Burnt Toast

There are some mornings, where we wake up and feel like burnt toast, said a brother one winter ago.

Today, I woke up feeling okay.  I had to play piano, and the congregation was smaller than usual.  As a result, I often wondered if people were singing.  I felt low by afternoon, but chose to wash my car and bask out in the sunshine instead.  That gave me enough juice to vacuum, dust, and throw the laundry in the wash.  By the evening, after reading horror stories about people’s family lives after taking certain medications, my high spirits crumbled into a ball of anxiety and sadness, and I finished the evening with dumplings and a burnt pot of Chinese broccoli.  Basically, it’s clear that my burned pots are an emotional thermometer of sorts.  It’s also clear that I need to learn what anecdotal evidence is and isn’t, and to accept that my situation is unique to me.  When that doesn’t work though, it’s nice to catch up with W, tell her my fears, and have her tell me she doesn’t know, but it sounds like something I should discuss with the Lord.  Ah, yes, Jesus.  One of the best things about being in God’s economy is that regardless of my situation, regardless of whether I end up penniless, childless, friendless, etc-less, what matters is that I gain more Christ.  That Christ makes more home in my heart, through faith.  That I experience building.  That Christ is enlarged, magnified, through me.  And that is liberating.

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