the weight of unfinished things

Sometimes when I’m knitting or baking or moving through the house taking care of small tasks, I like to have a movie or video on that I can glance up at or listen to every now and then. Depending on my mood and what I’ve selected, either the voices keep me company or the soft sounds soothe my thoughts. When it’s the latter, I usually opt for birdsong, wind chimes, or outdoor crackling campfires—all of which can be found in abundance on YouTube.

Today, I happened to find a video that encompassed two of those and included the gentle sound of a brook; the perfect trifecta.

I had it on during part of my prayer time this morning, sharing with the Lord that I was imagining the two of us walking through a deeply green forest together. We’d find the perfect spot to rest, somewhat bundled up because there’d be a bit of a chill in the air. He’d build the fire, and I’d pour us cups of warm tea from the thermos we’d brought along.

Then…we’d just sit and listen and observe. There’d be no pressure (from my end) to talk; we’d just…be. Maybe point out the brightly colored feathers on a particular bird or hold out our hands toward the fire. The feeling of safety and peace within me would be palpable…a glorious wonder.

My spirit has been somewhat lethargic of late; the kind of lethargy that has me wanting to stay in bed all day and blow off everything that I need and want to do. The kind that has me ruminating over the mistakes of my past and the uncertainty of my future. The kind that weighs down every step I take with overwhelm.

So, I force myself out of bed. Wash my face. Brush my teeth. Boil water for my first cup of Earl Grey.

And then begins the daily exercise of pressing through.

Some days that looks like getting everything done that I want and need to. Other days - most days - it looks like finding seventeen other things to do instead of the one thing I actually need to do. Like sorting through the growing pile of opened and unopened mail on my table, making a phone call to the Franchise Tax Board about a bill from 2006, shredding boxes upon boxes of paperwork, putting air in my tires, finishing projects that are languishing and starting projects that need doing, writing letters and sending packages, upcoming holiday plans to make…ad infinitum.

FUUUUUUUCK!!!!!

Antidepressants? Anxiety meds? Weed? Personal assistant?

Nawww. For me, antidepressants added 20 pounds. Anxiety meds just made me feel even more anxious. I haven’t smoked since I was 17 - it freaks me out - and there’s no way I can afford a personal assistant.

So, here I am. Waiting for my DPSS call that’s supposed to take place this morning (within a two-hour window, of course), a call that  I get to wait for while sitting in my friend’s backyard where there’s a swimming pool I hope to cool off in today. I’m here because I’m house/dog sitting for her. And yes, I brought the previously mentioned mail with me because, come hell or high water, I.WILL.GET.THROUGH.IT!

This morning, I asked the Lord where this feeling of overwhelm comes from because it isn’t something that began when Michael died. I’ve been experiencing it for decades, and I believe it took root somewhere. I mean, there are always things in life that need to get done; bills to pay, appointments to make, decisions to be made, responsibilities and unfinished business. And that won’t go away any time soon.

So then, how do I distinguish between having an overwhelming number of responsibilities and experiencing overwhelm as some kind of…habitual reaction to responsibility?

Why does the anticipation of doing certain things often feel heavier than actually doing them?

Or perhaps, more importantly, at what point in my life did ordinary responsibilities begin to feel like something to dread?

Seriously, there’s a growing number of reels, videos, and courses promising to teach us better organizational skills, more efficient morning routines, or how to conquer that one task we’ve been avoiding. (Hello, mail, smirking back at me.)

But that’s not what this is.

It’s deeper, I think. It must be. Has to be.

Was there something in my life that taught me to experience responsibility as threatening or burdensome? Was it the expectations placed on me? Fear of making mistakes? The consequences of disappointing someone (can you say people-pleasing?)? Years of carrying responsibilities without enough support from those who should have carried it with me or, I do dare say, instead of me?

Or something else entirely?

Maybe it’s all of those things. Maybe it’s none of them.

Maybe it has less to do with what remains undone and more to do with what I believe about myself when something remains undone. As though every unfinished task was another piece of evidence I could point to and say, See! There it is!

But evidence of what?

Because if the answer were as simple as identifying a single cause, I probably wouldn’t be sitting here writing about it.

The thing is, what I’ve been trying to pinpoint is nuanced. It’s kind of like adding several different spices to a soup; some just a light dusting, others a generous spoonful. Each contributes something to the finished dish, but because you’ve measured with your heart rather than a measuring spoon, the result is never exactly the same twice.

I can say with certainty, though, that some days I’m able to manage my life relatively well, and other days (most days), the thought that something bad is going to happen because I haven’t taken care of a particular thing has me wanting to just take to the bed.

Same soup, different spices.

And while that mail is still doing its level best to stare me down (I think we’re playing the blinking game now), I did get two important phone calls accomplished this afternoon, both of which will get recorded in my calendar as an acknowledgment that I’ve done them and as a reference in case I need the information later.

Little pieces of unfinished business becoming finished business.

You’ll recall that I began this post by imagining a walk with the Lord in a beautiful forest: pointing out a bird, warming our hands before a fire He’d built, drinking tea that I’d poured. Both of us finding comfort in the simplest of things, sharing a relationship in which neither of us needed to perform.

No expectation that I needed to make the time meaningful…it already was. No pressure to fill the silence with a prayer, ask for some profound revelation, or demonstrate that I was making good use of my time with Him.

I wasn’t there as the woman who’s finally gotten her life together.

I didn’t have to explain away all of my unfinished tasks or apologize for feeling overwhelmed. He didn’t invite me to sit with Him only when everything was finished; He invited me while everything was still undone.

The mail is still there.

The tax bill is still there.

The uncertainty is still there.

And I got to sit beside my Father, drink tea, and watch the birds because, no matter what remains undone, I will always remain His daughter.

And that, dear one, is the most glorious wonder of all.