4:50 a.m. (or “Ramblings of a Non-sleeper”)

Sleep apnea is…uncool…Lord. I have enough to worry about with the blinding, chronic pain and the occasional depression. 

But I trust You know what you’re doing, and I love You. Crazy, I suppose, but crazy is what works at 4:50 in the morning. 

“Though He slay me…” right?

My legs are killing me. That’s what I know. And the best thing to do when the physical agony is crippling and you can’t sleep? Lay there and talk to God, man.

“I love you, Lord. Thanks for my job. Thanks for my Supervisor, Todd Waggoner. Such a pastor’s heart, Lord. Help him rest and laugh this weekend, a lot. He needs that. 

Bless Steve Anoa’i, my coworker. He works seven days a week, between his job and the Samoan church he pastors. I don’t know how he does it, Lord. He’s so much stronger than I could ever be. 

God, my back is killing me! This isn’t fair, Lord, I’m so sick of all this pain. Yet not my will but Yours be done. I know people think I’m nuts but that’s ok. I still trust You. 

I can’t sleep. I’m so tired I can’t think. The last thing I recall is Laura sitting on my lap right before bed and me pledging my eternal love. 

Laura, my wife, my lover, my best friend.

My heart and soul. Take me before her, Lord, because if You take her first someday, I’m worthless. Worthless. Bless her, Lord. As I lie here listening to her even breathing, I’d like to thank You for her. She’s more beautiful and lively and funny and joyful than I ever deserve. Bless her with happiness and laughter today. 

Thanks for my kids. Jess, my daughter. MAN, the stuff she’s overcome! An abusive relationship and drug abuse, then to go on and graduate nursing school near the top of her class, with her husband and son by her side. She’s killin’ it, Lord! So proud of her. Strong and brave and beautiful. Like a wild Apache soul. Give her strength. 

Help my son, Trey. At 17 he’s already training to be a Firefighter and is amazing on the drums. He’s better at it than I’ll ever be, and I couldn’t be prouder. He’s the most kind and gentle soul I know. Give him strength, Lord. 

I’m tired, God, and I’m mad that You’ve saddled me with all this pain, but may it not be in vain. Let my struggles be worth something, if only to let the person reading this know they’re not alone.

Oh, God bless my Uncle Aaron. He’s hurting, I’m sure, right now. He’s come back from HELL, Lord, and beaten the odds. With all the drugs he done, the paint and glue and gas he sniffed, and the cars he totalled, he should be dead. Instead, though, he’s in ministry, reaching out to others like he used to be. He could be in Hell, or in a nursing home somewhere with his mind like a bowl of Jello, but he’s still kickin’ it. 

Man, that KISS concert we went to was fun. He went, even though he had to go in his wheelchair. That took guts.

Oh, sorry, sleep mind rambling. 

Better close my eyes for another fitful two hours of semi-sleep. I love you, God, and I trust You. I just want You to know that.

See Ya in a couple hours.”

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