Life is rarely simple. A lot of its plot lines reach odd dead ends. Some strands of my life will always remain incomplete and unfinished. Literature talks ceaselessly about the beginning, middle and end. It’s what confines a story and makes it what it is. My life resists such structure. There are things I will never understand. Things that will not have an ending or what seems to be an ending. Yet, still I try.
5:30 a.m. I awake to a horrible ringing in my ears. It takes a while for me to realize that it is only the chiming of the alarm clock. The shower feels so good I don’t want to leave it. I finally step into my day realizing that it isn’t the big things that will destroy me. It’s the devastation of the day-to-day that will be my undoing.
The contrast of the freedom of vacation with the servitude of the day does not escape me. I work less hours for less pay and the money is never enough. I see my future wiping trays in McDonalds or as a greeter at the doors of a Wal-mart. It’s hard to get excited about what lies ahead. This line of thinking is like dipping myself in acid. It eats away at me. Time to write. I’m looking for salvation. Maybe the words will take me there.
A recent stroll between the shelves in the library resulted in my finding a book called Talent is Never Enough Workbook by John Maxwell. (This is a companion workbook to his book by the same name.) I’ve been hearing Maxwell’s name lately and as the laws of serendipity and synchronicity would have it, I found him when I needed him.
It’s no secret that I tend to be passive when it comes to life. I’m more likely to let things happen, roll over and play dead or go with the flow than I am to really work to shape my own destiny.
It’s 10:16 before I crawl out of bed the second time. Once the kids were off to school my enthusiasm to begin the day left with them. I crawled back under the warm covers and slept again until 10:16. This is not the morning of a go-getter.
I wake up and chide myself for this dangerous self-indulgence. This type of self-indulgence sings a siren song that calls me to itself. It is not productive or helpful. It leaves me feeling empty, used and useless. I should know better than to answer its call but this morning the comfort of a soft, warm bed was all that mattered.
Lately, I haven’t felt like a winner. I’ve been trying to fake it. I’m afraid I’ve been too obvious. I’m tired a lot of the time.
“Get up and walk!”
That’s the voice I heard in my head this morning. It was biblical. I’d just shortened John 5:8. Given its potential I wasn’t going to ignore this command.
It has been almost three months since bronchitis moved into my lungs and set up housekeeping. It soon invited its buddy, sinus infection, to take up residence in my head. These two are horrible tenants. I’ve started the eviction process. It’s time for them to get up and walk as well. They are not going quietly or easily.