Wrestling

It had been a long day, starting at 7 am moving my oldest son to college. By 11pm, after a trip to the airport, scouts with the kids and a good cry, I was wiped out. Then the panic attack hit.
Intellectually, I knew that I was exhausted, over-caffeinated and just generally stressed out. I needed to sleep, but as always my overwhelming feeling was "I need someone here. I can't do this alone."
But that's exactly what the Lord asked of me – to do it alone, depending only on Jesus. The day before, I prayed that being alone would be an opportunity to "yield Him my all, and to find all in Him." How differently that looks at midnight, by myself, fighting panic symptoms.
I felt like Jacob wrestling with the angel and scrambled through Genesis to find the reference. "Oh Lord, please don't require me to wrestle until daybreak!! I don't think I can!" I plead with God. I breathe. I finally kneel on my bathroom floor singing with a cappella hymns playing on the CD player. Crying while defiantly singing hymns of praise – defying how I feel at the moment to proclaim truth. Pleading with "Love that will not let me go" and "Breathe on me breath of God." Begging that God would draw nearer to me, that I could feel His presence.
Graciously, the Lord does not require a battle until dawn. Somewhere near 1 a.m. I lie in my bed listening to strains of "I surrender all." Lord, I surrender all! Even whatever I don't know I have left to surrender, I surrender! And I sleep.
Morning finds me weary, worn, grateful. I hate and dread the battles. But I will admit that every battle leaves me a little stronger, a little less intimated by this embarrassing issue of anxiety. And maybe a little more confident that when the Lord said, "I will never leave you nor forsake you," He really meant it.