I’ve been in a funk lately. Perhaps it’s baby blues or the relentlessly gray weather or too many days in a row spent at home in yoga pants doing the same dishes and laundry over and over again. I find myself on my phone…while feeding the baby or with a toddler in my lap watching a show. I get bored so I instinctively start scrolling through feeds and looking through snapshots and sentences of other people’s lives.
I find myself comparing. I find myself looking at the numbers instead of the hearts. I find myself jealous and discouraged because my focus has landed too many times in a row on all the wrong things.
In Love Lives Here, Maria Goff talks about comparison and “keeping our eyes on our own paper,”
He [Jesus] doesn’t want us to become like each other; He wants us to be like Him. The problem is that we’re letting other people do that talking for Him. We all have something we are good at. Figure out what it is and celebrate it.
God stretches each of our lives before us like a canvas. He hands us the brushes and the paint and asks us to make our lives look like our unique version of His love. Pick your own colors, not someone else’s.
Sometimes social media is a huge encouragement and inspiration and sometimes it eats away at my insecurities until I’m convinced I have almost no value at all compared to other people’s success. We all know the pretty pictures and words we see online are just lines and chapters out of someone else’s book—not the whole story. But when we never get the whole story, it’s easy to believe the messy and unlovely parts of our own lives will never size up to Miss Inspiration over there killing it.
To combat the funk and the comparison game, I took a break from my phone. Sometimes you just need to look up and look around for a little while to get some fresh perspective.
When I was tempted to grab my phone, I picked up an old book instead. I’ve been knee-deep in parenting books of late and I was craving something a little less about how to do everything right and a little more about dreams and adventure.
I chose a book I’ve read before about an American girl in Italy. It’s a story about adventure, and love, and a little bit of intrigue. Published over a hundred years ago, the book smells and feels old in my hands as I run my fingers over the slightly raised typeset. I get lost in the romantic Italian language and descriptions of the landscape. And I remember, the last time I read this book I was in high school or college and dreaming of seeing Italy for myself someday.
After visiting Rome, Florence, Venice, Sicily and many other parts of Italy now, the story feels familiar this time around. I need not rely on my imagination so much as I can actually picture from experience the stucco houses and terraced vineyards. I’ve walked these streets and heard this musical language in person.
Why am I telling you all this? Because it reminded me that I used to dream about big things. I used to pick up old books and get lost in a story. I used to love words because they carried me to far off places and lit my heart on fire.
Lately, I’ve been far too inclined to love words only for what they can get me—likes, follows, shares…a sense of affirmation by being given a virtual thumbs up. Where’s the adventure in that? I let the fire go out and it’s no wonder I found myself in a funk.
Tonight I’m sitting in front of a fire sipping coffee and falling back in love with words and the stories they tell. Stories of love. Stories of adventure. Stories of grace and redemption.
And I’m reminded all over again, that I have a story of my own to tell. I have days spent in Paris and Rome, nearly ten years of marriage to a man I still love, the birth of two fiery little babies. I have a Midwest childhood and many a day now spent exploring the streets and nooks of Boston and Massachusetts. I have five brothers. I have one cat. I have a story all my own. And the best part of all—I’m still writing it. There are adventures yet to be had. Love yet to be shared. Words yet to be written. More cities to see.
If you, like me, find yourself discouraged by where you’re at, stop and make sure your eyes are where they actually need to be—on your own story. The story you’re still writing every single day with your own words, pictures, loves, adventures, and mishaps ❤
8 thoughts on “When the Fire Goes Out”
The fire can’t rage all the time… we need our rest. Maybe instead of going to facebook, you should turn off radio and TV and the computer, and spend the day in relative quiet. Everything is relative when you have children… but it’ll give you some time to think your own thoughts.
This is a good reminder, that the fire can’t rage all the time and we need rest—thank you for that, Shimon. I have left the TV off most of this week and turned to my phone less often and already I see a difference in myself and my son. It’s amazing how influenced we are by all the noise and distractions without even realizing it.
Italy has always caused me so much pain…… Has caused me for some years to feel lost and alone. Since my mother died last year- she took with her my identity. A story I have carried alone for ever….. A flunk indeed- but having read your openess- I will look at my life now and act upon it. I came off face book- but I do get your blog on my email here in London…… The Lord knows how to reach me….. Thank you and bless your family……… R.
Absolutely true!! I will now focus on my story…. Bless you for your heart open truth….. Robert.
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Always, always, always I end reading your posts and long for more of your words. I sit, inspired and encouraged. I have not been in a funk, but, so often I see myself as that old lady who always has a story to share and the stories are not exciting. After reading this post, though, I see that even at almost 63 I am still writing my story. Thank you my dear friend for your encouragement and inspiration. Cathi
Thank you for always encouraging me, Cathi. And I hope you know how lovely and inspiring your own words are as well—I always look forward to reading your blog ❤
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thank you my sweet girl! Love you.
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