So this thing keeps happening. My bed keeps slipping off of its frame. It’s been about a month, and I keep doing the uncomfortable laborious lifting to put it back in its place. It’s a pain in the ass.

Yesterday we put it back together. Usually it stays put for a while. Today it felt as if my head and stomach were connected with some torturous contraption whose maker had perfected the perfect balance of pounding tied to nausea. All day.

I decided that I’d stay in productive posture in the recliner instead of laid out on the bed. Both my body and the climbing toddler said no. So, I thought about going to bed. And I realized that my mind, though well on its freedom journey, was still looking for some publicly acceptable justification for rest.

I made lunch for the toddler; fed her while in productive posture in the recliner, and then rocked her to sleep in that position too, instead of following her example, and tunnelling into and wrapping myself in my bedding as she had. But my mind was likely protecting the space that I knew I needed.

Anyway, I had the toddler put in her bed, and then set out to walk to the nearby school to pick up that little queen. Because of course I could do it, and wasn’t good cardio the cure for everything? Thankfully, my Father kept intervening. He does that you know, as the One Who loves and sees.

So, five minutes into my walk, a call comes through; Leah on the line. “Hey girl. Are you sure that you wanted me to meet you at the school, or did you want me to pick you up at the house?”

Well, first of all, I overestimated my horsepower, and secondly I was in soooo much pain. And there she was.

By the end of our route I felt so much worse than I had at any point of the day. I barely made it up the stairs, and finally crawled into bed. Within a couple of hours, between a concerned tucker-in of a daughter and a boisterous toddler, plunk, there goes the bed.

I tried to shift it without calling anyone, because the talking, the concern, the well-intentioned movements to show love were just too much, and I’d have to either call out loudly or walk. Back on the wonky bed I went.

And as I lay there my ailing self said, “just get rid of it”. Of course! Why hadn’t I thought of that before?! “Well,” the more integrated part of me reminded, “you’d be too low. You don’t like that.” Oh yeah. But it’s not worth all this trouble, and it’s now so uncomfortable. Just get rid of it.

My annoyed self got up to do just that, when that more integrated me interrupted; “how about if we fix it? I bet you that it needs some nuts and bolts, and I bet you that you have something appropriate in that tool box which you fortuitously moved into this room last night.”

And so it was. Two nuts and bolts kept from a happily demolished piece of furniture. (Tip – don’t throw out the hardware.) Moving the mattress and box spring out of the way, I fixed the frame, and then put them back in place, on a solid foundation that will hold.

It occurred to me as I was finding the connectors that this was a significant lesson needed for life. When I initially finally crawled into bed to rest I was able to listen to a two-part podcast that perfectly fed my soul. Then, as I went to find the hardware, I wondered how many relationships have been thrown out because we keep trying to make things comfortable without real connection. Even though the two pieces of the frame fit perfectly together, until I was willing to actively insert strong connection the frame could not serve its purpose. A pair of connectors needed on each end: one bolt of love, and its corresponding nut of truth.

At least two people, each actively integrated with love and truth is the stuff of which beautiful relationships that support rest and a strong place on which to spread are made.

And now I’ll put the bedding back together, so that I can tunnel, snuggle, and be tucked in with no shame.