Feeling Moody, Not Thankful

In January, when I chose to keep as my daily mantra, the Bible verse from 1Thessalonians, 5:18, I knew there would be times this year when it would be hard to live up to. "In all things give thanks" instructs Paul. Paul knew what he was saying. He knew there would be days when you just wouldn't want to, wouldn't feel it, would hardly be up to it. But he knew it was the way to keep in touch with God and the way to keep things in perspective.

Yesterday, as Larry and I climbed into the car to do an afternoon of running around, I wasn't feeling the joy. The sky was gray, the air chilly, and I was tired of everything. I wanted to be home. I wanted to be alone. I wanted this move to be OVER! I've said it before, and I will repeat myself here. I hate moving. When it is all over I will be fine, but right now my home is in Pittsburgh. That's where my stuff is. That's where my friends are. That's where my life is, or at least, has been. I hate the transition. I want the unpacking to be done. I want to know where all my stuff will go. I want to be finished weeding out the stuff we will discover we don't really need. I want it to be six months from now, when I walk in my house and feel completely settled. I don't want to be living out of a suitcase, in a house that has one table, one bed and 2 chairs.

In all things give thanks....?

Let's see... since April 4, I have been a girl without a home, (sort of). I spent 5 weeks and 1 day (Larry was counting) taking care of Zachary, sleeping on a mattress on Jen's living room floor, grabbing a shower while they ate breakfast and before they left for work, and living out of a suitcase that was on their bedroom floor. Each morning we dragged my mattress back into their bedroom and propped it against the wall, and brought it out each night. I have to say, right here, it worked GREAT. We had no problems. In spite of the lack of alone time or privacy for all involved, there were no issues. And I loved spending time with Zachary and seeing Nicholas each day.

Then I spent 2 and 1/2 days with my sister. I had my own bed there! Luxury! It was a short visit, but she will be heading north about the same time we move south, so we grabbed the time we could.

Now I'm back at our cabin in Georgia. But my stuff is in the house in Pittsburgh. Home is where the heart is? Sounds nice but truthfully, for me, right now, home is where my stuff is. And that is Pittsburgh. It's been 6 weeks since things have felt normal.

Yesterday, as we did our errands, that (stupid) verse ran through my mind. Hmmph. I wasn't feeling it. I tried to come up with an attitude adjustment. As the day wore on the errands took over and I allowed myself to settle into the moment. The moodiness diminished, but I can't say I ever got that 'thankful' feeling.

Today, the sun came out, and I took the car by myself, to do MY errands, at my speed. I wanted to scope out plants that grow in the Georgia mountains and get an idea for what I might want to plant here once we finally stay here long enough to plant and water them. I stopped for a caramel macchiato and a donut and I sat alone in the sun and soaked up its energy. I looked at flowers and absorbed the energy from their simple beauty. I picked up groceries and planned dinner. Whoa! That's the first dinner I've planned and cooked since early April! In short, I started to feel normal. And the tension slowly melted away. By the time I came home I felt like a different person.

Was I giving thanks? Not really. But I realized sometimes it's not an act of joy, but more an attitude of acceptance for whatever was bugging me.

In The Hiding Place, Betsie Ten Boom told her sister, Corrie, they had to give thanks for the fleas in their barracks in the concentration camp. It was a hard lesson, and I don't believe for a minute, they ever felt joy at the fleas. But they did accept them. Later they discovered the real blessing in those fleas. But even if they never had, they still carried an attitude of thankfulness.

The good news for me is that this transition period is just that. Someday, it will all be over and I will feel connected with my life again. Until then, sometimes it's really not about the joy. It's just learning not to fight what can't be fought.

And that, I can do.