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.
This is your inner cheerleader shouting that your anxieties should shut up.
ReplyDeleteA-N-X-IETY! You don't get to cry! No, you don't get to cry!
Or...
A-N-X-IETY! Now it's your turn to die!
haha... this is why I wasn't a cheerleader. Or a limerick writer. :)