Having a sense of well-being has become quite important to me. Maybe too important. I used to not think one way or the other about it. If something seemed wrong, then I could count on there actually being something wrong, and the ordinary solutions should apply. Proper stove fires keep the house warm and dry, dirty dishes get washed and put away, fevers get ibuprofen, naked, hungry people get clothed and fed and Jesus saves. Simple.
Lately, this common sense approach to life hasn’t provided me a sense of well-being. I thank God for engrained routines, but honestly, something seems to be missing or lost, and for the life of me, I can’t even conjure up a rational excuse for it. I have been giving my burdens to Jesus constantly and reminding myself that God is Sovereign. I keep hoping that my heart will keep up with my head. It doesn’t.
And then, in the middle of painting today, there it was. Everything was fine. All gauges right where they belong. Life was good. I put the paint roller down on the pan, listening. It was quiet and sunny. I had the windows open for ventilation, hearing the soft swish of traffic. I stood there… Savoring it. Wondering.
Can it really be that easy? Just rolling up my sleeves and painting a wall in this old house? Seriously? That’s all it takes? Why haven’t I repainted the whole house this winter? Will it last? Is this for real? I want to ask, “What just turned off?” Like the refrigerator finally caught up and gave over. Only this was far more profound.
For once I didn’t go swinging clear over to the opposite feeling. From missing to glutted and back and forth, willy-nilly. I am bone weary of drama. Just set me down, already, on solid ground!
Longer days and more sunshine lately are finally registering? Spring will come. I must never give up hope.