Ignoring the Still

I could feel the exhaustion mounting.

We were spread too thin and doing too much. Sobriety is consuming and hard. It should be enough to focus on. Rebuilding a ruined marriage is slow and tedious. It is enough to consume you. Starting a new job with ten-hour work days is a shift in daily life. Figuring out new rhythms should have been enough.

But then we had a vacant rental property, a second mortgage to pay, and every free moment spent working on a house.

I imagined lots of things for this summer. Being overwhelmed remodeling a house was not one of them.

I started waking up from a full night’s sleep with a stiff neck and exhaustion. There were some weeks this summer Chris and I didn’t spend any waking moments together. While I slept, he worked. While I was awake, he was at the rental. While I cared for kids and ran errands, he slept.

We spent weekends filled with ten-hour days laboring at the rental. Chris worked. My dad worked. I worked. Occasionally my brother or mom or a friend worked.

My kids played in the tree in the front yard or laid in the grass reading books. It was a miserable summer for them. I struggled to balance spending all our time at this house (because time is money and the longer it took to get on the market, the more mortgage payments, water bills, and insurance we paid) and making their summer enjoyable. We asked a lot of Ellie and Harper this summer. They handled it better than most kids would have.

After a weekend working, I’d have intense back pain for a day or two. It felt like I couldn’t sit up straight, like my body wouldn’t support the stress and anxiety I was asking it to hold. But soon it would return to normal.

I reasoned it away with the amount of work we were doing and how tired I was all the time.

On a Thursday morning, I arrived at the house, handed the girls off to Chris’ sister who was taking them swimming, and spent hours on my hands and knees scrubbing and oiling the wood floors throughout the house.

With minutes to spare, Kaitlyn rolled up with her camera and her kids to take pictures for the real estate listing. She worked her magic, I packed up the last of our tools, and then went to pick up my grocery order at a nearby store.

A few hours later, we were on the road to Ohio for the trip to Kings Island we’d promised the girls. All summer, as we spent long, hot hours in a house without air conditioning (a/c costs money…money we didn’t want to spend) or wandering the aisles at the local home improvement stores, we dangled the carrot of King’s Island to the girls.

We’re getting so close to being done, we said. Only a few more weeks. Only a few more days. Only a few more hours. Only. Only. Only.

Our thank-you gift for a summer spent in absolute boredom would be rectified with roller coasters and junk food.

We all counted down the days, the magical time when the house was done and we were free to play.

And so with mere moments to spare, we closed up the house, sent the pictures to the realtor, and hit the highway.

By the time we pulled into the campground near Kings Island, we had the house listed and a request for the first showing.

The next day, my back gave out.

The physical and emotional weight I’d been carrying the last few months couldn’t be contained anymore, and it came spilling out in the form of a slipped disk and severely out-of-alignment spine.

I made it through outlet malls and family dinners and a day of King’s Island with some leftover pain medicine I happened to have from dental work last fall. Chris helped me get dressed in the morning and into pajamas at night. Getting into our raised camper bed felt insurmountable.

It felt utterly disappointing for my girls who had been so patient all summer to tell them I was in too much pain to stay. I sobbed just once, until my body shook and I dropped snot on Chris’ head as he helped my heavy and dead legs into pants.

What made it worse was I knew something was going to happen. I knew I was spread too thin. I knew I was pushing too hard, asking for too much, doing too much.

But I didn’t know how to stop.

So, instead I got stopped.

Is there a sliver lining to being unable to take deep breaths or get in a chair by yourself?

Maybe.

Maybe not.

I wouldn’t say the past three weeks of slowing down have been restful or relaxing. Being unable to bend or lift things isn’t really a vacation. But a slipped disk will make you be still.

I hate being still, guys. Absolutely hate it.

He says, “Be still and know that I am God;
I will be exalted among the nations,
I will be exalted in the earth.”
-Psalm 46:10

I’ve been refusing stillness for a while. Maybe even running from it. I always have the best intentions. I start my day with stillness. I start my heart with stillness. But the minute I get up from that green couch, I’m the opposite of stillness. I’m to-do lists and ideas and projects. I’m phone calls and meetings and let-me-just-run-to-the-store. I’m people and books and podcasts and Instagram.

There is no stillness there.

My mind and heart long for stillness. There is no confusion on what I should be doing. But my actions, my filled-to-the-brim days betray my mind and heart. I want one thing and then do another.

Until my body and my back and probably my God said ENOUGH.

And I was gifted stillness that comes only with pain and loss of control and helplessness.

The past week, I’ve been able to move around with a lot less pain. I’m starting to remember what standing straight feels like even though it takes me a little longer to get there. I’m able to use my abs to keep myself upright and then do things with my hands like make banana bread or fold laundry or water my garden.

It feels like the biggest gift.

But things are still fragile. I have to conserve energy. I have to filter what needs to be done through the limited time I have of being active before things fall apart again. If I feel too ambitious in the mornings, my afternoons and evenings will be spent repaying my back while stuck in bed. If I got cocky and put on my own pants, later I might not be able to get off the toilet.

It’s a fun game of checks and balances.

What’s important enough to do and what’s really not important.

Oh. Okay, I see what’s going on here.

Is my back telling me I was making too many things a priority and missing the point? Is my back God? I’m confusing myself right now.

He says, “Be still and know that I am God;
I will be exalted among the nations,
I will be exalted in the earth.”
-Psalm 46:10

It’s hard to admit I could feel this coming. I run on high speed all the time, but this summer felt too much even for me. Dragging along a much-slower-paced husband and two disinterested kids and keeping up with too many things, I could feel my body and my mind revolting.

He says, “Be still and know that I am God;
I will be exalted among the nations,
I will be exalted in the earth.”
-Psalm 46:10

How often do we push too hard? Running and rushing and knowing it’s not wise, but whispering to ourselves just one more time, just one more day and then we’ll slow down.

It sounds like addiction. It sounds like lack of health. It sounds like we can spot things so easily in others, but never ourselves.

I know what ignoring things does. So much of my life has been irreversibly impacted by ignoring and putting off and pretending.

He says, “Be still and know that I am God;
I will be exalted among the nations,
I will be exalted in the earth.”
-Psalm 46:10

I wonder when I’ll start listening to my body. I wonder when I’ll start listening to my God. I wonder when I’ll learn.

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