Little by Little

You might have noticed I didn't put out a blog entry last week. You might not have noticed, as alas; I am probably not the center of your life. In any case, last week a new wave of mourning crashed over me somewhat unexpectedly. On Sunday, I felt worn down and deflated without really understanding why. I had spent Saturday enjoying a rare date day with my husband. We had an amazing time together and I felt so full of love and joy. The next day, I felt like an old, wrung-out sponge. Normally I would have made up for my Saturday fun by grocery shopping, meal prepping, and doing a little bit of housework. I've actually come to love and find energy in that routine. Instead, I ordered some pre-prepped meals from a slightly overpriced local place that does such things and watched Doctor Who the entire day. I told myself a day of rest was just what I needed to be raring and ready to go come Monday.

But Monday came and went, the drained feeling never leaving. I scrambled (as lethargically as one can scramble) all week long. Normally an "on top if it" kind of person at work (who maybe a teensy bit judgmentally chides other people when they are being careless or missing deadlines), I couldn't keep up with anything. I made mistakes. I had no focus. I felt like every task with work, school, or home represented a metric ton of quicksand being dumped on my head. Come Thursday (Daddy's birthday), I was very emotional and even starting to feel physically ill, but still hadn't connected the dots. Unfocused and somewhat drowning, I spoke with a friend who had experienced a similar loss. She related that on important anniversaries like her dad's birth and death, she usually finds herself feeling "off" for the week- whether she is consciously considering the date or not. It occurred to me that the anxiety, sadness, anger, and general ineptitude might have been owing to that very phenomenon. I left work early that day, skipped class for the evening, and had dinner with my husband, mom, and sister to celebrate my dad just like we would have done if he were here: with good food, love, and Long Island Iced Teas. I continued to feel sick and exhausted Friday, Saturday, and part of Sunday- though I picked back up on my routine. On the following Monday (this week), I "snapped out of it." It was an almost instantaneous change.

A couple of days later I was reading in Exodus as part of the Bible in a year progression. As the Israelites are journeying into the desert following their delivery from Egypt, God promises essentially to clear the way for them. He says that He will drive out their enemies so that the Israelites can inhabit the land. Unlike some of the other situations Israel had encountered by then (rather rapid or even instantaneous granting of land and property), He promises to do so gradually: "But I will not drive them out in a single year, because the land would become desolate and the wild animals too numerous for you. Little by little I will drive them out before you, until you have increased enough to take possession of the land." (Exodus 23:29-30)

Honestly, I have never been good at "little by little." I have lived my life in cycles of optimistic, tireless productivity followed by longer periods of exhausting depression and despair. This pattern is largely owing to my desire to conquer the whole world at once. Whether it's working multiple jobs at a time, trying to be "all things to all people," trying to be a health and fitness freak, trying to take too many new projects, trying to pay off debt more quickly than is realistic, or a combination of all of those things at once; I get impatient and I overdo it. I eventually slam into the walls of reality (hard). At best, I am back at square one. At worst, I lose not only the ground I've gained but regress several steps further back in whatever I was trying to accomplish. I disappoint myself and get questions like "wow, what happened?" (which, by the way, is not a great way to tell someone you are worried about them in any category...so there's a bonus PSA for you) As I have tried to be faithful to this year's goals- spiritually, domestically, academically, physically, mentally, and professionally- I honestly believe myself closer than I have ever been to striking a healthy balance. And yet when I'm doing my best is when I tend to lose sight and get cocky.

Last week represented a serious halt to my manic self-assuredness. I discovered that, as in everything, I had rushed ahead in my grief to declare myself in control. I assumed it couldn't overcome me unless I let it...and then it did. I was reminded that balance is a result of a conscious effort to arrange your life around a fulcrum. For me, the fulcrum is Jesus. He knows much better than I do exactly how much of the land I am ready to inhabit. He knows that sometimes it isn't the miracle of an evening, but of an era. Instead of letting me run out into the future, grabbing everything I can and spinning around like Julie Andrews on uppers (great analogy, right?), He knows I need to slow down and take the time to "increase" (grow). If I try to take the whole at once, "wild animals" (obstacles, doubts, exhaustion, pride, anxiety, lack of preparation) will overtake the ground I'm trying to claim and I'll lose it all. Whether it is in learning to understand grief or pressing on toward a [million] goal[s], I have to remember that sometimes things are meant to be gradual. 

Little by little, God is teaching me.