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.