Sick Day

Day 38

Today I woke up with a sore throat and a general, overall icky feeling. Knowing that a nasty cold/ upper respiratory infection seems to be going around, I opted to call off work. This put me in a unique position, I had to be home alone. Unlike a similarly situated Macaulay Culkin, I did not place my hands on either side of my face and scream, although I did experience some trembling anxiety as my roommate was walking out the door to leave for work. I know that's silly; I'm nearly 28-years-old. And at any other time in my life, a little alone time would have been a rare treat. But today, it was a rather terrifying prospect. So, within minutes of her leaving, I had taken a couple NyQuil, and headed over to mom's to wait for the medicine to kick in. I know, I'm a chicken.

I have spent most of the day in bed (like a good patient) trying to sleep and not think too much. The broken heart side of this thing seems to get to me the worst. Thoughts that were once happy and exciting are now forced out of my mind like money-changers in the temple, and if I go down the mysterious road of “Why,” I am only confronted with more pain and confusion. So instead, I sing a song inside my head and try to turn my thoughts to something less dangerous. But even then, I feel I am only grasping desperately at my sanity, and all too often falling just short. To quote retired NASA senior scientist Donald Kessler, "We've lost control of the environment.” As if we ever had it, Donald.

Despite my melancholy introductory paragraphs, today has not been a total bummer. The ability to sit quietly at my computer, sipping sweet tea, and soaking in the KLOVE in a house all by myself, is a big step for me, I feel. And I am thinking now, thinking about how all of this is working in my life to make me the person God wants me to be. I have to accept that on some level, I may never go back to the old me. And on some level, I don't want to. The old me tried to do things in her own strength, the old me was judgmental and censorious, the old me tried to cram so much in to please God that she drowned out the voice of God, Himself. I don't want to be that person ever again. But I would like my “hope” back. (I know that just believing that I'll have “hope” again is “hope” itself.) I look for the day that when I think of doing some future event (as simple as walking on the beach, or as life-altering as walking down the aisle), I have a spark of excitement ignite in my soul. I want my joy back.

This evening, as I was walking with my mom and sister-in-law, someone brought up shoes. Running shoes, to be more specific. I haven't had my running shoes out all summer. (After my half-marathon in May, I kinda lost interest.) Someone asked, “Are you going to start running again?” I've been thinking about that for some time now. Am I going to start running again? Maybe. But then again, maybe not. I've decided that I only want to do things that I really want to do. And to stop trying so hard to squeeze something significant into every day, and just appreciate every day for its own significance. The Psalmist said, “This is the day that the Lord has made!” And then, we are admonished to rejoice and be glad. Every day has its own value simply because it is given to us by God. Besides, it's such an achievement for me to get through a day, I haven't had the emotional energy to think of doing anything significant with it. My expectation on myself, as I move forward, is this: to start building something that looks less like a resume and more like a life. I'm tired of trying so hard to make a list of accomplishments I can rattle off in an interview, but all the while screaming on the inside. In some effort to earn love, respect, and value, I lost something that mattered: Me. And God doesn't want my list of accomplishments, he doesn't want my volunteer hours, my sacrifices, my busy schedule. He just wants me. So as I release all the clutter in order that I might embrace Him, I am finding underneath it all, I am somewhere at the bottom of my pile. And maybe it's at the bottom, where I find joy again.