SelahV Today by hariette petersen

Feeling a bit blue? or Just having an old-fashioned Pity Party?

Sometimes I feel blue.  I don't know who first described the blah, disconnected feeling and attached the color "blue" to it, do you? I googled the phrase and it said it dated back to the 1300's.  Wow. 

According to that blurb, it also said that "feeling blue" was synonymous with sadness and being depressed.  I suppose that pretty well nails it.  Though being "blue" to me is not quite as ominous as the abyss of depression.  I can shake the "blues"; depression is a bit harder to lose.  Depression sticks tighter than super-glue. 

The "blues" aren't quite as clingy. In fact, I can often figure out ways to get over them fairly quickly.  Lunch with a friend-- or breakfast-- even sharing a cup of coffee, will send the "blues" packing to happily-ever-after.  So will buying myself a bouquet of fresh daisies.

Just yesterday I was feeling sorry for myself due to so many days being cooped up in my house "resting" my sprained wrist, strained trapezius muscle and suspected Meniscus tear. I truly think the muscle relaxers had relaxed my brain so much that my Serotonin was paralyzed inside my head. 

In hopes of charging my "happy", I took my afternoon coffee out on the back porch and sat in the swing.  I'd only sat for about 3 minutes when I spotted a big fat red cardinal sitting on my fenceline.  He seemed to be staring at me.  A spark of pleasure exploded in my brain and lit a fuse of joy that traveled straight to my heart. I remembered a few devotionals I'd written about seeing cardinals on gloomy days.  I felt it was a sign for me to get the bird-feeders ready for Winter.  Don't you love watching birds?

As I was searching the web regarding "blueness", I came across this fabulous article on 21 Things To Do When You're Feeling Blue.  You might like to check it out.  I know from experience that some of these things have worked for me on "blue" days.

Pity parties are not appropriate when you have "the blues".  At a pity party, you sit around feeling sorry for yourself; who would really want to join in that kind of get-together?  What kind of celebration is that? 

No; the better thing is to find ways to turn your "blue" into sunshine yellow.  Look beyond yourself to someone else.  Encourage someone else.  Compliment someone else.  Pray for someone else. 

Grab a brightly colored marker and list all your blessings:  Friends. Family. Shelter. Food. Faith. Eyesight. Hearing. Then thank God you have what you have.

As I lay in my bed tonight, I thought about something I'd posted on Facebook today.  I'd said I was "behaving myself, resting my knee and was feeling annoyed" at the whole process.  It occurred to me in the wee hours of this a.m. that I was blessed far beyond what many other people in life were. I thought about some friends who were battling cancer, of the precious lives lost this past weekend at the OSU Homecoming parade.  I thought about the refugees pouring into Europe.

And there I sat complaining because I was resting in my recliner, feet propped up with all the time in the world to read a book, watch a movie, take a nap... sip a cup of tea... whatever.  Millions of people are out there working hard, have no way to rest, nor even a chance to sit down. They don't have access to pain pills or muscle relaxers, and maybe not even a computer.  Do you see how very self-absorbing the "blues" can be?  Shame on me. And now I confess:

I must have rested so much during the day that my body and mind doesn't need any sleep. For here I am... at 2:44 a.m., writing my thoughts on the matter.  If you happen across this little post and gain any insight that inspires you to let go of your "blues", then I am blessed for the circumstance in which I find myself and thank God. It had a purpose after all.

Be happy... it's so much better than being blue.

 

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Following Christ Means Respecting My Husband

And I do.

I don't always like what he tells me to do.  Sometimes he tells me to hold my tongue,  to let things go, to drop a subject.  He's right.  Even when I'm justified in a complaint, or correct in my assessment of an issue, it's not worth getting worked up over.  It's not beneficial to engage.  It's not helpful or healthy to let it weigh on my mind, interrupt my day, or disturb my sleep.

He's often told me that I cannot fix people-- I cannot control what they think of me and all I need to concern myself with is what God thinks...what God expects...what God commands. Where I might balk and blather, he concedes and conserves his words.  He says little in life that he has to regret. 

My husband is a positive person.  He's steady.  Sound. He rarely ever gets rattled-- but when he does, only a very few people (close members of his family), would know it.  He's worth listening to when it comes to dealing with the difficulties of life, the annoyances, the irritations and chaos.  He keeps me grounded.

He has my best interests at heart. I know he adores me.  He loves to let me pick the restaurant when we go out to eat.  He doesn't care what I make him for dinner.  He sacrifices himself to meet my needs.  He doesn't even have a problem if I hold the remote control. I love to watch football and Nascar with him.  It makes him happy... so it makes me happy, too.  I don't always watch all of the plays, and don't know all the rules.  I only get really excited when the race cars crash or the white flag begins to wave.  But I like to watch him get excited.  I love it when he holds my hand as we watch mushy Hallmark movies and he doesn't cringe when the plot is a typical fairy-tale ending. I don't even mind when he falls asleep and snores. I revel in the fact that he loves to make me coffee, clean up the dishes after I've cooked, and takes out the trash without me ever saying a word.

Christ uses my husband.  I am blessed to have that kind of leader in my life.  I am blessed to have someone care enough about my emotional and spiritual well-being that he kindly corrects me and guides me amid the mundane, the monotony and the insanity that life brings my way.

His words are worth heeding. He's worthy of respect. And best of all? He leads by example... and always points me back to Jesus. 

A Biblically Submissive Wife Lies Prostrate on the Ground, Sometimes

Today, being the biblically-submissive wife I am, I took my trusty camera outside to dutifully obey a directive from my husband. 

 

I'd no sooner hobbled off the back deck and began wobbling over toward painted markings on my lawn, when I stepped into an indentation and BAM-- down I went.  Face first. 

 

My entire body-mass-index hammered my right knee into the ground.  I plunged my left wrist into the earth. The fall forced my head to snap backward and forward in a whip-lash fashion. A dozen thoughts raced through my mind.

 

I just lay there in the beautiful morning sunshine chastising myself for not bringing my cane-- for not standing still when I turned on my camera-- for not insisting that my husband fill the hole in our lawn with dirt.

 

It was no one's fault but my own, though.

 

I laughed out loud at what I considered quite comical before I assessed my situation.  Echoing in my mind was the little old lady in the commercial, "I've fallen and I can't get up."

 

I tested my wrist to see if it was broken.  I moved my right leg to check its mobility.  I lay there wondering how in the world I was going to get up without my cane for support. I was in the middle of the lawn.  There were no grab-bars.

I checked my pocket and praised the Lord that I had my cell-phone. If nothing else, I could always call 911 if I could not wiggle my way to my feet.  I cringed at the thought. But, unlike several of my friends, I didn't have a life-alert button hanging around my neck.  So...

 

being the faith-based woman I am, I lifted my sore neck a tad and asked the Good Lord to give me strength and power to perform the near-impossible task before me.  I rolled onto my side and began the contortions needed to erect my overweight body to an upright position. It was not pain-free. I extended my left leg and dug in with my right foot. After quite a struggle... and too much pressure on my bummed left knee, I gingerly pulled my right knee up, planted that foot on the ground and crawled to my feet.

You might ask why I ended up prostate on my lawn in the first place.

 

It began when the Fidelity Cable man came and checked my backyard to figure out how my lines needed to be buried. The cable-line had been lying on top of my fenceline for years.  It weaved in and out of the dog-ear slats on top of my fence.

 

Fortunately, the cable-man was really nice to me.  Because I could barely stand, and due to a bummed out left knee, I found it excruciatingly painful to walk.  He offered to unlock my gate himself, then return my lock to me.  Afterwards, he came back, got the lock and key, re-locked my gate, then returned my key. I was so grateful.

 

Later in the day, two cable-digging guys showed up to bury the lines--a job forgotten for nine months. Last February, when we moved in and set up the cable for internet, technicians placed an order to bury it. Then it snowed and the ground froze. So they postponed it. After nine months daily broken service and several service calls, I wondered if it had anything to do with the exposed line. So when I called to get my internet back on line, I asked about it once again.  The nice lady discovered that, somehow, the original orders to have the line buried were closed.  Closed?  Who closed them, I wondered. No matter... it was never done.  So the nice lady rescheduled and the cable-burying guys finally came and fulfilled their obligation.

 

I felt good. Mission accomplished. 

To my surprise, within hours, a Utility Technician parade began. I spent the rest of Monday answering my ringing doorbell as a barrage of utility service people intermittently stood on my porch and asked me to unlock my fence so they could mark more lines in my back yard.

 

First the cable guys came and buried the line. Then the telephone company came and sprayed red paint to mark the telephone lines.  Then the electric company came and sprayed orange paint to mark the electric lines.  Then the gas company came and stuck little orange flags in the ground to mark the gas lines. The only people who did not come was the water-line people.

 

When I told my husband, who was in Florida dropping off his mother, that I had a parade of utility companies here all day marking up our lawn, he immediately told me to take pictures in case we wanted to dig in our yard some day.  That way we wouldn't have to call the utilities and have them remark the lines. I envisioned all the flowerbeds and raised vegetable beds I wanted hubby to construct.  So I complied. And now you know how I ended up lying flat on my face in my back yard.

 

And no; I did not get up and head back into my safe haven and sit down in my recliner and feel sorry for myself.

 

Being the biblically-submissive wife I am, I dusted off the yellowed, dried grass from my freshly-washed black stretch-pants and retrieved my camera.  Then I set about the task of walking the entire quarter-acre perimeter of my fenced yard, stopping every few feet to record the location of all the little orange flags and splotches of red and orange paint dotting our lawn.

 

Now I sit here before you, pecking out the story, testing my wrist to see if my typing is going to be hindered from the smashing it took.  Not only does my head and wrist ache, but now, both knees are hurting.  I sure will be glad when my husband gets off that plane tonight.  I could use a hug.