Tip of My Iceberg

When I sit on my back porch early in the morning, cup of coffee in hand, I love looking out over our back yard.

It’s gorgeous. We back up to a spring-fed pond that’s home to ducks and otters and the occasional water moccasin and gator.

The good, the bad and the ugly,

John and I can sit out there and talk. The scene lends itself to rest and relaxation. A decompression of the stuff and clutter that often clouds my mind. I’ll go out there, feeling like my brain’s been in a blender. After a bit, the pieces fall into place. Not always with answers. With calm.

Idyllic.

We’ve begun a rainy season here, so we’re seeing the tangible results of precipitation. Beautiful green grass. Bushes blooming. The tree in back filling out and more birds returning to play among the branches.

The other tangible result is the length of the grass. It grows. Quite rapidly. Which requires it to be cut. Quite often.

I’m an outside gal. I enjoy mowing the grass because it’s great exercise and useful time in the sun. And when it’s mowed, it looks great.

It’s energizing.

For about half the lawn. Then I notice my pace has slowed. The sweat is pouring down my face because it’s 90 percent humidity with temperatures almost that high. The mower feels heavier. And there’s still so much grass to go.

I began looking for John, to see if I could quit. Pass it off to him. He was focused on the edging and the weed whackering because I’ve never bothered to learn how to use those tools.

I just wanted to mow.

There are times I enjoy it. Seeing immediate results–awesome.

Not so fun when I’m becoming a human puddle. A candle at the very end of her wick.

Lawns aren’t the only things bringing this loveliness of mine to the surface–this love-hate relational attitude. I can fall into it with people. Especially if I’m wickless.

I go there with John. I love him dearly, but there are times when I’m not one of his biggest fans.

Let’s take his driving. He’s a very competent, careful driver. Which at times I greatly appreciate. Most of the time, though, I want him to go faster. And if we’re in conversation while he’s behind the wheel, he automatically slows down.

It takes everything I have to not say anything. So I usually say something. Typically critical.

I lose sight of what we’re talking about and only focus on the speedometer. Mentally urging him to press his foot on the accelerator.

It never works.

I’m naturally upbeat, but I get unnerved by the ease with which my positivity can get derailed.

I can choose differently.

“Always be joyful.”   I Thessalonians 5:16

Choose joy. Not glibly giddy happiness. Joy. Appreciation for what I’ve been blessed with. How well God has loved me. The decision to see what’s right with my life instead of focusing on what’s wrong.

Not Pollyanna. Purposeful. Not ignoring hard. Not denying pain. Not turning my back on discomfort. But seeing God in my moments. With me. Loving me in all circumstances.

The heat and sweat?

It kind of makes me glow.