Frog Reflections (NOT in the water)

This morning I was excited to unveil the room I’ve been painting and pull off the last of the tape around the trim. Alas! The tape began pulling off the paint here and there…not just the new paint, but old layers, right down to the original varnish! I just about CROAKED! So, out came the sandpaper and paint can AGAIN. But it’s almost noon now and I think I’m finally finished in there, touch-ups and all.

So here’s what’s REALLY on my mind.

Yesterday evening I had a strange experience; I felt a different awareness of myself, which is an odd twist for someone of my age who, you’d think, should have pretty decent self-awareness. Maybe I’d been chasing my own tail like a puppy who has no clue where his own body starts-and-stops but finally figures out that wagging thing is really HIS TAIL, or a child who views his/her image in the mirror for the up-teenth time but finally realizes that “other” person is actually him/herself. In any event, something clicked.

I’ve been sold out to being a nurturer my whole life – first my parents, God bless their souls, those self-destructive and pain-ridden folks who needed help from SOMEONE. I was the only one around, and so I got the job, as inept, scared, panic-attack-ridden, and worried as I was. They simply could not seem to ever make lasting peace with life. Then along came my steal-the-show husband, the guy who sold out to me 100% at first sight and somehow required/needed/deserved my attentions. Finally the kids showed up, four little bundles of hope expectantly waiting for dreams to unfold as I held their hands and tried to steady their wobbly steps toward adulthood.

A pastor once told me I’d nurture a frog if it jumped in front of me, meaning I was vulnerable to “taking care of” just about anything that looked a little greenish-around-the-edges (needy). I suppose he was at least partially correct, although I can be fairly selective when it comes to frogs. I actually prefer toads since they’re less slimy – and no, they won’t give you warts. Tree toads are the cutest, by far.

Anyway, I’m getting off track. Last night I felt this tug – a strange mix of being pulled from the inside-out and the outside-in – to nurture MYSELF. To really, truly, respond to my needs as God would have me do, not in a selfish and grabby way, but rather a gentle, careful, and intentional, healthy way. I’ve never felt this exact same thing before. Ever.

Maybe He gave me permission to nurture myself, I don’t know, or maybe it was just an attitude shift from “shoulds” and “have-tos” and “excuses-to-do-less-than-helpful-things” to something more voluntarily good, less demanding or harmful, and hopefully God-honoring.

From another perspective, maybe I am supposed to be the needy FROG, and my job is to sit like a little green Budda on my rock (circumstances) and practice my tongue-flicks; to thrive on whatever flies and gnats come buzzing by and be content in that. Maybe that’s what nurturing myself means. Maybe I’ve worked too blessedly hard at everything, or else have neglected the real point (cultivating the measure of faith given to me), and have ended up a split personality: legalist and goof-off.

Anyway, my initial response last night was to put aside the editing I’d intended to do for Fritz after dinner (which is not urgently time-intensive right now, although it needs to be done soon) and allow myself to read my new book. That felt really good – a renewing thing.

I think it comes down to focusing on “the right thing” vs. letting God lead; letting Him show me how to care for my own sanctified-and-being-sanctified human heart.