Netflix, A Stupid Phone, and A Good Story.

I spent  a big chunk of this week laying on the couch watching TV.
Headaches. Nausea. General grossness.
This hormone thing is ridiculous.

Today I woke up without a headache. I did a Heather Robertson Low Impact HIIT workout (if you haven't done one you really should) and then stepped outside in the rain to do some interval running and right now I'm feeling good.

So this week while sitting on my couch, watching Netflix, dressed up in my jammie pants and fuzzy socks, I've been thinking about meaning and passion.

I don't want this brand new decade I've just entered to be about TV shows. I also don't want to go through my 50's clutching my phone, head down.  True confession, I'm beginning to bow down to it. I hold it tight  hoping to see a text from the kids or something new they have posted on Instagram. I'm desperate for contact. I miss then like crazy. I need something. Anything! I act as if they are inside the tiny thing I hold in my hands. How completely ridiculous is that? I'm not pleased with my behaviour and it has led to a hatred of my phone. They aren't in there. My phone doesn't deliver. I want them; their voices, their laughter, the feel of them when I hug them, not digital pictures.

Stupid phone.

I want my own meaning. I want my own passion. The kids are doing their thing and I love it. I love watching them go and seeing what they do, but sitting by and waiting for updates on their stories is not really how I want to live out the rest of mine.

They are, after all, still watching me and learning. I owe it to them and to myself to keep living full and living well.

My friend Cara sums it up for me when we talk about heaven. Her view of life can be summed up when she talks about showing up at the pearly gates. It goes something like this:

I'm going to pull up at those pearly gates, top down on my red convertible, chocolate in one hand, glass of wine in the other, hair totally messed up, sun on my cheeks and say to St. Peter,Wow! What a ride!

I absolutely love that. I'd follow Cara anywhere and she knows it.

Of course my brain wants to know how to hold both adventure and responsibility. Can I do both? Are my responsibilities my adventure? Maybe. 

So I ask myself the question I stole from Barbara Brown Taylor, one of my favorite authors: What's keeping me alive right now?

Quick answer - My mornings.

My morning workouts that take place in my living room with my very own Spotify playlist and my very own creative dance moves. Lovely.

My morning writing time that takes place in my bed, pillow on my lap,and a mug of tea on my nightstand. Right now there is a green journal involved, a black Bic pen, my bible, the sounds of morning outside my window and lots of whispered words to my sweet Saviour that to anyone else would sound incoherent.

So what does knowing what is keeping me alive have anything to do with my quest for meaning and passion?

I'm not sure yet but let me tell you a story that is currently tumbling around in my head.

It's a Jesus story about how he fed a crowd of 5000 hungry people. They were starving for healing, understanding, and the touch of God, but they also had skipped breakfast and lunch and had rumblies in their tummies. The disciples got a bit frantic, rushed up to Jesus and told him to send the people home because it was supper time and they were congregated in an isolated spot with no nearby place to find food.

Jesus seems a bit chill. All he says to this group of men who have left everything to follow him around is, "You feed them."

"Dude!", the disciples say back, "We've got nothin'. There are way too many people here and we are flat broke. We can't do this."

"Bring me what you have," Jesus says, and they do. They give him a few loaves, a couple of fish and then, wait for it............, Jesus looks up to heaven, says thank you, breaks the loaves and fishes into enough pieces to feed the crowd of 5000 and then later after everyone is full and content, he sends the disciples into the crowd to collect the leftover baskets of food - twelve in all.

You give them something to eat.

Bring what you have.

Lift it up.
 Give thanks.
 Broken and then the miracle?

Was the miracle the breaking?

It's a good story.

It holds some answers but brings up more questions which I think is exactly how it should be.

And's that's all I've got for today. No headache, no Netflix (I feel my brain needs a workout) a stupid phone and a precious story to return to again and again.