I'm going to lay all of my cards on the table: It has been a discouraging couple of days. I don't want to allow this blog to convey the sense that I have all of my hypothetical ducks in a row, donning ironed Oxford shirts and matching khaki pants. Quite frankly, I'm a mess.
And I feel like it now, more so than usual. A 10-pound bag of onions sits on my counter, still unchopped, unsliced, and unfrozen a week after being purchased for those reasons. My sweaty, dirt-stained soccer socks are still in a bag by the door from my game on Monday evening. The floors of every room look like our apartment is home to five children, not two adults. I just killed a spider on the armrest of the couch with the remote control. It's nearly 5AM-- I gave up trying to sleep about two hours ago. Conclusion: I'm a tired mess.
I am very aware that the contents of my encouragement-cup seem to have mysteriously evaporated... either that, or it sprung a leak when I wasn't looking. I've started to serious question whether what I'm doing is actually what I'm supposed to be doing because discouragement has slammed me like an unmarked dead end. Hence, I am a tired, soul-parched mess.
There is something freeing about stating that, simple though it may be. It serves as a reminder that I am nothing special. How many other people do I know who could use a cool, refreshing swig of encouragement in their uphill life marathon? Forget that whole "misery loves company" stuff-- I need to remember that in filling others' need for encouragement, mine starts to re-accumulate drops as well.
But I'll still be a mess.
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