Succeed at this one thing
I don't know if you know this about me, you probably don't. But I have a new plan. Every so often I re-evaluate my life and configure a plan to set my feet straight and the wheels in motion for success in whatever it is that I'm failing at. Those things have been the same for the last, oh I don't know, all of my life: weight loss, organization, time management, devotions, kindness, anger management... you know, your run of the mill disappointments in a person.
The thing about this pregnancy is that I've never felt like I couldn't do it before. I would look at the test and laugh about the irony of the situation, always landing on the least opportune time in my life, and think, "Alright. Here we go!" This time I'm-- I'm in denial, I think. I stared at that little window on my bathroom cabinet waiting for the *not* to appear before the *pregnant* at any minute. And what's worse, I was putting clothes away the other day and decided I should double check the test, just to make sure I hadn't missed it, you know, the *not*, so I went back into the bathroom and peered into the little silver trash can. The trash can that I empty almost every day. The trash can that held the answer to my fate three weeks ago. To my surprise, it no longer offered me an opportunity to doubt. It was at that point that I realized things weren't quite right upstairs.
With the emotional trauma of the first weeks of school as a temporarily single parent, my world was spinning. On top of that, you know how high doses of surging hormones have a way of flipping you inside out at random intervals throughout the day. Every night I crawled into bed completely exhausted only to find my thoughts scattered and frantic. Every night I waded through them sobbing and then quiet and then reasonable and then trickles down my cheeks, trying hopelessly to sort it all out. It was tragic.
One night I tossed and turned for two hours before I finally cried out in desperation to God for help. I couldn't for the life of me imagine how He could help; He couldn't teach or make sandwiches or do dishes, but there had to be a way, right? So I begged, "God if there's any way you can help me out here, I really need it!" That's when I got out of bed and decided to order the few things I could do in the middle of the night. I made menus, wrote out a schedule, and prayed more, and this was my revelation. *Succeed at this one thing.* So simple; so doable.
The thing that steals my breath and stuffs me full of anxiety is not the laundry that spills out of the closet when I open the door, or the dishes piled up on the counter, or teaching twenty lessons a day. It's the fear of failure in these things. I should have done the dishes. I should have thrown the laundry in. I shouldn't have been come unglued when he dumped ketchup all over the refrigerator. I should have looked at her room after she cleaned it up all by herself. And the what ifs: What if they don't learn helping verbs? What if she stays mad this time instead of forgiving my meanness? What if someone shows up at the door when the house is a wreck? What if I really am just a bunch of smoke and mirrors? I shouldn't care, but I do. I want to be real, and I also want to be able to accomplish superhuman accomplishments because I CAN do all those things, if I really, really try.
What I've come to realize is: I can't. I just can't. There's only so much I can pile onto my plate before stuff starts falling off. So this new thing, my new plan, was revolutionary for me, more than freezing the milk and baking the bread. *Succeed at this one thing* My lifeline is Christ. As long as I fix my eyes on Him, I cannot fail. None of the things on that list matter as long as I am living and breathing and functioning in Christ, the author and finisher of my faith. Nothing. It settles every question about me and this life.
So, next time I call you and I am reeling from some hyper-emotional labor and drama, please, don't weaken me with pity. Point me to Christ, the only solid ground.
Thou madest us for Thyself, and our heart is restless until it repose in Thee.
-Augustine
The thing about this pregnancy is that I've never felt like I couldn't do it before. I would look at the test and laugh about the irony of the situation, always landing on the least opportune time in my life, and think, "Alright. Here we go!" This time I'm-- I'm in denial, I think. I stared at that little window on my bathroom cabinet waiting for the *not* to appear before the *pregnant* at any minute. And what's worse, I was putting clothes away the other day and decided I should double check the test, just to make sure I hadn't missed it, you know, the *not*, so I went back into the bathroom and peered into the little silver trash can. The trash can that I empty almost every day. The trash can that held the answer to my fate three weeks ago. To my surprise, it no longer offered me an opportunity to doubt. It was at that point that I realized things weren't quite right upstairs.
With the emotional trauma of the first weeks of school as a temporarily single parent, my world was spinning. On top of that, you know how high doses of surging hormones have a way of flipping you inside out at random intervals throughout the day. Every night I crawled into bed completely exhausted only to find my thoughts scattered and frantic. Every night I waded through them sobbing and then quiet and then reasonable and then trickles down my cheeks, trying hopelessly to sort it all out. It was tragic.
One night I tossed and turned for two hours before I finally cried out in desperation to God for help. I couldn't for the life of me imagine how He could help; He couldn't teach or make sandwiches or do dishes, but there had to be a way, right? So I begged, "God if there's any way you can help me out here, I really need it!" That's when I got out of bed and decided to order the few things I could do in the middle of the night. I made menus, wrote out a schedule, and prayed more, and this was my revelation. *Succeed at this one thing.* So simple; so doable.
The thing that steals my breath and stuffs me full of anxiety is not the laundry that spills out of the closet when I open the door, or the dishes piled up on the counter, or teaching twenty lessons a day. It's the fear of failure in these things. I should have done the dishes. I should have thrown the laundry in. I shouldn't have been come unglued when he dumped ketchup all over the refrigerator. I should have looked at her room after she cleaned it up all by herself. And the what ifs: What if they don't learn helping verbs? What if she stays mad this time instead of forgiving my meanness? What if someone shows up at the door when the house is a wreck? What if I really am just a bunch of smoke and mirrors? I shouldn't care, but I do. I want to be real, and I also want to be able to accomplish superhuman accomplishments because I CAN do all those things, if I really, really try.
What I've come to realize is: I can't. I just can't. There's only so much I can pile onto my plate before stuff starts falling off. So this new thing, my new plan, was revolutionary for me, more than freezing the milk and baking the bread. *Succeed at this one thing* My lifeline is Christ. As long as I fix my eyes on Him, I cannot fail. None of the things on that list matter as long as I am living and breathing and functioning in Christ, the author and finisher of my faith. Nothing. It settles every question about me and this life.
So, next time I call you and I am reeling from some hyper-emotional labor and drama, please, don't weaken me with pity. Point me to Christ, the only solid ground.
Thou madest us for Thyself, and our heart is restless until it repose in Thee.
-Augustine
that is so true - do the same for me when we chat.
ReplyDeleteYou can do it sister - hang on to Jesus!!!!!!!!!!
aww, Bec I am there with you. That is ME at the end of the day. Did I accomplish enough with my day? Was I am mean mommy today? I shouldnt have got so upset when he took a doo doo in his pants when he was three feet away from the potty chair (why cant he just sit on the chair before it happens....it has me at my wits end). I just want you to know if you ever ever ever need to talk, please please dont forget that I am a good listener. I will email you my numbers. Us flaming red heads have to stick together ya know. *wink*
ReplyDeleteLove Ya Girl!
wow becca. i needed this. even though our lives are different, i still relate. love you.
ReplyDelete