Do the Next Thing

Over the years, I've called my mom countless times, often crying about a hurt, a change, a stressor, a husband, a child. Lately, I've cried (I cry a lot, yes) most about feeling isolated, about familial change, about the persistent cold and grey of life and weather. Some days I wake up and just feel drained to my core. I am overwhelmed by loneliness, by the weather, by distance from family and friends, by the difficulties of life, by a teething toddler. The tasks of the day loom until they paralyze me into inactivity. I often feel so overwhelmed by "being a wife," "being a Christian," "being a mom," or, you know, just "being," that I sit and do nothing, because I am so overwhelmed I don't know where to start. My day is a mirror to my life and I'm not quite sure how to handle either. And so, I call my mom. 

Do you know what she often says? Has said over the years?

Do the next thing.

This is wisdom. A few years ago, this wisdom seemed like a slap in the face. I mean, what about my feelings and the fact that life is HARD? Come on, Mom! Have some compassion. I would resist this advice, wallow in my hard life a bit more, do a bit less, and end my day feeling wearier than when I began it. 

This past August, there was a day when I realized that I had changed a little. We had just moved into our new home in our new village in our new country. All our earthly possessions where strewn haphazardly over every available square inch. Mac was, well, a baby. Ben was off to his new job. I didn't know a soul in our new town, barely a soul at all in the whole country. And I felt so overwhelmed. The isolation choked me, the gigantic task of creating a home out of chaos daunted me so greatly that I laid down on the carpet in my bedroom and closed my eyes. I just wanted to avoid thinking about anything. After about five minutes, I sat up suddenly and my thought process went something like this: "Well, this is dumb. Get over it, Amanda. Don't let this beat you. Get dressed, stop wallowing, and get going on the next thing." And it worked. I got up, got dressed, and tackled my day. Not the whole day at once, but one little thing at a time. 

Do the next thing.

I still wallow. I'm quite good at it. But sometimes, at least more often than I used to, I put my big girl panties on, follow my mom's advice, and do the next thing. Change Mac's diaper. Answer emails. Load the dishwasher. Do a German lesson. Plan our next trip. The weight that kept me wallowing slowly lifts. I get distracted from my problems by very practical things. Joy creeps into the mundane. And as I do each next thing, I find that the duties of the day are less daunting, more manageable.  And, oddly enough, those bigger things that keep me up at night, that are a very real weight to my soul? They are less daunting too. 

'til next time.