Blog
In a book club I was a part of recently, we bonded over how much we related to the central female protagonist, a woman turning twenty-five and experiencing an intense quarter-life-crisis. As everyone around her seemed to be transitioning into the next phase of their life goals, she felt like life was passing her by, lacking any direction, fulfillment, or purpose besides caring for her dog.
I first heard the story of David and Goliath (found in 1 Samuel 17) when I was a little girl in Sunday school. What stuck with me was the picture of courageous little David against a huge, nasty giant! Later, I learned the other details of the story.
Patience is not one of my virtues. In my mind’s eye, I imagine the desired outcome—an herb garden, a refinished piece of furniture, a perfectly organized closet. Once started, the true timeline becomes apparent, and in the cold onslaught of reality, my commitment wanes. Weeds sprout. Less than thorough sanding becomes good enough. And clothes no longer hang according to season and color.
I don’t want to sound preachy, girlfriends, but it’s time to retire the phrase, “I’m so busy” from your vocabulary. I’m a recovering workaholic myself, ever tempted to utter this ugly four-letter word, so I feel like I’m justified in this admonition.
I stared at my husband in disbelief. “But they reached out to you,” I said. “What do you mean you didn’t get the job?” Before he could respond, I grabbed my service dog’s vest and leash. “Callie, come,” I said. I didn’t want my husband to see me cry, but by the time we were halfway down our driveway my sobs caused severe muscle spasms in my back.
It was a Monday. Despite an enjoyable weekend that included enjoying his hobbies, attending church, and spending time with friends and one of our grown children, my husband was—in a word—deflated. He struggled to muster the energy for work. And he likes his work!
So many things are easier said than done, are they not? We Christians often hear, “Let go and let God,” or “Cast your burdens upon the Lord” (1 Peter 5:7), or “In your weakness he is strong.” And indeed, many of us would vigorously affirm that we believe those things. But do we really?
People ask me how I wrote a book about grief. They ask me how I tell stories of sorrow and write poems about pain. The truth is this isn’t the first time I’ve written about pain. In my closet, I have journals and journals, packed into boxes and one wooden treasure chest, in which I’d written about what grieved my heart—the friendships lost, moving and losing homes that mattered, coming through illness . . . just to name a few.
Unfurling a large, yellowed document discovered among my grandparents’ personal items following their deaths revealed a hidden treasure—an extensive, detailed family tree. My family proudly claims our Norwegian heritage, but before this discovery the little historical information I had extended back only to my great-grandparents, who came to the U.S. in 1919.