Mullygrubs

Frustration. Gloom. Boredom. Angst. Blah. Mullygrubs.

Yep, we’re back in Midland all right. Back to the desert. The heat. The unview. The grind. If I was on the mountain a couple of days ago--and I was--the Smokey mountains to be precise--I’m on flat land now. Literally. Pump jacks and tumbleweeds. Breathe it in. Well, better not. Ahhhh. Home at last.

Isn’t home supposed to be that sweet place you long for? That place where you lay your head on your pillow and breathe the warm scent of honeysuckle streaming in your window on the midnight air? Home is the place of intrinsic comfort and security. You know, home sweet home?

Why then am I so unsettled?

Home also represents routine living. Normalcy. It is the reality of what we must be a part of every day. It is responsibility and pressure. It is imperfect relationships. It is the feeling that this is all life is and all it will ever be.

Dreams are big on vacation. Do dreams ever occur at home? Does anyone ever just sit in their living room and have an epiphany, hear a calling, or come to the best life decision they ever made? Here in this place can I fix what is broken in my life? Can I relate to someone who loves me with all their might? Can I sprout wings and fly in this place?

To what better place would I fly? I have traipsed off to many varied destinations, only to find myself longing for the peace of a place to call home. I have gone looking for love, only to lose security in the love I already possessed. I have sought adventure, only to wish for solid ground again.

What a creature of discontent I am. A dreamer, some would say. I’m always chasing the next rainbow. Look around. I have everything. Is there nothing left to dream of? And if there were, would I waste my life away pining for that dream?

Unsettled.

Today I sat down on my front porch with an apple. It was sweet and good. The breeze was nice and the birds were singing. While there may be some charm in sitting down and eating an apple in the open sunshine like I did this morning, a wanderer like me wonders why she can’t enjoy it. There needs to be more. Someone to share the apple with, perhaps? An apple tree to plant, maybe? And the dreaming begins. Oh it will be a fabulous apple tree, and people will come from miles around just to see it and eat from it, and then I can have all the apples I want and sit down in the sunshine and eat an apple just because I want to. Oh wait…I’m already doing that. It’s not as neat as it sounds. I throw the half-eaten apple into the yard for the birds and go inside not taking the time to watch them swarm around and eat it. The fun was all in the dream.

For people like me, the joy in life often comes from expectation of things to come more than in their fulfillment. La esperanza, in Spanish is one word that envelopes three distinct English words: expectation, waiting, hope. Maybe in that sense I was aptly named. The hope of sweet idleness tomorrow is better than the simple relaxation I find in today. I kick myself for living in tomorrow and not enjoying the pleasures at hand.

And yet, expectation can be good. Those who are content in their surroundings have no need for improvement. Those who don’t dare to dream sit still. They never realize their full potential. They never reach the heights available for them to scale. I want to reach as high as I can. To go as far as I can. And yet, as I scale the heights, I glance around and wonder what the next peak will bring. Isn’t there a higher mountain to climb? Isn’t there something bigger I can be a part of? I feel compelled to keep moving forward. Is there some great feat just waiting for me around the bend? This is more than just boredom. It’s more than just needing something to fill my time. It is a gouging within my soul to take a risk. To put it all on the line for the ‘big one’. To conquer. To jump.

Is all of this thinking just selfish ambition? Do believe that I have to do something big or accomplish some new thing to be valuable? Is all my running an attempt to validate my own importance as a person?

Didn’t God already do that?

Is my itching a result of some lie written on my heart at some time in my life? A lie like, ‘You’re only as important as the things you accomplish?” Even now as I sit and write, thoughts come pouring in from my childhood. Phrases, meant for good, that perhaps were overused or over drilled. “Good, better, best, never let it rest, till your good is better and your better is best.” Never let it rest. Hmmmm. Sounds like my life motto. Or this one. “Do right till the stars fall.” Do. Story of my lie. Do. Serve. Work. Get busy. Accomplish something. Mark off a goal. PERFORM FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE! Haven’t we all heard something like “You’ve only got one life? Make it count.” What do I have to DO to make my life count? Does my life not count if I sit down and eat an apple in the sunshine? What if I die before I do whatever it is I’m supposed to DO? I’d better get up and get busy and make myself worthy to be counted.

Didn’t God already do that too?

God, fill my fears. Help me to realize the truth of all You did for me when you paid for me in my unworthy state. When I think of You I realize I will never be good enough. I’ll never be worthy. But You are. And because You are, I am.

Help me to do what you want when you want me to do it. Not out of obligation. Not out of fear of not being good enough. I am good enough in You. Help me to do life with you instead of for You--not leaving You behind as I rush about chasing perfection I’ll never attain. Sit beside me and enjoy a morning on my porch with me. And help me to enjoy it too.