Saturday, January 10, 2015

Living and Dying

Nearly every night I collapse in a heap of exhaustion onto the couch. Paul and I are into the show Kitchen Nightmares, and we typically watch two entire episodes before Trinity decides I can sleep. I love the show. I learn a lot and am endlessly inspired by Chef Ramsay. He is demanding, loud, and has a horribly foul mouth, but he does have a gift. I imagine him with a supernatural flashlight, shining it into people's souls and pinpointing what sorts of traits should stay and go. Chef Ramsay tells the truth, and it changes people. He inspires me to tell the truth.

At 10:45, while barely functioning, I meander into the kitchen and decide that I don't have the energy to clean the dishes or prepare anything in advance for breakfast the next day. At this point I have tried to put Trinity down three times, but she will not sleep before 11:00. Yawn. I pick up my Bible. I know it's the right thing to do but I just don't have the energy to do the right thing. So I make a plan to read after breakfast the next day.

I fall into bed thanking God He gave me these children that challenge me each day. My heart aches. I love them. I pray for each of them individually, and ask for grace to do a better job parenting tomorrow. I try not to get extra introspective with myself, but when the days start blending together and I'm wondering for the bazillionth time what my purpose is in life, I slink next to Paul and say nothing. When I have nothing to say, I always have something to say, I'm just not saying it. In a way that only a good husband can do, he coaxes me to tell all, and my thoughts race around like horses in the Kentucky Derby.

I watched way too much TV tonight.
I am in bondage to Amazon Prime. 

I snapped at Jake over childhood foolishness. Geeze. I should know better than that.
I only spent 2 minutes with Sonora this morning. Cori monopolized my time. Dang 2 year old.

I was so inconsistent with Cori. I will pay for that tomorrow, and then every day after she turns 13.

The truth is, I have been consumed with this notion since Paul's parents passed away that I really don't live like I could be dying [which apparently is the most well-lived life]. I purposely read blogs and news stories of dying women because I believe they have some sort of ancient wisdom to offer me, something to teach me about my own life and what it lacks. I tell Paul, "If I died tomorrow, I really wouldn't like how I lived my life today." For all the above reasons above, and about ten more, like:

I spent too much time on facebook.
I spent too much time on the phone
I spent too much time in the shower.
I spent too much time reading a novel. 

Then, I proceed with all the things I didn't do enough of. Time is an irredeemable currency.

I don't know when it hit me, but probably on the verge of checking myself into the hospital because a hospital bed and 3 days away from life sounds better than a beach to me, I thought to myself, "I don't want to live like I am dying anymore."

I mean, if I lived like I was dying, I wouldn't do my laundry. I wouldn't do dishes. If I knew my life was ending, I would spend AS MUCH time with my kids as possible. I would soak up their little stories and stroke their velvet rosy cheeks until they couldn't take it anymore. I wouldn't write, except maybe some goodbyes. I wouldn't cook. I wouldn't homeschool. I wouldn't clean my room, or their rooms. I wouldn't live, I would just exist until I didn't anymore. I made a deal with myself that I'm going to stop comparing my life to a life that will be short-lived and instead embrace the fullness of all that I have. Instead of "living like I am dying" I am going to "live like I am living."

In which case, I will continue yelling at my kids when they mess up. I will continue to screw up because that's how you grow up. I will read a book, watch TV, idolize Gordon Ramsey, and sit on facebook when I am especially lonely....because I am alive.

Now, I am perfectly aware that one day I will die. There is something about the brevity of life that absolutely propels us towards living more intentionally. Death threatens our irredeemable time currency, but redemption scales time. As long as I'm living, I want to embrace it all. Not only my kids, who are absolutely the treasures of my earthly life, but myself. I want to embrace ME. I want to put my kids in front of a coloring book from time to time and connect with this crunchy keyboard, pouring my life out to others. I want to hold a mirror up to my marriage as much as I can, and even dig up dirt on some days. Is it any wonder that digging through dirt is how treasure is found?

And if I were dying and I knew it, I wouldn't be in the dirt. Life is messy, and I am alive.

I am tired of having my head hit the pillow, and the first thought to cross my mind is regret that my life wasn't well-lived that day because I didn't live it as if it was my last. I lived it as if it was a day in my life, with my kids, and my husband, and my Jesus, in the middle of my big-fat-messy process that I embrace, in a house that would insult Better Homes and Garden, in a town that I am new to, and I am still alive. From now on, that is a good day. And that is a good life.

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