I realize I missed 2 days. Yesterday was not my fault. The blogiverse was having major problems. I could not comment on any blogspot blogs, I couldn't log in to my blogger account. I couldn't get to my google home page or check my g-mail. The server was always taking too long to respond. I tried. I really tried. Thursday, I just kinda forgot. All day I was thinking I would write some when John got home that night. But he worked late and after the kids went to bed NBC sucked us in with all it's darn good comedy. Next thing I know it's Friday morning and the aformentioned problems began.
So here I am today. Only 5 more days until Thanksgiving. Do I try to make up for the two days lost? I don't think so. I'm pretty sure that's legalism. Yeah, I just looked it up. There's absolutely no grace involved in trying to make up for not being thankful enough. Which brings us to the here and now. It's my favorite place to be these days. I've spent so much of my life longing for the next big thing. I couldn't wait to graduate from high school. I couldn't wait to get married. I couldn't wait to have kids, I couldn't wait to have a little girl, I couldn't wait until my last pregnancy was through. SUCH wasted time. I used to really think, if such and such would just happen, then I would be happy. I have come to see that this is the way a fractured, chemically imbalanced brain works. It's not good. I want to enjoy the journey. Yes it's cliche, but that doesn't mean it can't be true.
Today, and truthfully many of my days, I am ecstatically thankful for Ms. Annie Lamott. She makes me laugh. She makes me cry. She makes me think. But most of all, she helps me relax and she reminds me that it's okay to take care of myself. In fact she says it's mandatory, spiritual even. I've just finished reading Plan B, and although I probably like Traveling Mercies better, there are some great stories here too. I'd like to share a bit from two of my favorites.
Lamott tells the story of a ski trip she took with a friend who was dying of cancer. The week before their trip, they were talking on the phone and the friend was crying. She told Anne, "I've got what everyone wants but noone wants to pay." "What have you got," asks Anne. "I've been forced to love myself and I'm no longer afraid of death."
It just so happens that I read the Untitled essay on the perfect day. I'd just said no, when asked, at the last minute, to do someone a favor. I was feeling incredibly guilty so I sat down to read and pray for a minute. I received no immediate answers, so I got up to go to the bathroom. I happened to see the book while I was in there, so I opened it. I scanned the contents for the shortest essay in the book and turned to page 169. Sometimes, and actually most of the time for me lately, I hear God's voice in places other than the Bible. Here's what I read:
I became more successful in my forties, but that pales in comparison with the other
gifts of my current decade -- how kind to myself I've become, what a wonderful tender
wife I am to myself, what a tender loving companion. I prepare myself tubs of hot salt
water at the end of the day, and soak my tired feet. I run interference for myself when I am working, like the wife of a great artist would -- "No, I'm sorry, she can't come. She's
working hard these days and needs a lot of down time." I live by the truth that "No" is a
complete sentence. I rest as a spiritual act.
Learning to love yourself. I do not agree with Whitney that it's the greatest of all loves, but I also don't think God created me so I could tear myself a new one everyday. Or every minute either. If Jesus rejoices over me with singing, shouldn't I think about being kinder to myself?
Like I said, I'm thankful for Anne; and I'm also thankful for truth.
Well I think I'm gonna go now. The baby's sleeping and I could use a little nap myself. Until next time . . .bye.