round and round
As much as I've wanted to write this week my thoughts do nothing but spin around in my head. I've been trying to put my feet back under me where they belong, but they keep slipping out. Even though it's only Tuesday Sunday seems like a lifetime ago. Time is spinning so fast.
My stomach has been bugging me since the chili I ate for dinner, so I don't really feel much like sleeping even though I'm exhausted right now and have a very full day tomorrow.
I have been trying to do something, anything with the past week or so, but it feels like life has been a blur that I'm trying to reign in and grab onto. The house is an absolute disaster...a basket of clean clothes awaiting folding, freshly bought groceries strewn over the counter and tabletops, dirty dishes in the sink. And yet, my hint of OCD is not latching on to these annoyances this evening. I'm simply a lump on the couch trying to avert my attention from my churning stomach. Trying to convince myself that it's worth it to drag myself upstairs and join my husband in bed.
In the meantime...I heard a quick piece on a deceased author on the radio this afternoon. I don't even remember the author's name, but I do remember one of the questions that (apparently) perpetuated his work - why in America do we have a preoccupation with seeming happy? even when we're not?
Sure, everyone wants to be happy. It's much more fun than being melancholy, downright sad, angry or grumpy, but why do we paint our masks on before we step outside? Why do we shy away from the truth if it doesn't fit into what we want?
We all know that sometimes "the truth hurts" but the addendum for most of us would read: "but I don't want it to hurt me, so I'm going to keep lying to myself."
But the truth does hurt, and the world - beautiful and amazing as it is - is also ugly and full of anger and hate.
I think our misshapen world is why home matters so much to me. More than anything home is a place that will wrap me in its sweet aromas and loving walls (and arms and paws) when I walk in the door and help me escape the hurting and painful world, and refresh me to face it anew when I leave again. Home is the place without the mask, without the pretense, without the insecurities.
I'm thankful for the house home that I have. But I'm also thankful for the people homes and the city homes -- those people and places with whom and where with I feel more like myself than I do when I'm stuck all alone in my own skin.
I'm thankful for the ability these people and seemingly insignificant things have to give me ambition and drive again. to remind me of what is important and what is worth fighting for day in and day out. to remind me of the goodness and the grace of God. and I'm thankful to God for putting those people and places in my life to fortify me along the way.
thanks for the reminder
it was desperately needed