Have you ever read the book Wacky Wednesday by Dr. Seuss? For whatever reason, out of his 20-book, Dr. Seuss collection, H really likes this one. I think the story is a little strange, and find the illustrations to be a little creepy, but he thinks it’s silly.
The book opens with “It all began with a shoe on the wall…” I feel like this is an appropriate opener for my life lately, only the line might sound something like, “It all began with that badly polluted day…” I remember that day in particular because I woke up with a sore throat, and felt how I imagine smokers feel after having smoked a pack the night before. The air quality had gone from bad to awful overnight, which means we were breathing in filthy air through our A/C unit all night. I’ve come to call this feeling “pollution sickness”. It reminds me of the Friends episode “The One Where Rachel Smokes,” when after being “forced” to smoke for her career, she says “No well, no it’s not that bad, y’know? I mean yeah, my tongue feels a little fuzzy and these fingers sort of smell, I actually feel like I can throw up.”
In the midst of feeling gross, I was also anxious because of the pollution exposure to the boys. I’ve read so many articles on the harmful effects of pollution and prolonged exposure, I think it’s made me extra cautious and a little paranoid. That’s all it took for a seed of discontentment to be planted. I was making a fuss all around the apartment about how it smelled like smoke everywhere, and how even H’s voice sounded raspy. I was equally frustrated that our super expensive air purifiers didn’t seem to be doing their jobs, and that our poorly sealed windows were leaking cold, polluted, winter air into our apartment. My single point of discontentment was quickly snowballing and picking up speed.
Wouldn’t you know that all of this happened around the beginning of November when we’re supposed to be thinking of Thanksgiving? During the day, it seemed like every, little thing made me despise living here. I hated not being able to go outside. I hated not being able to take the boys anywhere to play or to stretch their legs. Or when we would go out, I hated being judged by everyone for holding my two-month-old upright in a baby carrier. I hated not having a decent cup of coffee readily available. And at night I would wake up with feelings of guilt, shame, and deep self-loathing. All of my feelings of inadequacy, reflection on my faults and shortcomings, and the burden of falling short were weighing down on me. I don’t know if any of this was postpartum related, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of constant dread.
I know that the only way out of these pits is the truth of his word. I kept repeating Phil. 4:6 over and over and over again. The wallpaper on my iPad is Isaiah 26:3 — “You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you, because he trusts you.” Reading this several times a night made me realize that my mind was not “stayed on him.” In fact, it was everything but stayed on him. This brought to mind something I had read in Corrie Ten Boom’s autobiography, The Hiding Place. While in the Nazi concentration camps, she and her sister Betsie made it a point to follow 1 Thess. 5:16-18; specifically in giving thanks for everything. Betsie’s prayer, “Thank you, God, for the fleas,” was a reflection of the trueness of her faith. When he said to be thankful for everything, she took him at his word. Those fleas kept the guards at bay, which allowed them to have secret book studies with the ladies in their ward. I think of this often on bad air days. I want to have a genuine proclamation of thanksgiving when I say, “Thank you, God, for the pollution/hardship/fatigue/fill-in-the-blank.” I want to live my life with thanksgiving.
As I spent some time in reflection about my purpose here, he brought to mind all that I have to be thankful for in this current stage of life. I remember a time in my life when I felt aimless and confused. I told him I would go anywhere he wanted me to as long he would tell me where. I remember being uncertain about going out as a single person, and subsequently realizing that I personally couldn’t; I knew I couldn’t do it on my own. I remember thinking that, although I really liked kids, the thought of being responsible for another human life was terrifying (it still is). The list goes on. He answered these prayers even though I didn’t deserve a response. Those feelings of inadequacy and self-loathing still resurface, but they’re tempered with an understanding that, even still, no one and nothing can snatch me out of his hand. I am not worthy. I am not deserving. I am truly nothing, but he loves me and still chooses to use me. He must increase, but I must decrease.