I have been sick for a bit now. About 27 days now, to be exact…..but who’s keeping track? (O.K., so I have been checking the days off the calendar, I confess.)
But it is not a sickness onto death. Rather onto life. About 30 weeks from now—a whole new life.
So this is really a good thing. It’s just that about 11 am every day when I am the same shade of green as algae, and my stomach is tossing about like the Caribbean in the midst of Hurricane Ivan, I am hard pressed to concur. Right about then, maintaining equilibrium is my sole priority.
And while trying to keep my head up and my food down, I have been learning a few things.
Like it is not helpful to keep berating and hollering myself down.
Kicking myself with, “You poor sop, your laundry pile rivals the Andes Mountain chain for height and length, who knows what is tunneling around in there, it is nothing short of an act of Providence that no one has been snuffed out in in an anvalanche sneaking by its towering presence.” —this is not helpful self-talk.
So every infinitesimal act towards cleanliness, towards meal-making, towards list accomplishments, towards simple hygiene, I have been speaking three little words.
“Good for you.”
My high school English teacher cheered those three simple words to all manner of students who slouched in his desks. Day in day out, from fall leaves sticking to dreary windows to the budding of the apple blossom trees in the spring, Mr. Hewitt kept up his endless refrain, “Good for you”.
And come our final parting lesson, we all sat a little straighter, eyes a little brighter, and smiles tugging us a bit more towards hope and good days.
Reams of great literature hadn’t made the difference. What had were three simple words whispered over our shoulders from a greying, stooping English teacher.
“Good for you.”
So every sock I pick up, I hush that nagging lady who wants to yell at me, “Yeah, what difference is one sock?? Haven’t you seen the blizzard of socks blanketing the boys’ room??!!”
Instead, I whisper, “Good for you. One sock does make a difference.”
No more internal rantings about, “What kind of a homeschooling mother are you when your five year old hasn’t had more than one smattering lesson of math in the last 8 days? You ought to hang your head in shame!!”
Nope, I have turned that tape off, and I am listening to Mr. Hewitt’s gentle, “Good for you. You’ve got 15 minutes of math in with Hope. Good for you. ”
And I feel cheered onto try for another 15 minutes.
The world has enough sideline pundits and critics–I have been one myself for way too long.
I think I’d make a better cheerleader. For me—and my children.
And who couldn’t use a bit of cheering on?? It’s as simple as “Good for you.”
Lord, “You rejoice over [me] with shouts of joy” ( Zephaniah 3:17), You are cheering me on towards the finish line. Cause me not to listen to those voices that would stumble me. For that isn’t Your voice.
I hear you, Father. That’s you whispering, “C’mon!! Good for you! I am cheering you on in every good work and word! Go, girl, go!” (2 Thess. 2:16-17)
