I might be a little bit biased, okay, but I've read other peoples blogs, and I don't think mine stinks, but this, of course, is an opinion that the reader must have as well as the writer. Obviously, I'm no Jen Hatmaker or Beth Moore or Ann Voskamp (maybe it's just me, but AV's blog/website confuses me), who make their living and their name writing words on a page, but I wonder...do they have off days, too? Do they sit down at the computer with life tugging at them and wonder what in the world to say to the adoring public contingent? Do they sit and ponder and pray and then ponder some more, or do the words they write just roll off their fingertips and form perfect little o's and p's and q's right there on the page.
Maybe you feel the same way I do. Like your contribution to society just isn't ever going to amount to much. Like there are others who came before you and who are here now and who will come who will blow what you do out of the water, and so why should you even bother. Because sometimes the effort doesn't match the results, and life continues tugging and pulling, and you have things to do and places to go and kitchens that have gone BOOM to clean and those things don't just get done. And you might even recount a story that you have already told on your blog and someone goes "Oh, I didn't even know you wrote a blog" and you feel like they might be saying I don't think I'll take the time to check it out, either. And even though you try really, really, really hard not to, you take those things personally and to heart even though you shouldn't and you've already put words that haven't actually been spoken in that other person's mouth and you wonder is there a point to all this?
|I have declared the month of March the official "Take Pity on your Mother and Clean Up Your Own Crap" month because nobody got time for this.|
Not to mention that in all the places of life where you struggle--maybe with depression or anxiety or weight or beauty or loneliness--all those places where you feel like you've handed over your drama to God for the last time because how much more could I possibly struggle with this--you feel just a little bit of backsliding. Just a touch. And you know that instead of taking steps forward, turning corners and conquering the world, you're just facing the sun and walking backwards.
Over the weekend, I was entering information into My Fitness Pal--both a blessing and a curse, truth be told--and I mentioned to my husband that I just don't know how much longer I can obsess over the calories--carbs, fats, proteins, etc, etc, etc, etc--that go into my mouth and into my body. I am big on health and nutrition. I do think it's important to pay attention to what goes in your mouth. I do believe that flat abs, which is the #1 question I get asked about--starts in the kitchen. But there is a fine line that I just can't seem to navigate. The waters are deep and dark and murky there, and I get lost somewhere between moderation and overkill. And I know it's overkill because sometimes it comes from a place of fear rather than a place of confidence. Sometimes. (Sometimes I just know that a particular food isn't healthy and doesn't make me feel good so I don't eat it, so there's that.)
"You're going to deal with this for the rest of your life, aren't you?"
Not an accusation from him, more an observation. Something to make me stop in the tracks I'm making and think. Because at my age, the rest of my life is a long time to be meticulously counting carbs.
Different people are tormented by different things. Insecurities eat away at us until we have nothing left, just shells of people driving cars and sitting on beaches and cooking meals in kitchens and shopping and sitting in church pews and going to work, pretending like life is grand on Instagram but secretly pushing their fears down, wondering how will I get through this day?
The thief comes only to kill, steal and destroy...
Have you ever wondered what that even means? To kill, steal, destroy? When I read that I think of war, famine and Boko Haram, which are all destructive. But there is something much more insidious, and while we would defend ourselves if a robber knocked on the door, we freely hand this thief everything we have. Because he makes us think that a number on the scale is going to make us happy. That a new car will bring joy. That money will satisfy. That true satisfaction could come from any other place than it's origin--God.
And as long as we are distracted by something--anything--then we are not fully committed to God.
But if from there you will seek the Lord your God, you will find him if you seek him with all your heart and all your soul.
I don't have all the answers, but I do know that the things I'm looking for don't come from a number on the scale, and they never, ever will. Not ever. And it's not so much of a convincing myself of that fact as it is believing that there is more to the picture that what the world at large says is true. Because the things I'm looking for include peace. Rest. Assurance. Grace. Love. A calm spirit. I want to be happy. Not circumstantially happy. Soulfully happy. Creative.
Intoxicated by the One who made me.
...I have come that they may have life,
and have it to the full.