This year has proved to be singularly hard in -- well, not in unexpected ways. I guess I've always known that these issues have been ticking time bombs. Now they've finally exploded, and here I am, cleaning up the mess. It's one of those stories I would hear and say "Oh my word, she is just so amazing. I don't know how she does it."
Except that it's me. This is not a book, not someone else's life. It's my life, and somehow, I have to figure out the nitty-gritty, day-to-day details of it, and somehow remain cheerful and energetic enough to see outside of myself, too. So lately, I soak in Sundays like plants do sunshine. I wrestle with my heart until I can seek nourishment from the scriptures, rather than the band-aid answers I crave. I pray, often in spirals until I finally manage to say what I really mean.
And I look my anxiety in the eye and tell it to shut up.
The right thing is still the right thing no matter how I feel about it. Sometimes the right thing seems really selfish. Or ridiculous-- illogical-- fatalistic. But it gnaws and scrapes and pulls at me. The right thing refuses to be ignored. I can convince myself it's not the right thing, but really that just means I'm putting it off. I think that's how the Spirit works when you live righteously. It won't leave you alone until you give in.