Recovery has brought the miracle of simplicity to my life.
It's touched every faucet of my life. I cook with less ingredients. I use the oil cleanse for my skin care and have been able to literally DUMP all of my skin care products: no more moisturizers, no more cleansers. Birthday parties consist of a homemade cake mix (boxed, baby!), ice cream and a small gathering of friends and family. Birthday parties do NOT consist of invites (unless texts count?), any and all themes, any decor that can't be purchased on a whim from Dollar Tree... in short, Pinterest is NOT invited to my birthday parties.
With simplicity, life makes sense.
There's less information and more truth.
TRUTH was something that eluded me for years... probably because I was dead-set on the information track. I was in fixing mode, wildly running through the masses with my fist in the air, refusing to surrender.
"Never give up! Never surrender!"
Once I quit running.
Once I put my tightened, stubborn fist down.
Once I ran myself into the GROUND and couldn't take another step.
I surrendered. And God gave me truth.
This weekend, I was coming off of literally running wildly... I'd been working extra hours, fielding phone calls, sleeping erratically, and by the time Thursday night rolled around I found myself in what my good friend Gary Cooper calls, "an extremely awkward position."
(From Casanova Brown which I highly recommend. It's on Netflix and wonderfully devoid of triggers.)
After driving across town with three children... one pulling my hair, one with her feet where he head should have been and one yelling over the radio about his dreams of being a RED POWER RANGER for Halloween... I tried to unlock my front door.
But there was a moth in my face.
And in my beaten stupor, I batted at it. It was pretty aggressive as far as moths go, and I ended up batting my arm with one hand and trying to put my key in the lock with the other hand. In one strong SWOOP I swatted one final time at the moth and JAMMED my key in the door.
And OF COURSE the key I jammed in the door was my work key that looks exactly like my house key except for the cute coat of glitter nail polish I applied (and apparently ignored).
The key wouldn't come out of the door knob.
I wiggled and jiggled and pulled and yanked.
And I prayed. I literally prayed for the Lord to open a door... not a figurative door, a LITERAL door.
My husband pulled into the drive way, freshly home from work. He pulled. I pulled. He got pliers and pulled HARDER and MORE.
And the key broke off in the lock.
I called our landlords who have the keys to unlock our back door (we never use it) because I knew better than to try any of the windows. I'm married to a cop which means ALL of my windows are LOCKED SECURELY AT ALL TIMES. In fact, I check them myself and have been even more vigilant in checking since some recent break-ins.
My landlord picked up the phone and told me he was very sorry but he wasn't anywhere near home and wouldn't be for quite some time.
I hung up my phone and sighed.
I wondered why bad things happened to good people.
I wondered WHY the Lord didn't just OPEN the door. I mean, I'm NICE. I even put my empty shopping carts back where they go in parking lots AND pick up litter. The Lord can do ANYTHING, this I know. The Lord loves me, this I know.
Surely, He wouldn't begrudge me this one small favor of opening my door.
I prayed again.
And while I prayed, my husband called to me from the side of the house.
The kitchen window I KNOW I locked was open.
I prayed for the Lord to open a door, and He opened a window instead.
It was a physical metaphor for my entire weekend where I found myself blindly and wildly running with my fist in the air, searching for information and answers amidst a sea of words and opinions.
When I finally gave up and sat back and remembered how different simplicity felt from confusion, I let go.
And life makes sense again.
I'm grateful for windows and broken doorknobs.
And key makers, while we're at it.