found myself seemingly unable to move, every ounce of energy gone. And the moment hit, nothing changed, nothing in the environment triggered. It was the emotions I had dismissed all day that reached the breaking point. 

The breaking point.

The breaking point where the shoes come off and hit the wall across the room. Fueled by a mixture of unidentifiable emotions.

Anger. 

At who? I don't know.

Why? I don't know.

The cause? I don't know.

But after the storm there was peace.


I think of the times I've said, "Lord, I don't know what to do."

Watching my sister slam door repeatedly against my mother,

"Lord, I don't know what to do."

Deciding on whether to fight back with fists clenched or succumb to the waters my head was being held under,

"Lord, I don't know what to do."

To escape it all, or to withstand it,

"Lord, I don't know what to do."

The number of times my parents must have said it,

"Lord, I don't know what to do."

I think of my husband as a 12 year old facing a divorced home,

"Lord, I don't know what to do."

Brokenness.

Surrender.

Peace.

In those moments I can't recall just what I did and I can't say that I remember the Holy Spirit provoking me.

But He answered.

He always does.

For me, He answered through a book on trans-formative prayer. Welcome Him into the trauma. Because He was and is there.

The prayer always is, "Lord, I don't know what to do."

The answer always is, "I am here."

In saying, "Lord, I don't know what to do" accepts brokenness. Accepting brokenness opens the door for healing. 

Saying, "Lord, I don't know what to do" enables a posture of surrender. A posture of surrender says, "I can't do this on my own, only you, Jesus."

Saying, "Lord, I don't know what to do" brings peace. It's not on us to have the solution.

My rugged cowboy that could have tried to provide a solution or a temporary "fix-it" instead took on his own brokenness and surrender at the feet of Jesus.

He took my brokenness to Jesus' feet.

He carried it when I couldn't.

And He didn't have to carry it far. Just far enough to hear "I am here."