When I Can’t Trust Today

Some of you aren’t like this. At all. Not in the least.

You’re strong. Steady. Stable. Some may even call you stubborn.

“Today is gonna be good. Just like yesterday was. And tomorrow will be.”

You’re a gift of good tidings and great joy. And those of us that know you best, we know it doesn’t all come naturally. That there’s work involved — a fight to be fought. When those feet hit the floor, the battle for joy is underway. And it’s a labor of love you don’t quit until your eyes close shop for the night. While the world may only see the smile, your friends recognize the true grit underneath.

But as for the rest of us. As for me…

After a whirlwind month packed like a plate at an all-you-can-eat buffet, we are back home in Pasadena. School started again today. Abe tomorrow. Amy with her BSF classes on Wednesday. Life is soon to be back in its groove. Our new normal will be normal once more. And yet today, instead of basking in the glory of all that is good, I’m just plain foggy. Like San Fran foggy.

A stomach bug hit us upon our arrival back to California. A lovely little foil to the sunshine that sweetly sprayed our drive home like a yellow brick road. And like a reverse-Oz, we got out of the car and all that color and into a house of black-and-white dread. A day or two into reclaiming this land, we found ourselves with haunting flashbacks to our brutal entryway into this world some few months ago. Could it be? Stomach bugs once again? Haven’t we acted out this script already? I will tell you this, it’s a heck of a way to kickstart those New Year’s resolutions of weight loss. Just so you know.

As I sat in class today — eyes a little droopy, spirit a bit worn — I did what I always do in these situations. You know, the most reasonable thing in the world that someone in my seat should do:

I questioned my entire life existence.

Sure seemed like the most rational thing to do. Okay, maybe I just questioned more narrowly, like, “What are were doing here? What story is God writing? Is it one I have the energy to keep up with?” I’m not so sure the pen I’m holding writes fast enough for all this. In fact, I kind of just felt like putting the pen back in the desk for a bit.

Now again, for some of you, all this is a foreign concept. You manage to metaphorically put your head down while at the same time very literally lifting your eyes up — joy enveloping your entire being like sunshine paving a yellow brick road.

But for the rest of us. For me…

I, too, fight for today. But sometimes, it seems, I’m a little too cloudy to continue with any sense of clarity. And when that happens, here’s the only thing that really remains within eyesight. It’s a little gift I’ve learned to give myself, even if I can’t see the one foot I’m supposed to just put in front of the other: I’ve learned to understand that today, especially these kind of todays is me at my less-than self.

It’s the tired version — the weak, the sick—the poor and powerless.

Does that mean I throw in the towel and surrender? Not really. There’s something to be said about faithfully giving it your all even when you don’t have all that much to give. And so I aim for that.

Go to class. Engage with friends. Play in the front yard with the kids. Appreciate a happy family dinner at the table. Tuck kids in. Read a little. And get in bed.

Preparing for a new day while appreciating this one. As best as I can.

For the sun will come out tomorrow, new mercies and all.

I’ll have more. Give more. See more. Learn more. Love more.

Receive more. Believe more. Appreciate more. And accept more.

I know, from experience, the clouds of today will spread far and wide and the road set before me will open up, sprayed with sunshine, a path golden and good enough to hop, skip, and jump down.

With clear eyes. And a full heart.

It’s a lesson I’ve learned. The hard way.

And maybe it’s a gift worth giving yourself. Whatever kind of person you are. Whatever kind of today you’re facing.