It’s been years (decades?) since I watched much, if any, commercial television.
I do get those annoying pop-up ads from time to time when I visit websites and, of course, Facebook loves to “suggest” products I “need” in my timeline.
But I’m really not exposed to a lot of advertising or images that scream, “You are not enough!”.
Even so, that’s often the way I feel.
Somehow I’ve swallowed the lie that the only way I can be worthy of love and even breath is to be “all that I can be”-whatever THAT means. I need to have the right exercise regimen, the cleanest home, the healthiest food, a morning quiet time with my Bible and praise music, the perfect filing system for all the random papers I have stuffed in boxes, a tidy closet, and a day filled with meaningful activity that produces either income or social change.
All this time stuck at home has served to point out the many ways I fall short of those standards.
We’ve lived in this house for twenty-two years which is the longest I’ve ever lived anywhere. It’s filled to the brim with memories and stuff and dusty corners where the furniture hasn’t been moved since we got here.
The kids were six through twelve the day we bought the place.
There’s been a lot of activity and growing within these walls and frankly, you can tell.
I need to paint but the idea of wiping off the last little marks of Dominic and his siblings made when they were all here and happy is overwhelming. I need to rearrange the things in what was once his room and make it more useful for when the kids come home to visit but that means I have to go through some drawers and stuff that haven’t been touched since he touched them and I’m not ready.
That’s just two of probably one hundred (literally!) things I could or should do.
What I’ve been doing instead is living through what I call my Season of Sorrow which runs from March through the end of May every year-all the “lasts” (last time I saw him, last time I hugged him) and all the “firsts” (the day he left for Heaven, his funeral) and ends with his birthday on May twenty-eighth.
I’ve learned that I’m no good at starting projects this time of year.
I’m doomed to leave them unfinished which becomes its own kind of condemnation.
But I still feel like I SHOULD be doing them.
I need to be gentle on myself.
That list of things to do is always going to be long. If I worked every day, all day for the rest of my life there would be things left unfinished.
I need to remember that how I loved and who I loved is the measure that really counts.