I die daily.
1 Corinthians 15:31
The Apostle Paul said this in his letter to the Corinth church. In other versions it reads, “I face death daily.”
Me too, Paul. Me too.
I die daily to the desire to quit. I die daily to the nagging feeling in my gut telling me to stay in bed. I die daily to pushing everyone I know and need away. I die daily to going back into my clam shell. I die daily to the tapes in my head that replay arguments I’ve won and lost. I die daily to self talk that tells me I’m lazy and stupid and ugly. I die daily to the voice that tells me my life is not worth living. I die to what I am inclined to think and do and desire in the depression.
That’s a lot of dying there. A lot of death.
And with it comes my choice to live. To not just breathe and do but to just be and in that being to be me. I get to live. And see the sun and sea and grass and trees and clouds and… breathe.
For real. This is what I get to breathe and drink in.
I live and I run and I dance and I write. I read and I talk and I eat and I sleep and I dream. I raise babies and love my husband and deepen relationships.
And in that being I’m creating who I want to be.
I want to be the mom who volunteers and lets the church’s toddler class play (too) loudly. I want to be the wife who remembers her husband’s favorite foods. I want to be the mom who lets her boy be wild and her girl be mild. I want to be the woman who is creative and engaging. I want to be the friend who washes the feet of those she loves.
And in all fairness: I am that woman.
And everyday I choose. I either dwell and die in the past and the hurts and the depression or I die to the past and the hurts and the depression. Yes, they are still there: I don’t deny their existence. That’s why I face death daily (sometimes minute by minute). And I choose who and what dies within me. And I choose who and what lives within me.
And it’s a fight to the death and a victory to the living.
I fight death by living now. I choose it: intentionally, thoughtfully, willfully, thankfully, and prayerfully albeit not perfectly. And it feels like a fight to the death and then to the life.
I die (proverbially) so that I can live (in actuality).
And it’s worth the fight to live.
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