Turbulent

I don't know what was wrong with me last week. I was off my rocker and the whole house knew it. For some reason I was just a bundle of nerves. Like a cat in a roomful of rocking chairs, I guess you could say. You didn't even have to say "boo" to me to set me off. 

Not that I am ever a calm person. I am usually wired up and busy with a project or two or three. But I was really, really edge last week.

So two weeks ago we had gone to Lowes and bought a new fridge.  A few days before it was due to arrive I got to looking around my kitchen. It was looking pretty shabby. It needed work and it needed it before the new fridge got here. So I decided I would do a little painting. After all, I had the paint and the brushes and rollers. How much trouble could it be? I asked myself, forgetting that I am old now, not the young woman that used to be able to handle any project she set her mind to.  Also forgetting that since the Mr.'s illness two years ago I have mostly been sitting in hospitals and doctors offices and in our bedroom, keeping an eye on him. I don't move so much anymore.  But I got out all the supplies and jumped in, anyway.  And quickly got in over my head. I asked my son in law if he would move the old fridge out of the way for me and started painting. Right away frustration set in. I can't see as well as I used to and I was getting sloppy, making mistakes that would have to be fixed later. I am a perfectionist and I hate having to redo what has already been done. I used to be able to paint a straight line but apparently that went out the window with my eyesight. Nevertheless, I kept on painting. 

I decided to repaint all the trim around the fridge...and the stove...and the microwave...and heck, I might as well paint the mudroom since it was going to eventually be the same color as the kitchen. And then I found myself repainting as I made mistake after mistake after mistake. Dirty, tired, and sweaty in my bare feet on top of the ladder I came to the end of myself on the third (or fourth, or fifth, or sixth) day. The Mr. came into the room and said something and I let him have it at the top of my lungs. I think I scared him. I might have even scared myself, truth be told. 

I burst into tears right after my tirade. I took my, overwhelmed, exhausted self off of the ladder and put all the things away, apologized profusely to the Mr.,  and after a well needed shower I put myself to bed. What in the world is wrong with me? I asked myself as I fell asleep. Why I am feeling so turbulent? 

I woke up extremely regretful the next morning. I beat myself up in my mind all day long. I apologized over and over. And I just felt bad about the whole thing. 

I went to the Lord. And although I didn't hear Him say it, I felt He was directing me to not paint anymore this week. Just rest. 

I thought back to the beginning of the week, Sunday. That should have been a day of rest. However I decided that I would forego my usual quiet time, that first hour of the day that I always spend with Him, and instead, mow the lawn. 

I wrestled with my thoughts the whole time I was out there with the mower. It's not something I usually do, spend quiet time, usually reserved for God alone, to do work. In looking back I realized it set the tone for the whole week. All I did was work, and worry about work, and think about work, and fret about work that was done and work that had to be redone. I was in a turbulent spin cycle, with no end in sight. 

So here I am a week later. Alas, once again I missed my Sunday quiet time, although I didn't miss any other quiet times this week. But there is something about the Sunday time spent with the Lord. Because it isn't just that it is the first hour of the day, It is the first hour of the week. It is the first fruit of both my day and my week. It's important. And I missed it again. This time I overslept. It's not something I typically do. I get up every single morning at eight to give the Mr. his meds. And I always stay up. But this morning I made a decision to lay back down. And I overslept. I woke up at ten. I hopped out of bed and woke up the Mr. with a question. Do you think you might feel well enough to go to church this morning? I asked. Since his transplant we have mostly stayed home on Sunday mornings, at first because he couldn't be around a lot of other people for immunity reasons, and then because his recovery has taken some twists and turns and he isn't always feeling well. We usually just livestream a service out of California every Sunday. But today I really felt like I needed more than that, I needed community. Needed to worship in a corporate setting with other believers. I love being by myself, and I love being by myself in my garden with my Bible, but sometimes you just need to be with other humans. 

So we went to church. And the week behind me just fell away. All the stress and irritation and emotional overload melted. It was good to be there. It was good to worship. It was good to hear a sermon preached that wasn't through the computer. I left there at peace. 

We went to lunch and had coffee. Then to the grocery store. The Mr. bought me some fall Mums to plant in my planter. We came home and I put away the groceries. Cleaned up the house. I looked at the paint and brushes waiting for me to pick up and finish the paint job. Passed them by. I went outside and planted the mums and watered the still green garden. It has been a dry, dry year. It has been difficult keeping the plants alive. The Cannas look terrible. Everything else looks amazing. I sat down in the garden and just looked around at everything. I was suddenly overcome with so much gratitude at what God has done for me this year. For us. The yard...the house....all the outbuildings...I used to sit outside and pray that God would provide a way for us to get all the outbuildings fixed...the garage, shed, and hot tub room, as well as the house itself were falling apart. There was so much rot. So much that one year, when the tax man raised our house taxes substantially due to "improvements", I appealed with photos of all of the rot and won my case with no trouble. And we had no money to fix any of it. The Mr. had been unemployed off and on for several years and it seemed we were always trying to play catch up with the bills. The house and especially the outbuildings showed it. 

Now I was looking at every building fixed and painted. A new deck. Flowers everywhere. Cheery lights overhead, swinging gently in the evening breeze. It was truly a miracle. And the Mr. himself...only one year ago staring death straight in the face. Now very much alive and well.

Truly truly a miracle. 

I feel that breeze on my face, in my hair. I feel the change of seasons in the air. I know the year is coming to an end and it makes me sad. Soon I will be caught up in getting the house and yard ready for the first frost. Putting summer things away and battening down the hatches for winter. This has been a wonderful year. I hate to see it end. 

The Mr. needing his dinner, I left the garden and headed into the house with all these thoughts still in my head. As I neared the door I heard a raucous noise overhead, the unmistakable sound of geese making their way south. I didn't see them at first and then they broke into my sight, five or six of them, their loud honking an exclamation mark to the thoughts I had just been thinking. 

What a wonderful way to end a wonderful day. It may not have started well but it sure did finish well. 

A funny thing happened as I began to write this post.  In describing how my week begun, the first word that came to my mind was turbulent. I googled it. To my great surprise, the very first thing that popped up was a webpage describing something called a "turbulent personality".  I had never heard of such a thing, but I was completely riveted, so I read on. My mouth dropped open. I could have been reading about myself! In fact, in googling the word to describe my turbulent week, I had stumbled upon the exact scenario I had described in the opening paragraph of this post! 

Here is what it said about someone who may have a "turbulent personality".

"They feel that everything they do could be improved or made better in some way, but always falls short of perfection. In order to reach what they perceive to be perfection, they push themselves well beyond their limits, often to the point of physical exhaustion."

Just... Wow, oh wow. That might be me.