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How to Be OK When You’re in a Funk - The Glorious Table
My favorite jeans are starting to cut into my waist in an uncomfortable way. The grocery order keeps getting delayed when we’re already out of milk. The dog has gotten into the trash again. My kids carry individual sadnesses I can’t fix for them. It’s rainy and cold. My hip aches at night sometimes. People I thought were dependable turn out not to be. I’ve turned out to be not as dependable as I thought I was. My dad is sick. I suddenly need reading glasses for the fine print.
It’s impossible to predict which of these disappointments will have the power to push me into a full-on funk. I have days that feel so full of hope and possibility that I have the juice to face the big stuff with faith and trust. Other days start out already negative, so even good things feel bad. Funks and feelings don’t submit to the scientific method. They often multiply uncertainties and disappointments until the weight of dark clouds feels too heavy for my one set of shoulders to bear.
I have a feeling that the past twelve months have found even those of us with the sunniest dispositions in a funk or two that surprised us. Others of us dip into Funkland on a regular basis. What do you tell a friend who is struggling and can’t shake the dark clouds? What do you tell yourself when life just hurts? You can only go back to what you know. For me, that’s always been enough.
Truths that are rising to the top today:
I know fruit grows out of suffering and makes me a better version of myself. There is something on the other side of this trial I don’t want to miss and a new version of me I can’t afford to not become. James 1:2-4 says, “Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing” (ESV).
I’ve survived 100 percent of my hard days so far. My track record is pretty good and helps me believe I can trust myself to be able to figure out tomorrow’s challenges when they come.
Join me at The Glorious Table today to read the rest of the "How to be OK in Funkland" list!
We ate steak at the fanciest place in town, me and my sister, our husbands, and our parents. Around the table, we joined Mom’s reminiscing. We retold our favorite stories of family vacations and holidays. We revealed some silly childhood secrets. And we listened to Mom’s stories from fifty years she and Dad spent together. One of our favorite stories is of the birthday Mom expected a diamond ring but went home from their swanky dinner with a shiny new set of hot rollers. Whenever Mom tells that story, instead of making fun of Dad for his slow-moving ways, she praises his serious, methodical decision making. She points to it as proof of his dependability. My mom told stories. I told stories. My sister told stories. Even our husbands had memories to share. We retold some of the stories Dad put on paper in his journal for us. The thing we missed most was Dad’s voice in the storytelling. Rather than telling the stories himself, he locked eyes on the teller and responded, “By golly, that ha
Living just four blocks down the street from my best friend made it easy to share clothes, secrets, and families. We could be found within a close radius of her backyard pool most summer days. The rhythm of our summer days revolved around Gretchen’s dad’s third-shift work schedule. During the morning hours, the house needed to stay dark and quiet, so we picked peppermint leaves to chew, painted our nails, and read books. Not long after lunchtime, Mr. Liddell would wake up, which paved the way for our favorite summer activity: synchronized swimming routines. We practiced and laughed until we felt ready for an audience. Gretchen’s dad always stopped mid-project to be amazed by our mildly in sync pool programs. He clapped and went back to work while we kept playing. His presence was as steady as the summer sun. He wasn’t merely my friend’s dad; he was a comfortable, expected constant in my life. The familiarity born by all those shared moments made his cancer diagnosis particularly awful
I've had a pile of stones in my heart for a long time, and from time to time, in various places I set stones in a pile that I can see and touch. I've got lots of other piles in my life, ugly ones that have slowly built over time, piles that I don't like, didn't ask for, that suck the energy out of me. Piles of laundry, piles of things to do, piles of papers to file, and more piles of laundry. This pile is different. This pile is mine on purpose, I've built it. This pile puts a spotlight on Jesus that breathes life into me as it grows, makes me feel solid and settled and lifts my foot up for the next step of faith. The stones remind me of moments, moments that have built my faith. Just like the children of Israel, I've erected a monument in my soul to point my heart, and the hearts of future generations to the powerful God who is working in my life. Looking at these rocks reminds me of the things I know, the things I've seen Him do on my behalf. Th