Bad Day

Photo by Andrew Beatson on

I’m having a bad day.

  1. I slept in and then skipped my quiet time with God; I’ve been off-kelter ever since.
  2. I made time for writing, but then sat here staring at my computer, listening to my brain tell me all the reasons why I’m wasting time and being foolish.
  3. So I switched over to my mesmerizing financial spreadsheets. Numbers. There’s something I can work with. And I did, for over 2 hours.
  4. Now I feel guilty for being so obsessed with money.
  5. And the housework that was supposed to be done isn’t.
  6. And the food planning and prepping isn’t either.
  7. And All The Things.
  8. And it’s late afternoon and I’m just angry at myself.

I’m feeling like a lump of waste matter.

And still, I don’t want to do any of The Things.

I’m writing this because I want to gripe.

But also, I’m hoping I can write my way back to a better mental space.

I’m hoping I can write my way back to Jesus.

Because I know for sure a few things:

  • He doesn’t care that I skipped my quiet time. That may sound scandalous but I knew it at lunch today. I let go of the guilt and thanked him that he is just as ‘here’ whether I have a designated time of bible study and prayer, or not. Quiet times are helpful for me, for sure, and precious. I don’t want to treat them as optional because I need them to keep myself rooted in truth. But they are not mandatory every single day. That would make them religious duties. It would make them something I do to secure me God’s favor. It doesn’t work that way. I knew this at lunch but I’ve lost it since.
  • Jesus also doesn’t care that I’ve wasted time, or that I am interested in monitoring our investments. When I say he doesn’t care, what I mean is he’s not dismayed by it. It hasn’t ruined any plans of his. He IS concerned about my mental health, and inasmuch as these things have upset me, he cares very much. But he cares like a good friend would: not wagging a finger, but with a compassionate sigh.
  • In fact, he really doesn’t care about All The Things at all. He can deal with them in a heartbeat. What He cares about is that I’m beating myself up over them.
  • He’d like to step in and defend me from me, if only I’d let him.
  • So I will. I will take a deep breath and welcome him back into my thoughts.

Deep breath.

He’s here. He always was. Thank you, Jesus.

Another deep breath.

The dark churning thoughts fall softly down, my body relaxes. I hadn’t realized how tense I was. My mind quiets.

Joy? My-oh-my. A little bit.

And here’s what I know for sure now:

The time that’s gone is gone. There’s no getting it back. Yes, it’s a shame, but moaning over it only steals more time yet.

I have this shining present moment, and Jesus is here with me in it. He is kind, so kind; and strong, and marvellously unfazed by all my thrashing.

He’s already calculated it all into his spreadsheet, every wasted – and not wasted – moment.

It still totals the way he wants.

He’s inviting me to get up now, and do some housework, maybe make some dinner – The Things.

Put on some music and dance.

And I find, for the first time today, I want to.

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