Living

Saturday, sandwiched between the relief of Friday, and the slowly rising anxious wait on Sunday. Or, Saturday, the day between the death of Christ, and his resurrection on Sunday.
I read a post from a popular Pastor/Blogger/Author that said, in essence, Saturday is the nothing special. It’s the in between. It’s the middle, the mundane. It’s the regular living, lacking the spectacular.
For a woman who only ever lived in the roller coaster, and rarely the lazy river, mundane does not sound anything short of lovely.
Depression, and its force in making itself known in my life, was a proverbial Friday. It was a death of the life I once knew. It was vicious. It was filled with grief and sorrow.
And Sunday, the day where there is no more depression, where there are no symptoms to manage, has yet to arrive.
So, I live in the Saturday of life.
Where I am not in the throes of the ending of all I knew, and there are still issues to be managed, coping skills to learn, thought processes to redirect.
And, it is good.
And, it takes adjusting.
Those minis make the weirdness well worth the effort.
It is not easy to go from being afraid all the time, to being calm for a few consecutive hours, only to realize that you are not anxious. Which, might bring anxiety to one who only remembers living with a pit in her stomach, at all times. So, there is a shifting that takes place, where I acknowledge that I am not worried, and remind myself that not worrying is acceptable.
Sometimes, the living is weird.
Weird in that responding to the question I ask myself of whether to turn left in the first or second lane, is that it is not of consequence to my self-worth, and that I can choose either lane and still be safe, psychologically and spiritually.
Weird in that confronting an adult who is rude to my child in a way that is respectful, and does not cause me duress lasting for weeks, is normal to me now.
Weird that when I find myself needing help, whether it be regarding cleaning my house or having my husband hold my hand, I am able to ask for it directly, and that I am most often met with a sincere desire for the other person to accommodate my needs.
Saturday is not so mundane, after all. It reminds me of the scripture that says we are being changed from “glory to glory. (2 Corinthians 3:18)
The word “to” is what I used to remind fellow believers about: that in between the glories, there is a “to,” which implies some type of travel, process, or transformation. To be quite frank, I think I felt a little to smart for noticing the importance of that observation for my own good. No one else seemed to be as impressed by it as I was. But, I digress.
The actual glory is not always something that we may perceive as being spectacular. Depression to the point of being suicidal seems to have nothing good in it. Discovering your partner is unfaithful does not seem to be an event one would call glorious. Losing one’s status, reputation, career, family, or self even: none of those are particularly good or enjoyable events.
However, those are the same events that have spurred others on to finding new life, rekindling love for one’s partner, gaining redemption in one’s relationships both personal and professional. These awful things are the most awful kind of glory, that lead to a wonderfully mundane course.
The course where one is confident in who they are, the course where misdeeds are made right, where one becomes the person with whom they would want to have a relationship.
Big-little things that help me through the course.
Sometimes, it takes a gloriously awful event to reset a course to a life that is just, glorious. Glorious in its normalcy. Glorious in that one comes to a place of not having to prove anything to anyone, and being alright with others being the persons that they are content being.
I am still in a process, and I am at peace being who I am, in this moment, and in this place, and time.
I have arrived nowhere except to today, a little wiser, a little more content, and a little more stable than I was yesterday.
And, that my friends, is living to me.
What day of the week is it for you? What wisdom, or event, or comment are you longing to share? I would be honored to hear from you at ladyscholarheidiva@gmail.com or here in the comments.
IMG_6754

And I still do.

2 thoughts on “Living

  1. Quote “I read a post from a popular Pastor/Blogger/Author that said, in essence, Saturday is the nothing special. It’s the in between. It’s the middle, the mundane. It’s the regular living, lacking the spectacular.” In my opinion, that person needs a new “revelation” of Saturday. I love Saturday! there is peace and a retreat from the hustle and bustle, the tugging and pulling of Monday thru Friday. As a christian, it’s an unwritten and assumed law 😉 that Sunday is supposed to be the favorite day. But not with Z! Bring on the middle, it is most assuredly spectacular! There is something to be said for regular living.:)

    Like

    • I haven’t always enjoyed Saturdays, but that was because my perspective was off. I really needed that super spiritual experience every church service. Or maybe it was too early in the proverbial Saturday? Still a little too close to the Friday. Idk. Sunday used to be favorite, but it was because that was my life. Church was life, and of course, Jesus, but church was where I could be all out one way; but then I was insecure all the other days. Now, I have a more even keel, and feel free to just be me, not Super Christian, and not Filthy Heathen on days I felt I messed up, and not Takes Jokes too Far Girl. I am just Heidi, and I live my life, and I love my people, and I love God. The regular living is really good stuff.

      Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s