My sisters and I were make-believe queens in our early days. We had a fantastic dress-up bucket, a play McDonald's drive thru set, and that Fischer Price kitchen with the red and yellow chairs every girl I meet owned in her childhood. Our generation will be remembered for loving Jesus and playing with that miniature plastic coffee pot.
Fast-forward over a decade, and the little girl with the apron on is no longer instructing her siblings in how to properly play orphans (passion starts in infancy) or staging elaborate circus performances (yes, my parents were asked to pay admission). I live several hundred miles from home and work forty hours a week to pay the rent on the temporary abode in which I now find myself. Blessed as I am to have the job that I do, it would be utter fallacy to tell you it is my dream. I work in the inbound communications department of a ministry. This means that most of my duties involved telephone time. Ask anyone who has ever attempted to locate me on the weekend: I do not answer phones.
Because my philosophical mind over-analyzes each detail of my life, thinking about the fact that my job is so removed from my passions and interests sometimes causes me unnecessary stress. When I do not take steps to avoid the build-up of anxiety, I end up grumpy, dissatisfied, and not acting much like Jesus. During the last semester, when I had an additional 10 hours of weekly commitments at the church, I think my head nearly folded in upon itself. The bookworm pounded her fists on the inner table and wept for lack of tea in solitude. September promises a renewal of the flurry, but until then I am making the most of my open schedule by doing as little as possible with it. On the weekends, I pretend.
I pretend I work from home and have plenty of time for reading, writing, and perusing blogs written by women spend their days homemaking, creating, and reflecting. I learn much about both the delights and challenges I will face in that season, and more importantly, I glean wisdom on how to establish that lifestyle in the midst of college culture and barely-adult scrambling. I drink plenty of tea and run as few errands as possible. As much as schedules will allow, I plan my socialising for weeknights and keep the "S" days for me, Jesus, and C.S. Lewis (or whomever he sends as a stand-in).
This "pretending" is not a form of escapism. I am honoured to have the life I have been given, and any thinking that I need to "get out of it" is a misdirection from the will of God indeed. Monday through Friday, I strive toward delight in my Monday through Friday life. When I am focused on the Lord, little striving is required. I watch Him establish His kingdom in and through me every day, and it is an unspeakable joy.
Why I play make-believe on the off hours is this: I know the person I am made to be. It would be easy to lament the lack of contemplative hours in my life and pine for the "someday" when they will be granted me Monday-Friday. But I can't wait around to be the pilgrim of God's design. Either I am she, or I am not. And if I am, I shan't tarry for a permission slip before embracing the living for all I can.
How do you foster fullness in your living?
Saturday, June 5, 2010
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