When FOMO Threatens Your Christmas

The hopes and fears of all the years are met in Thee tonight. 

-O Little Town of Bethlehem

Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. 

-The Apostle Paul, 2nd Corinthians 3:17, ESV

REAL TALK. Christmas edition. 

Last night, I was super struggling with some Major FOMO* and its ugly cousin, Straight-Up Jealousy. I was leafing through Facebook, because that’s definitely NOT going to be a problem this time of year. Insert Eye Roll. Our budgets are tight this year (when are they not? Oh, and by budgets, I don’t mean just monetary. Energy and health-wise AS WELL), and I’m not even sure if we’re doing anything beyond putting the tree up and playing with the Little People Nativity set. Like, ANYTHING. Our tree is fake and we order presents on Amazon. So when Facebook shows me a beautiful array of dozens of Christmas tree hunts, dazzling Christmas light shows, frozen Christmas parades, and sweet Christmas cookie exchanges, I’m like whoa. Where was the time found to even get that done, on top of normal life living stuff? I mean, it’s only been December for about 5 seconds. So, like a normal person, I just sat on my couch and felt SAD AND SMALL AND SORRY FOR MYSELF. Oh, and it was felt in all-caps, I assure you. 

IS THIS WHAT CHRISTMAS IS ALL ABOUT, CHARLIE BROWN. 

I ASK YOU. 

Because it feels like everyone is out being CHRISTMASY and living SEASONALLY, and here I am, in my own particular set of limitations, struggling to get up and make dinner and make sure there’s clean underwear for tomorrow. Fibromyalgia and endometriosis take up so much of my time, I joke that I actually have more than one child to take care of. Well, it’s a joke and not a joke, if you get me. 

I have been thinking about that word, limitation, lately. Well, sometimes when I get a thought to myself, in the beautiful and giggly chaos that IS having a toddler. Mostly I hate all the limitations I have. The physical ones and the money ones and all the ones in between. They make me have to WAIT, something I’m quite terrible at. They make me slow down, something I’d rather not do, thank-you-very-much. They make me feel small next to my busy generation, which is invalidating. They make me have to prioritize, when I’d rather just have and do it all. 

Waiting. 

Slowing down. 

Feeling small. 

Prioritizing. 

When I look at this list, I feel annoyed. TO BE HONEST. This isn’t the To-Do List I had in mind for this season. But on better days, I can see it as a gift. Especially during this Advent season, which is all about the wait, isn’t it? I am forced to wait and slow down and prioritize. Even feeling small is a gift when it means I can have a proper perspective of myself in the world, when I can think of others as better than myself, as indeed I am called to, as a believer in Christ. I can only think this way because I am deeply loved by Christ, and that’s more than enough to sustain. It’s the only thing that can erase the fear of missing out. His love is the only thing that can redeem our smallness, our longing in the middle of waiting. It will allow us to give what we can, out of those very limitations and even brokenness. 

So if you’re feeling small this season, if you’re wondering if you should be doing more, if you’re feeling like the To-Do List will never be conquered, if your heart is longing for more this season, you’re actually in the right place. 

When we’re forced to wait, when there is no other choice but to slow down,we can begin to see it as a gift. Let Christ come to you, to me, in all our weary waiting. He is gentle with us. He is aware of all our limitations, and He wants to be our Great Helper. We wouldn’t see how we need Him, this Savior who was born to us in the city of David, if we didn’t have these limitations. These limitations can serve to remove our blinders of false productivity, of false busy-ness, of false hopes. When we actually accept our limitations, we can see how unlimited our Christ is, and the fears of all the years will certainly be met in Him. Our worries and fears will disappear in His great joy and delight in us, as we make room for Him. 

So I’ll be taking this Christmas thing one day at a time, just like I do in all the other seasons (although not always gracefully). I’ll be weighing what’s doable, what’s manageable, and what’s life-giving. I’ll be asking what I can give, in my limitations. And that will be enough and I won't have to compare my schedule to my neighbor's. I’ll pray that disappointments and all the waiting will only bring me closer to Christ and to His kingdom and to His people. As we celebrate His birth and the glorious realization of God being with us in our humanity, let’s rest and be refreshed in His limitless joy. 

*Fear of Missing Out; aka POSSIBLY THE WORST THING EVER WHEN YOU HAVE NO PLANS

We have a Very Helpful Toddler-Decorator this year. 

Bethlehem can be a crazy place. 

You can't see the mess jusssst outside the frame.  Hee hee. 

Bad Grown-Up; Still Awesome

“No, stars are for achievement. My 40th cigarette of the afternoon. THAT deserves a star.”

—Bernard Black, Black Books

Having gifts that differ according to the grace given to us, let us use them: if prophecy, in proportion to our faith; if service, in our serving; the one who teaches, in his teaching; the one who exhorts, in his exhortation; the one who contributes, in generosity; the one who leads, with zeal; the one who does acts of mercy, with cheerfulness. 

—The Apostle Paul, Romans 12:6-8

I am not a very good grown-up. 

Really. 

Except for the other day.

I went to the insurance office and sat there for OVER TWO HOURS. It was worth it, because now we are saving BOOKOO BUCKS, but afterwards I had to buy cookies and stress-eat an entire sleeve. I mean, I didn’t have a choice, really. DON’T WORRY, THEY WERE GLUTEN-FREE. And delicious. And I harbor no regrets. 

It’s weird how certain things make one feel like an adult. ADULT THINGS. Meeting or calling about ALL the insurance. Renewing tabs ON TIME and remembering to attach them ON TIME. Going to the post office or the bank. Making chicken stock from scratch. Calling customer service.  Making appointments. Filing paperwork. Returning ANYTHING. Scrubbing out the tub. Making a menu plan (that I hardly ever stick to). Using the paper shredder. Remembering to get something out of the freezer ahead of time. And probably the biggest one of all….USING THE CROCKPOT. 

Please tell me I’m not the only one who feels the need for a Well-Done-You-Reward for doing these things? I mean, except the crockpot. That’s its own reward. Obviously. 

The sad thing is none of these activities will do themselves, and as my friends and I often lament, there is STILL no butler, chef, personal secretary, or maid on the premises. I mean, it’s weird. So I have to use the Reward System for myself, like I’m some kind of Toddler Who Would be Bribed. Thankfully, for our budget and my more-form-fitting clothes, it’s not ALWAYS cookies (although that would be ideal). It’s usually in the form of watching House Hunters or another episode of Morse or Poirot (VINTAGE AND CLASSY TASTE ALERT) while I fold laundry. Or a hot bath after sorting and filing mounds of paper. Or a piece of chocolate for dusting and vacuuming. You get the idea. 

When I look at that above list of what I consider Adult Things, it strikes me that they are all filed under Administrative or Household Maintenance. And it makes sense why I don’t want to do any of them. Because…boring. I would much rather sit on my porch with all my flowers or curl up with a book because WOULDN’T ALL OF US. This doesn’t mean we’re lazy or anything. It just means we’d all rather be spending our time and energy doing what we love. I just started reading Cold Comfort Farm by Stella Gibbons (insert: HILARIOUS) and came across this line, and it struck me that I AM THIS HEROINE: 

“... on the whole I thought I liked having everything very tidy and calm all around me, and not being bothered to do things, and laughing at the kind of joke other people didn't think at all funny, and going for country walks, and not being asked to express opinions about things (like love, and isn't so-and-so peculiar?)” (Cold Comfort Farm).

Thank you, fictional Flora Poste. BRILLIANT. I like tidiness, although I can never fully achieve it. I adore calmness, because I’m an introvert with fibromyalgia. I love not having anything pressing to do, so I can putter and patter about, taking my time with things. I always end up laughing at weird things, to the point where people have told me they don’t understand my sense of humor but they love me anyway (whew). I love walking now! Like, it’s a major THING. I feel like a crazy person without it. And please don’t make me talk about really important things on the spot. Please give me a head’s up a few days before or allow me to submit thoughts in writing. Hahaha, if only that were possible. AM I RIGHT. 

But what is the point of all this rambling, albeit surely fascinating, introspection? Besides telling you that I need little incentives to do chores (LIKE I’M THE ONLY ONE)? 

We need to know ourselves. We need to know what makes us tick, what gives us motivation to do things. Not just for silly things like doing the dishes or calling the insurance company, but for our whole lives. I think in our world of social media where we can present only the image we want, where knowing the lingo and exceeding expectations is everything, it’s easy to lose who we really are, even to ourselves. I still think we should all be careful about what we put online, of course, but this mindset contributes to being too concerned with image. I find myself always and constantly editing myself, even in person. Whether it’s about how I’m doing, how life is, what I’ve been up to, what my plans and goals are for the future. Part of this is being a perfectionist, part of this is pride, but I think we’ve all been trained to Be Careful about how we present ourselves to the world at large. In a world where we judge others by what they share on Facebook or on Pinterest, (you know it’s true), how can we not be concerned with our image or try to hack ourselves down into a socially acceptable version? 

I know I don't feel like I fit society’s norms of what a female in her early 30s “should” be. AKA a “grown-up.” With a career. With 2.5 kids. With LIFE FIGURED OUT. Or at least this week’s meals planned out (What’s today, anyway?). The thing is, though, NO ONE has it figured out. We are ALL taking it step by step, day by day, and even if you are one of those immortal beings with a five-year-plan or an immaculate house (God bless you, you mysterious creature!), there are detours and stop signs and wrong turns for all of us. Just because life is confusing and messy, or you might be struggling with certain things, like illness, financial difficulty, relational stress, direction in life, depression, anxiety, weight or acne or other appearance-related things, you still count. You are still you, and you are worthy to still live your precious life. You are still amazing and strong in spite of the struggles. 

If we can learn how to give ourselves a break about expectations and allow ourselves to be who we are in all our messy and beautiful glory, what a wonderful world this would be, to quote the incomparable Mr. Armstrong. If we can learn to not censor ourselves so much, if we can embrace our own quirks and personalities, if we can take the time to get to know ourselves again, we will learn what it means to be fully ourselves. And it will be amazing. Because we all have gifts and talents and skills that are not valued much by society, like hospitality, making others laugh, seeing beauty everywhere, picking out gifts for people, making a killer cinnamon roll, gardening, leading well, serving others in grace, or even roller-blading or playing hockey or knitting or landscaping. These kinds of things make life full and meaningful and interesting. 

And when we can accept that we are each individuals, not fitting into tight molds made by others, we will help those around us in the same way. It’s an paradoxical thing that we can’t be our best selves alone-we need others. In the same way that I am more myself being married to Ben, we all have the influence to bring out the best in others. We can inspire those around us to embrace who they are, who God made them to be, to grow into the person they were meant to be. In this way, we will build up the church and the world. In this way, each one knowing who they are and what gifts God has given them, we can bring God’s kingdom to earth. In this way, we can show the world who Jesus really is—the One who transforms us, who loves us, who cares for us, who made us to be His own. When we love each other without condition, when we care for them, when we encourage each other to grow in Him, we present a beautiful picture of Jesus. Let’s help each other shine brightly, in all the mystery and beauty and freedom of individuality. 

Judge not a book by its creepy cover. 

Had to bring some of the beauty indoors. 

Bright colors!

I had to get some new flowers! BE STILL MY HEART. 

Embracing Self-Care

And when I run, I feel His pleasure. 

—Eric Liddell, from Chariots of Fire

Have you not known? Have you not heard?

The Lord is the everlasting God,

    the Creator of the ends of the earth.

He does not faint or grow weary;

    his understanding is unsearchable.

He gives power to the faint,

    and to him who has no might he increases strength.

Even youths shall faint and be weary,

    and young men shall fall exhausted;

but they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength;

    they shall mount up with wings like eagles;

they shall run and not be weary;

    they shall walk and not faint.

—Isaiah 40:28-31

Self-care is really hard. 

I don’t care if you’re single, married, have kids, have a goldfish, work full-time, are unemployed, or whatever. It’s hard stuff, taking care of our needs. 

Self-care is quite the buzzword these days, too, making it sound like yet another to-do item on the never ending list of Things Today’s Modern Woman Must Do. The guilt builds every day we don’t have a hot bath or practice yoga or read for 10 minutes. It’s easy to see the benefits of these things, of course, but who really has the time, or even the will to do any of these things? 

Clearly, I’m one of these women who struggles at the idea of taking care of myself. Of course. Most nights of the week, I TELL MYSELF, THIS, THIS will be the night I have a hot bath before bed! This will be the night I turn off the TV and get myself down the hall to run that delightful and relaxing bath. Haaaaaaaaaa. Yeah, no. Every night, the comfort and sheer impact of routine usually keep me rooted to the couch. And it’s easier to hit Next Episode. Ah, maybe tomorrow night will be different. And so it goes.

But I’m not even just talking about adding in something new, like listening to Mozart before bed or drinking hot water and lemon in the morning…before coffee (sidenote: what.). I’m talking basics here. Getting enough rest. Eating good and delicious food. Taking time to seek out good and encouraging people-time, or taking time to seek out good and encouraging alone-time. Taking time to read the Bible and pray. Pursuing hobbies and interests. Engaging in energizing movement. 

Having chronic pain over the past few years has made me seek out self-care like never before, even though I’m not a natural. I found myself struggling with just the day-to-day running of things, and I couldn’t coast by anymore. I had to adjust, find more ways to take care of myself, to be intentional. Oh, I guess I DO need to go to bed early. Oh, I guess I do need to lay off the sugar and the excessive amounts of caffeine. The list goes on. There has been so much trial and error, so much balancing and adjusting. 

It’s been strange, discovering that it’s good to take care of myself. I know that might sound weird or pompous, but it’s not. I believe most people don’t really believe this. Judging by how run down, ragged, exhausted, and anxious our culture is, most of us are running on steam. And that is terrible. It’s terrible because when we are perpetually exhausted, perpetually at the end of our rope, we are not really ourselves. We are merely surviving. And don’t get me wrong! There are seasons of survival, seasons of coping, seasons of grief. And that’s ok. If we find ourselves in that sort of a season, I pray we can all reach out and get the help we need. 

But when we live out our days and our years, our precious time, by running ragged from one thing to the next, we lose the joy of truly being ourselves, I believe. We stop knowing ourselves, and we lose ourselves in the lists and errands and deadlines and commitments. Perhaps we do this out of guilt. If I’m not busy, if I’m not doing things, I’m not worthwhile. If I’m not pushing myself to the brink physically or emotionally, no one will think I’m doing my best. If I’m not making everyone around me happy all the time, I must be doing something wrong. This is so untrue! While it is best to think of others first and to care for the needs of others, how can we care from an empty cup, as the saying goes? It is not written anywhere we are not allowed to care for ourselves. As a matter of fact, Jesus himself says to love our neighbors as we love ourselves (Luke 10:27). Paul says to look to the interests of others as well as our own (Phillipians 2:4). 

Here is the thing. We are not doing anyone any good when we don’t take care of ourselves. There are no awards for Least Self-Care. You see, it’s all about our motivation, our heart, as most things are. If we don’t take care of ourselves as a way to manipulate or feel like we have one over on everyone, that is just plain wrong. When we want to play the martyr or shock others into sympathy, we are not truly ourselves or acting from a place of trust or faith in God. I have felt this temptation many times in my chronic pain—to not take care of my appearance or let my healthy routines slide so others would actually believe me when I say I feel terrible. Or to work through an event or even keep a job, just so I could prove to everyone that I am a worthy person. 

We are not meant to live our lives in guilt or fear or trying to force sympathy. We are meant to live in freedom, to be ourselves as God created each and everyone of us to be! Each of us, each individual human being, is made in the image of God (Genesis 1:27). We are each worthy of dignity and care and consideration: we are image-bearers of God himself! If we are in Christ, there is no condemnation (Romans 8:1). For freedom, He has set us free (Galatians 5:1)! This is good news for all of us. This means we can all take a deep, deep breath. We can rest in the truth that we are each worthy because God has made us worthy, and if we believe in Christ as God and Rescuer of the world, we have nothing to fear. Not even our own sins and foibles and past mistakes. We will never be found out because God has given us His own righteousness, and given us new life. 

And we must see that God doesn’t want us to burn ourselves out. He wants us to be salt to a flavorless world, to be a shining light to a dark world (Matthew 5:13-14). He made us all different and beautiful, each with a certain way to shine light, to be salt, to be something that makes others look back to God in wonder and joy. One way we bring glory to Him is simply to be who He created us to be. Do you love to dance? Dance! Do you love to garden? Garden! Do you love to draw? Draw! Do you love to host and have people over? Host! Do you love to play music? Play! Do you love to cook? Cook, and invite me over!

Instead of making self-care another weary and impossible chore (because we know that it will always slide to the bottom of the list), let us remember the essence of it. Let us remember that it’s not merely some added thing to do. It’s actually much smaller and bigger at the same time. It’s allowing time and space to be who God created you to be. It’s about embracing what you love and letting God shine through that. And it will look different at different times to different people. It might be taking that bath one day, or reading a favorite book, or watching a new show, or just sitting in the park with the sun on your face. It might be saying no to yet another activity, it might be staying home from church sometimes. It might be saying yes to something new, to someone new. It might be forgiving an old hurt, it might be forgiving yourself for an old mistake. 

In this way, I believe transformation will come to each of us. One of my favorite authors, Frederick Buechner, wrote in Wishful Thinking, “The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet,” and this is so true. Your deep gladness, the things you do that make you feel alive, the things you do to offer care to yourself, God uses. Don’t ignore your passions and the things that bring you joy, because God longs to use them to help the whole world. Make time to be intentional, to be creative, to be whole. We have no idea what joy and hope will come to the world when we are truly ourselves. 

Going to get fancy drinks at your favorite coffee shop is highly recommended. 

It's ideal to have a favorite restaurant, too!

Sometimes making yourself a cup of tea in a Batman mug can do wonders.

Baking is my JAM. 

Sometimes nothing but the water will do. 

Peanut butter pie is ALSO my jam. 

Get outside sometimes. It's so good. 

Favorite beverage in a favorite mug...mmm, ritual. 

Wild Hopes and Bright Lights

No more let sins and sorrows grow

Nor thorns infest the ground

He comes to make

His blessings flow

-Joy to the World

For to us a child is born,

    to us a son is given;

and the government shall be upon his shoulder,

    and his name shall be called 

Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,

    Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

Of the increase of his government and of peace

    there will be no end,

on the throne of David and over his kingdom,

    to establish it and to uphold it

with justice and with righteousness

    from this time forth and forevermore.

 The zeal of the Lord of hosts will do this.

-Isaiah 9:6-7

There is always an invitation to fear. 

Fear is always with us, always immediately outside the door, always asking to be let in. Day in, day out. Year after year. Breath after breath. Reports of war and terror and unrest and a planet that is tearing itself apart fill our screens and minds. Difficult people and estranged relationships and things said or unsaid, things done and undone, weigh heavy on our hearts. We can also be filled with fear at our own lives, in the confusion and the mundane and the unfulfilled dreams—the sense that this isn't how it was meant to be. We face fear of the unknown in the future before us; we try to leave fear behind with our past choices and circumstances. Fear is always waiting for us. 

What is the remedy in a world so dark, in hearts so easily bent? Can there be one, or are we all so tied to fear? 

In this season of Advent, we wait. We wait in the dark, we hope in the dark. 

We join the ancient practice of preparing our hearts for the celebration of the birth of Jesus. Before a child can be born, there is the long wait. Before a son can be given to us, we had to prepare. Before the Wonderful Counselor, the Mighty God, the Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace could come to us, there were years and generations of waiting. Before the government could be put on his shoulder, there was darkness and fear. Before the increase of His kingdom and peace, there was the fear of not knowing. There was only waiting. There was only hoping.  We wait with the world and we look forward to the joy of remembering His birth and what it means for all of us.

Fears are transformed in December; we stake our claim that hope and love and the gift of a Savior is stronger and larger than the darkness of our twisted world, of our twisted hearts. Anxieties are put to rest with the birth of a virgin’s son. Disappointments and discouragements are melted in the cry of the newborn King. Hopes are renewed, faith is reborn, and we find our joy in the light of his coming. 

So in a kind of wild hope, we set up our lighted Christmas trees. We hang up bright lights around our windows, defying the dark days and long nights. We decorate and bake and shop and plan and celebrate those we love. We reread the ancient Scriptures and remember the story of Jesus’ birth together. We hope and long and yearn for peace—for our friends and family, for our world, and in our own hearts. 

And yet, we do not just simply wait in a kind of wishful thinking. We can bring His kingdom to light no matter where we are. We who believe that the government is upon his shoulder, we hold his glory in our hearts and lives and relationships. We who believe Jesus is the Prince of Peace for all—we are called to continuously mirror his joy and reconciliation and love. We cling to this Prince of Peace instead of all our fears. In this way, as the old songs say, both the hopes and the fears of all the years are met in the light of His glory and grace. 

Goodbye, Daisy

To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.

-C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves

Daisy, you punk. You have been our family cat for 18 years, and you stole my heart immediately when my parents placed you in my hands, a tiny creamsicle of fluff. With your intense adorableness, your Queen of Everything attitude (which you lived out every day of your life), your whole-hearted play and mischief, you lodged yourself a place in all of our hearts. You are a fixture, an institution.

How can you get sick and old? You still judge us all silently from your corner, from the couch where you take up more than your fair share, you still purr the loudest when we pet you just behind your ears where you like it. You still yowl for tuna and follow my dad around till he gives it you. You show my mom your keen displeasure when she has to get up from the couch or if she dare use her laptop in your presence. You allow my brothers and me to pick you up and cuddle you right after you got settled down for a nap. And you are just as cute as you were 18 years ago, just a little slower and now you need more naps. You stopped being able to climb your ladder in the back porch a few years ago, too many steps. You had to find new spots to look out the window at your domain. Now you like more people than just our family; you actually agree to being petted by others. You have mellowed out a lot, Daisy. You used to turn your back or simply stalk off in extreme displeasure when we had company. I have lovingly called you my Snot Cat, because you are so, well, snotty and stuck-up. And yet so perfect. 

Daisy, I don’t know what we are going to do without you. You taught me how to love and care for something smaller and more helpless than myself. You showed me affection when I needed it the most; on sad or stressful days, you would find me and curl up with me and purr away. I even had to learn a little about putting another’s needs before my own—getting up in the middle of the night to let you in more times than I can count. I’m sure you appreciated every single time I lost sleep for you. You showed me what true leisure is—it’s in play and delight and living in the moment and napping in the sun. Enriching every part of life, knowing I could come home after work or school, or now that I’m an adult of sorts, I can come over and visit, and find you and tease you or feed you or pet you while you napped. If your Highness permitted, of course. 

And now we have to say goodbye to you, you adorable jerk of a cat. I’m so mad at you, but I’m so thankful for you, too. You are definitely taking part of my heart with you, you punk cat. I mean, I named my first email address and Xanga account after you, and here you go getting old on me. None of us know what we will do without you. Goodbye, best kitty-princess-face of all time. You have been loved and adored every moment of your good, long life, and I know you loved us all too. 

It's the Little Things

Your albatross, let it go, let it go,
Your albatross shoot it down, shoot it down
When you just can't shake
The heavy weight of living
-Bastille, The Weight of Living, Pt 1

Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where
moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal, 
but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven where neither moth
nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal. 
For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. 
-Jesus of Nazareth, Matthew 6:19-21

This might sound dumb, but I just CLEANED MY HOUSE. 

All day long, I’ve been looking forward to coming home (duh) and CLEANING (weird. also unusual). As soon as I got home, I put in the second-to-last load of laundry from the weekend that didn’t quite get done, and changed into home clothes. Then I found the duster and went to work. I do wonder why most of my furniture is dark—note to self: spray paint or get lighter furniture that won’t show AS much dust. Geez, it pops up so fast. After dusting the bookshelves and the coffee table and the TV stand, I heaved out the vacuum and got going on the carpets. I found myself feeling a little perhaps TOO proud of myself for vacuuming when I realized that the thing was set to HOSE not CARPET. Oops and that’s what I get for feeling smirky. At least I was still in the first room I started. While I didn’t get under ALL the furniture, I did move the coffee table and the dining room chairs, so I get major points. Of course. Then because I was still moving, I wiped down the bottom shelf of the fridge. Because you know what collects down there. Shudder. 

I can’t even tell you how I feel right now. It’s probably like how Julius Caesar must have felt upon his triumphant entry back in Rome after conquering everything and everyone. 

It felt so good to accomplish some Real Things on my stagnant To-Do List. I’m forever making impossible To-Do Lists for myself—impossible even if I didn’t have chronic pain—and feeling bad about myself because I usually just end up on the couch staring around my house at all the things I was GOING TO DO, or watching another B-movie because A) Duh, and B) it’s easier than feeling bad about not DOING ENOUGH. Ben-Who-is-Truly-My-Better-Half does about 89.4854398674% of everything around the house, and I am sooooooo thankful. He cooks, he cleans, he shops, he vacuums, he does bathrooms, he is the Man. I always want to do more, though. I want to pitch in and “do my part,” whatever that means. Since we’ve been married, my ability to help out has diminished INCREDIBLY, and sometimes it’s super hard to fight the feelings of inadequacy and guilt. Feelings of panic roll in: “Isn’t this a PARTNERSHIP? I DON’T FEEL LIKE I’M GIVING ENOUGH. OMG HE’S DOING EVERYTHING. HE’S NOT EVEN COMPLAINING. HE’S SCRUBBED THE TUB OUT THE LAST 73 TIMES. I AM A WRETCHED WIFE. WOE IS ME FOREVER AND EVER AMEN.’’

But while I was wiping out the fridge, on my knees surrounded by cold bottles of bbq sauce and hard cider and salsa, I found myself asking, “Is this what makes me a good wife? A good person? A good anything?” Sure, I mean, it’s great to be able to move around enough to wave the vacuum around and swipe at dusty surfaces. I LOVE THAT. It makes me feel so normal and even thankful to be able to indulge in a little clean-up. As a chronic pain feeler, anytime I get to participate in daily activities, I am overwhelmed by gratitude and a sense of accomplishment. Did I make it to work? LOOK AT ME GO! Did I shower today? HECK YEAH! Did I go to dinner with friends? OMG I’M NORMAL. Did I go shopping and get some errands done? WATCH OUT WONDER WOMAN. 

I think I waste a lot of time, though, thinking that it’s DOING all these things will make me a good wife, a good friend, a good whatever. And doing is sure part of leading a good life. But it’s not what makes me a good wife. I need to ask myself other questions, like did I listen to Ben today? Did I tell him I love him yet today? Not did I make the bed today, but did I make the most out of my time with him today, whatever that might look like? These questions are also flowing over into other parts of my life—did I make the most out of my time with my friend? Did I give 100% at work today? Am I looking for things and people to be thankful for, even when I can’t get off the couch and reach for the duster? I’m slowly, ever so slowly realizing that I can make shorter To-Do lists with an open mind, knowing that it’s probably NOT the end of the world if I didn’t Do IT ALL. And that checking things off a list doesn’t make really make me the person I want to be. 

Because I don’t want my heart, my treasures to be tied up in clean floors. Or In having a tidy pantry. Or a picture-perfect, Pinterest-perfect bathroom. I don’t want to get to the end of this life and look back on my years and only have some scrubbed tiles of which to be proud. I want to enjoy time with my Ben, with my friends and family and co-workers. I want to enjoy belonging to Jesus—I want my heart to care about what He does, to invest my life and heart in what He’s about—loving Him and loving others. I want to be able, at the end, to say I was overjoyed at my life and the things and people He’s given me. I want to be faithful in the small things, like housekeeping when I can, and know He can use something even like that to bring me to fuller truth. So here’s to striking when the iron is hot and getting things done when possible, and to living life to the fullest even when our lists are long and we’re not able to get it all done. Because we are more than ok because we are loved by Jesus, more than ok when we love fully. 

This Good Life

It’s four in the morning and I’m turning in my bed-
I wish I had a dream or a nightmare in my head,
So I drop my imagination and get some sleeping done
Now it’s five in the morning and I’m wishing it was one.
-M. Ward, Four Hours in Washington

Be gracious to me, O Lord, for I am languishing; 
heal me, O Lord, for my bones are troubled. 
-David, king of ancient Israel, Psalm 6:2



I miss my pre-fibro body. I miss my pre-fibro brain. I miss my pre-fibro activity level. I guess I’ll always be mourning that, huh? Who wouldn’t miss feeling less pain, less aches, less fatigue? It’s hard to hang on to perspective. That things are still good and full of hope, in spite of my physical circumstances, which flavor every part of life. How to lean past this pain? How to embrace my body as it is? How to live well day by day? There are so many rough things I can focus on, so many hard things to which my attention is naturally drawn. 

So. 

The pain is bad. 

The pain is real. 

All of my feelings are real and true. 

But. 

There are good things still. And good things have come into light because of my health. 

My love and I enjoying a beachly stroll in between naps. 

My marriage has not suffered-in fact; the love we have has grown: strong and rooted and deep. It’s very beautiful. Ben’s care for me is practical and emotional and kind and generous and gentle. There are many times where I cry and cry and cry and he just holds me and strokes my hair and tells me it’s ok to cry, ok to feel, ok to be hurting, and it’s not my fault, that he loves me more than ever. This is very beautiful and true. 

The friendships I have are also beautiful. The ones who have come alongside me and Ben, the ones who come over and plop on the couch with me. They go out to dinner with us when I can manage it. They text me and email me and ask how I’m doing, and they really want to know. They believe me. That is huge. 

Being a Christian is different now. It’s also growing deep roots. I keep having to test it against my new circumstances. And it’s ringing true. Christianity is ringing hard, yes, but so true. I am finding that all the Psalms about asking God to rescue, to sweep down out of the sky and banish all the enemies—I can relate so much more. I am finding that crying aloud to this God who sees all my desperate hours-asking questions, voicing doubts, always comes full circle to thankfulness and peace. It is becoming more and more true to me that physicality and health and circumstances can be ripped away in a flash, but that the love of God is true. That the love of His people is true. That He allows others to be His hands and feet to me. 

God cares about my health, yes—He cares about this body He created. He doesn’t want me to be sick or in pain. This is not part of His plan. But I am also learning the hard lessons of His timing vs. my timing; how His very mysterious ways are not my ways—how there are times when He doesn’t appear until the dawn. How His silence is real sometimes, and I’m just not going to get it, how I’m just not going to get this Christianity thing. But it still makes the most sense to me in this crazy, messed up world. I’m learning that He can really use the broken, the wounded, the used-up, the sick. That His strength in our weakness is actually enough, and actually full of grace. Even when we think we’re alone and that prayer is just talking to the ceiling, He really is there, too. This relationship is different than any other—to worship and follow an invisible God is full of peril and doubt and trust and faith. 

The Good Life is looking much different than the one I imagined or expected. It really is hanging on tight to joy, and looking for the brightness in the dark. Once I begin to accept my smallness brought on by ill health and reduced pride, I can see how big and beautiful and large this life is. How good this life is.