How Not to Feel Like a Wimp on a Monday Morning

Monday mornings are not for wimps.  If you don’t know who you are before your ten piggies dig into the day and  you don’t know what needs to be accomplished before the yellow bus rounds the corner, they, the ones who outline most of your life with their color of choice will trade in their pop tarts and oatmeal, eating instead, you and your peace for breakfast.

Honestly they can do this any day they choose but Monday Mornings seem the worst.

Can I get a witness?

I see that hand.

I’m working to get ahead here at home and inside myself.  You know, so we can hang winter coats in the coat closet sometime before spring break and when it comes time for a graduation or two, the school pictures are at least in the same box and so that when that day actually comes, I’m the slightest bit ready to let go of these people.

After years of treading schedules to just keep current, looking toward the future feels luxurious. I don’t have the first idea about what’s coming up, but I know that I’m beginning to catch glimpses of if not the shape, at least the open space out there in the distance.

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In 2012 (which I can only remember  because of the date stamped on the picture), we visited my sister-in-law in Florida and went to a monkey museum or sanctuary or something.  Honestly, it was more of an ape asylum where imprisoned, belligerent primates throw food and all kind of bodily fluids directly at those foolish enough to plunk down an admission fee.

Which is to say, my kids loved it.

Someone painted this quote just outside the entrance and the whole interesting experience was worth this one photo.

I’d been intentionally living by St. Frank’s words for a couple of years by the time I first encountered his quote.  I’d never seen them before, but remember the decision I made to keep moving my feet forward whether I was making forward progress or not.  In April of 2012 though, I still wasn’t any closer to getting conquering the necessary.

Over the three years since that vacation, and some of the hardest of my years yet, I slowly began taking on what was possible by……

Standing my ground.

Weeding out manipulators.

Honoring my heart.

Believing in my salvation, that’s its for the living years.

Choosing to live out of love.

Forgiving because I am forgiven.

Understanding that my choice to forgive is my choice for freedom.

Committing to a life of honesty.

All of this heart-work has taken place in the middle of a physically demanding schedule tailored more for  the extra-ist extrovert than for me. But what’s beginning to happen now I think is that specifically because of these hard years, the impossible no longer seems that way.

In fact, it seems probable, hope-filled, exciting and imminent.

And still.

My self-talk revolves around reminding myself what I’ve decided I believe and offensively shutting down everything thought that stands in challenge of those beliefs and most days I’m up for it.

But today…. this Monday all honest and red-ledgered.

Today I’m just the slightest to the right of wimpy.  I needed more than my own words of refute or affirmation.  I needed to come here where my hidden self takes shape and remind myself of progress.

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