I’ve been doing a lot lately.
It’s kind of my own fault, and it’s not even necessarily a bad thing. Between the salon and the safehouse, I’m working 40 to 60 plus hours a week, going to dance lessons twice a week, rollerblading about three times a week and still trying to make time for some social exposure a few nights a week, even though most of the time all I want to do is sleep. I’m enjoying things–if my life is fast paced, I can rise to the challenge. I feel a particular satisfaction as I imagine how well-rounded the “busy at life” montage would look on film, and then I nod off again trying to finish some F. Scott that definitely has an overdue fee on my library card by now.
I cruise along, abusing coffee and under-eye concealer to mask how I feel and then suddenly, it happens:
The breach of my emotions; the two day extravaganza.
I sobbed for 30 minutes before church about going to church, I sobbed for the entire flag team presentation after worship to Francesca Battistelli’s ‘He Knows My Name’, I sobbed as I watched this X-Factor audition (which I just started crying over in Starbucks while I was searching for it to link in here), I sobbed as I poured over my video footage of the kids (yet again) and remembered the preciousness of this day in particular:
I can’t exactly tell you the trigger, but I’m going to say that an almost thirteen hour work day, finally watching The Fault in Our Stars and seeing a few more wedding albums on Facebook is a serious enough cocktail of ‘too-much’-ness was probably what did me in. Couple that with my personality of constantly feeling disconnected from people because I’m looking for a level of connection that probably doesn’t actually exist, and that even though I know the Church is flawed, I still fantasize about a place where I feel at home in this world where I’m not supposed to actually feel at home.
I should have probably put up some sort of preface to all that, like warning I’m about to say some things that don’t sound very Christian but there aren’t different levels of struggle in this life and Christians struggle too because they’re humans first before they become Christians.
I am seriously blessed, in both the I am an American #blessed way, and in the way that isn’t measurable by human eyes. If I were to write to you a list of all the things that Jesus has showed me and stood with me and faced in the past year alone, that list would be a novel that I wouldn’t be able to get through without sobbing in gratefulness. I can’t compare the creature I once was, with all my hangups that literally crippled me, to a freer, more joyful individual, still with some hangups, but brave enough to face them without throwing up the white flag of surrender.
And yet still, despite it all, I can still find myself totally focused on the things that I don’t have yet, or the places I haven’t reached yet, or the little moments of loneliness that strike me, or the areas that I haven’t grown in yet, and I look (and feel) almost exactly like this:
The struggle, Becky. I felt you back in 1996 when I saw Junior Floyd for the first time along with you, and I feel you now.
I took a brief break from writing to go to my dance lesson (it being Tuesday and all), and then found my way to the library for a bit. It’s been gray and rainy today, lovely and cozy writing weather and my favorite, thinking weather.
It’s not that I haven’t tried to find meaning apart from God, because I do that all the time. It’s that I’m unable to find it, no matter how busy or creative or full I am. When it’s been a few days or a week or even more than that without taking time to actually talk with Jesus and connect with Him, the whole thing falls apart. It doesn’t matter how convinced I am of this fact, if I don’t take time for him, then it’s all just hot air.
Oh, how often I settle.
I came home earlier than normal, and ended up having some coffee with Dad–though he doesn’t drink coffee. It’s rare that I get a chance to just sit and chat with him, but he ended up sharing with me about how he was reading Romans 1:21 last night and how scary that was for him.
“They knew God… it wasn’t because they were ignorant, but because they knew him and didn’t take time to thank him or worship him or even acknowledge him. It’s that simple… and they became futile in their thinking. It all falls apart and becomes meaningless. Doesn’t matter what you get in life, hon, if you’re missing Jesus then you’ve got nothing.”
Dad’s always been timely with his advice, but man.
I keep on moving, moving ahead.
Forget the ways you fall. Forget the times you fade.
Look at how you’ve changed and stayed. So pick up your bags and carry on, carry on.