When the Dailies are Wearing You Out

This is a repost from the archives. It was originally posted in January of 2016.

Sometimes, the dailies wear me right out. You know, the laundry and the cooking and the cleaning and the dog and the dishes and the bed-making and the I-just-washed-the-floor-yesterday-how-is-it-already-dirty-again? All the little things that are never, ever done. Because you can do a load of laundry every day and still have more to do tomorrow. And you can wash your dishes until they shine but you have to eat breakfast on something. My dog gets a walk every morning but that won’t stop him from needing to take another every evening. It’s the mundane. It’s the repetition. It’s the dailies.

So, why bother? What’s the point? This is exhausting.

Just now, I turned to look at my sofa, where I spent a few minutes this morning fluffing each pillow perfectly. My dog has laid on and deflated exactly all of them. And our bed, which my husband makes each morning before he leaves for work because he knows it makes me feel loved and he cares about that even though he doesn’t care about having a made bed? Yeah, every night, we throw the decorative pillows right on the floor and mess the whole thing up. And I cook and I cook and I cook and there’s always another day coming, another meal coming, another trip to the store. The floors are never really clean and the dailies are never really done.

And it’s just me and Riley, with the pitter-patter of Charley’s nine pound frame. We don’t have the sticky fingers and blowout diapers and smashed Cheerios and spilled milk yet. Mamas, I salute you. Here’s a virtual hug, because I don’t know what I don’t know but I’ll be there one day, and I’m tired just thinking about it.

The other night, my husband and I laid in bed with the lights out, just the hum of our noise machine and the gurgling of our humidifier to keep us company. He wondered aloud, why do we do the same things over and over? I’m just worn out. And I agreed and we talked about the phone calls that we need to make and the bills that we need to pay and we settled together on the fact that these dailies, yeah, they’re annoying and they’re tiring and they’re forever. When we moved on and he prayed and sleep was near, I rolled over.

You know, I said, I think God gives us the dailies to remind us that we’re alive.

Because I believe that life needs a rhythm and it’s written all over nature–God gives life a rhythm. The planets revolve. The sun and the moon swap places. The seasons change. The tides come and go. The natural world, in fact, is nothing if not hundreds of thousands of rhythmic dailies. And when I see a sunrise, which honestly, is but a few times a year? My heart leaps with life. The stars come out every night, and I only look up when I remember, but when I remember, I feel so alive. And when the Winter finally burns off and Spring brings flowers and sunshine and warm wrap-you-up breezes? I smile and breathe in the glowing warmth, and I feel alive.

Life isn’t just an incredible lunar eclipse or a gorgeous full moon. It’s not just a devastating hurricane or a destructive tornado, either. Real life is the stringing together of dailies–it’s the leaves falling in November and growing back in April. It’s the mama bird finding insects and seeds each morning for her hatchlings. It’s the grass growing, growing, growing even though it’s eaten and stepped on and mowed. It’s the rain falling and evaporating and falling again.

Life needs a rhythm. God gives us dailies to give life a rhythm. This reminds us, gently, all the time, that we’re alive.

I shower because my hair grows, my skin excretes oil, my feet sweat. I shower because I’m alive.

I cook because my belly is empty, my body needs nourishment, my brain needs fuel. I cook because I’m alive.

I clean because the floor speckles with dirt from our adventures, the sink gets grimy with soap from our working hands, the windows get smudged with my dog’s tiny nose. I clean because I’m alive.

I do laundry because my socks are dirty after a long walk, my jeans are splattered with spaghetti sauce, my t-shirt smells like sleep. I do laundry because I’m alive.

I’m alive! I’m alive! I’m alive!

All these dailies, they whisper it. You’re alive. All this because you’re alive. 

I can let go of the grumbling and the frustration and the annoyance and the why do I have to do this again? I can replace all that ungraciousness with Thank You, Jesus, that I’m alive.

And so, if you’re exhausted by your dailies, if they’re wearing you flat out? Breathe and remember: dailies give life a rhythm, and that rhythm reminds you that you’re alive.

// Do the dailies wear you out?

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