I recently read an email from a young missionary serving with the Spanish people in California. I love the way he writes. He starts with Sunday and reports briefly on what he has done each day of the week. I like that, because it makes me feel like I'm kind of doing the walk with him, although he, not I, is certainly doing all the work.
This morning I tried to do the same thing with my week so far, thinking it would be a good way to journal. What did I do last Monday? Tuesday? It's really hard to remember unless I consult my calendar. But this morning, as I was getting a hair cut, I had made a decision about how to designate Thursdays.
Here's a little background. I've been having some back problems for the last little while. My daughter calls her two bulging discs Bill and Hill. I have not yet named my two. (Perhaps we should have a contest?) In any case, they have been rather angry at either me or each other lately. So, I finally gave in and located someone who could come to my home once a week and do house cleaning for me. Her name is Lilli, and she's capable and adorable. What relief for me, right? Well, not so much.
Back to the hair cut this morning. Inexplicably, I found myself fidgeting and fussing until I was finished and out the door. What in the world was wrong? FINALLY, I pinpointed what I was worried about. I was concerned that I wouldn't get home in time to clean up before Lilli came to clean up. How utterly nuts is that? But there it is--out in the open. A stress magnet, I am. Totally and completely.
Over the years, I've often heard acquaintances tell me, "You seem so calm all the time." WHAT? Surely they can see the smoke pouring out of my eyes and ears, notice my flaring nostrils, observe the continual popping of the Rolaids, my firehose of choice when I can't get to some Mylanta. I must deserve an Oscar. Of course, the stressful side of me doesn't shock people who know me well. As Abraham Lincoln said, "You can fool some of the people all of the time, and all the people some of the time, but you can't fool all the people all of the time." So true.
So about my plan for Thursdays. Driving home, I ruminated a little and thought I'd hit on a really good thing. Since I was already going to be stressed about Lilli, I could start Thursday morning, call it Stress Day, and devote it to all my worries. It makes sense, right? I could pick anything or anybody that I'm worried about and just do it. I could do it all--pace the floor, whimper, make repeated trips to the watering hole, hide under the bed, do what I do when I'm overwhelmed. I'm already in the mode. I might as well do it all at once. And sort of like the missionary I mentioned earlier, I could just report, "Thursday, I worried." Case closed.
It's funny how the mind works. (Some would not use the word "funny" when describing the workings of my brain, I'm certain.) Whatever. Just when I had hit upon a workable plan for Thursday, I realized that Thursday is Thankful Thursday. And my plan went up in smoke. If I choose a day to give myself permission to "stress out," it cannot be Thursday. Why? Well, it's rather magical. I simply cannot experience negative emotions while focusing on my blessings. It can't be done. It's one or the other, sista, but not both.
So today, no more worry. Today I'm just thankful. For what, specifically? Well, let me begin. For America, my country. For the blessed gift of being an American. I'm thankful for her system of government. It isn't perfect, but it is pretty darn close. The process by which she is governed is breathtaking to me. And it is carved out of faith and determination and a sacrifice so great, it is difficult for us, its benefactors, to comprehend. I'm thankful for Lilli, who is taking a burden from me that I can't carry for a while, who, without being asked will make a bed I haven't gotten to or organize toys that haven't been put away, even though it's really not in her job description. I'm blessed to have a husband who convinced me I needed Lilli and whose gentle breathing during the night assures me that he's still here. I have a home and the necessities of life. I have all I need.
When I was in college, I studied a writer by the name of James Joyce. His style was interesting in that he tended to write in a stream of consciousness mode. Whatever he thought, he wrote. As I stopped the last paragraph above, I realized this is a totally James Joyce post. Apologies all around. Hopefully you can connect all the awkward segues. But I have re-learned something today, and rest assured that my gratitude is continuing in my head.
