5 Building a Good Day

“We need to learn how to structure a day that is rich in meaning and joy-producing activities. … How we spend our time defines who we are. There is no magical future. Today is our future” (p 29).

How do you structure your day?

Hopefully by now you’ve got a good enough regula going: some routine for reading today’s Good Enough chapter and this Good Enough blog post and leaving a Good Enough comment.

It may not always happen at the same time every day, but hopefully you’re creating a sacred rhythm of carving out some time and space in your day for time spent with God in prayer and study.

You’ve got to be thoughtful about this because, as they say in the book, a day is a limited thing, only as big as a mason jar (from the opening illustration on pages 28-29). So you’ve got to decide what Big Stones and Small Stones will fit in your day.

If you’re reading this in the morning, don’t start planning today yet. Instead, think back over yesterday. (There’s a sacred rhythm called the “daily examen” that can help with that. It’s a favorite evening ritual of mine.)

If you’re reading this at night, think back over today.

What big loves (big stones) found their way in to your jar? Which ones didn’t but you wish they had? What little loves (little stones) found room to wriggle their way in?

Or, did your jar seem so full of unwanted things (shards of glass and sand), there was no room left for loves, big or little?

What meaningful and joy-producing activities do you wish had been a part of your day? Why weren’t they? How can you change that tomorrow?

I appreciate the point the authors make toward the end of the reading, that in some seasons in life, our jars may be very small, and we may only be able to fit a few things into them. Again, as someone who is living a more limited life now because of health concerns, I cannot cram as many stones into my jar as I used to. (Well, I could, but I’d probably give myself a seizure.)

Some days, it’s good enough to only have a few stones in our jar. 

“To be human is to accept that we are limited and the more honesty we have about that, the better” (p 31). 

(I love that. If you do too, you should read Kate Bowler’s excellent book, No Cure for Being Human.)

Let your big loves in first. Prioritize them. Then let the rest come as they will. That’s good enough.

From “A Prayer at the Start of the Day” (for the early birds among us!):

You are the kindness that runs to find me wherever I have wandered off to. You are the faithfulness I don’t have enough of. You are my safe harbor in the midst of the storm. And in that quiet place, speak gently to me of what needs to change in order for Your freedom to free me, Your love to care through me, and Your faithfulness to strengthen me.” (p 32)

Pastor Allison

 

I’m curious:

From page 33: “Think about the day you’ll have tomorrow. Is there anything you can cross off or kick down the road? Don’t crowd your day.”

“What are your big loves? Allow them to take up space.”

“Then, do it again tomorrow.”

How we spend our time defines who we are. 

Thoughts? Questions? Thoughts on my questions? Share them with me in the comments! 

4 Shiny Things

As Martin Luther famously wrote in his Larger Catechism, “That to which your heart clings and entrusts itself is, I say, really your God” (p 24).

Ouch.

Idolatry may just be the sin that’s the hardest to escape. If you peel away the layers of your besetting sin (your “favorite” sin) and the shiny things that take your attention away from God, chances are you’ll find idolatry somewhere at the heart of what’s really going on.

“My sense is that we are more likely to be Judas than Peter. Peter denies God. Judas betrays him” (p 23).

Double ouch.

Using the story of Aaron, the Israelites, and the Golden Calf from Exodus 32:1-35, Kate and Jessica explain that idolatry is creating a false image of the true God (p 23). And while Christians are likely to avoid the big sins like murder and arson, we ARE prone to “take great comfort in our own version of God instead” (p 24).

Anne Lamotte – one of my favorite writers! – once said, “You can safely assume that you’ve created God in your own image when it turns out that God hates all the same people you do.” (Traveling Mercies)

After thinking about this for a moment or two, ask yourself: do I do this?

Does the God you worship always agree with you?

Who does your God say it’s OK not to love? Not to care for?

(“After all, what is idolatry except beautiful things that do not transform us?” p 25)

Or do you constantly find yourself challenged by what Jesus commands you to do and who Jesus commands you to love?

If you find yourself being challenged, something tells me that you are resisting the sin of idolatry. That’s good enough faith.

“O, how blessed are we who lay it all out before You, oh God, asking to be awakened to our lives as You see them. Asking for the inward renovation that will tear down anything false we worship, and for the outward turning that will make every aspect of our life point to You” (p 26).

Pastor Allison

 

I’m curious:

What do you think idolatry ("shiny things") looks like in your life? Probably not much like a golden calf! It's much sneakier than that! 

In the “A Good Enough Step” on page 27, the authors write: “What do your major life choices point toward? … What is the most beautiful thing you can say about your life when you look at the evidence? … What is a core truth of your life, the straightest arrow you can imagine finding there? Now ask yourself, is it aimed too low?"

Once again, these are pretty personal questions but I’d love to hear your thoughts on this chapter, perhaps in generalities instead of specifics. 

3.5 Mourning a Future Self

Friends, in case you don't see this in the comments on the previous post: 

If this chapter touched you or if your heart aches or resonates at the thought of simultaneous joy and longing, I hope you'll check out this podcast hosted by the author, Kate Bowler. 

Below is the info from Kate's website about the episode ... 

SURVIVAL OF THE KINDEST

How is it that joy and pain seem to coexist at once? Susan Cain (author of the bestseller Quiet) explores this question in her new book, Bittersweet. In this conversation, Kate and Susan discuss:

• How we are literally hardwired for compassion 
• Susan’s advice for pushing back against compassion fatigue
• How that feeling of longing isn’t something to be ashamed of but allows us to see things clearly—the beautiful and the terrible

If you ever feel like you didn’t have a word for the sweetness of longings (and why your compassionate heart is a gift), this conversation is for you.  

3 Mourning a Future Self

Well, this chapter just split my heart open. Did that happen to you too?

“What is it that you grieve,” Kate and Jessica ask on page 15. 

They’re asking specifically about grieving something that now never will come to pass: an “imagined future” or a future self that has died.

Surely, we’ve all suffered an unexpected loss of something we always had or expected or hoped would happen. We all know the ache they’re talking about – the “deep sadness that reverberates through our bones” (p 15).

A whole way of living died the day I had my first seizure. (That’s not a completely bad thing because I was living beyond my limits.) But I will never be able to live a life where I’m not measuring and tracking and evaluating something. Which can be exhausting. 

And I’m not sure I’ll ever drive a car again because I don’t know when a seizure is going to happen. That means I will always (one way or another) have to ask someone to take me somewhere. This loss of freedom and independence is something I deeply mourn – I mourn the loss of the life I used to live and even mourn the life I might HAVE to live from now on.

Thankfully, all is not lost. “Loss requires us to reimagine hope” (p 16). 

I can do hope; I am good at looking for hope. This new life I'm not sure I want can still be good enough. 

Even as I type these words, providentially, a friend texted me about an event, asking if I wanted to go and needed a ride. Reimagining hope for me is being grateful for dear friends who are looking out for me and trying to include me because they know I hate asking for help.

“Acknowledging ‘this will never be’ is the precursor to imagining what might happen next" (p 16). Because something always does happen next. Hope is always reimagined, if we have the eyes to see it. Why not name what will now never happen, so that we can prepare for what is yet to come?

Kate and Jessica encourage us to look into the painful emotions we all have – “When you cannot have the future you imagined, let the tears flow. Let yourself mourn. … Tell God the whole of it. Even if it hurts” (p 17).

“Blessed are you when mourning is the holy work of the moment, for it speaks of what is real” (p 18).

Pastor Allison

 

I’m curious: Did your heart split open when you read this chapter? Is there something you need to mourn but can’t face? Has this chapter changed your mind about anything? I don’t expect you to be specific in a public forum if you don’t want to, but I am curious to hear what you think if you can speak in generalities. (I’m still learning to mourn my imagined future.)  

What do you think of their suggestion of a ritual to mark a transition like mourning an imagined future? (p 19) 

Let me know in the comments! 

2 Buoyed by the Absurd

“Is it OK to laugh when sadness surrounds us?” (p 10) 

This is a question I’m guessing we’ve all wondered about at one point or another. I’m sure we could each name a contrasting set of circumstances like they do in the book, like Kate’s mom laughing at her “delicious frozen rocks” in the hospital as her mother was dying (pp 9-10).

The inescapable truth is, “Joy and sorrow simply coexist” (p 10).

Kate and Jessica recall the stories of Jesus’ first miracle of turning plain, old water into the finest Bordeaux at the wedding in Cana while under the thumb of the Romans (John 2:1-11). When he was surrounded by grumbling bellies, Jesus made sure there were leftovers (John 6:1-15, Matthew 14:13-21). And when he was resurrected from the dead, Jesus appeared to the disciples and asked for something to eat (Luke 24:30-32).

Even in difficult circumstances, Jesus was “a man who enjoyed a feast” (p 11). If it's good enough for Jesus, then can't it be good enough for us too? 

When things heated up between Russia and Ukraine and became a part of our daily living through the news and social media, I heard folks asking this same question: how can we rejoice about things in our lives when we can see the suffering of so many?

I love the simple acknowledgment that all kinds of emotions can coexist at the same time. You can be full of joy and full of sorrow. You can grieve and delight. (I’ve seen all of those happen at funerals – you grieve the loss but delight in the memories and the chance to gather with family and friends.) 

Romans 12:15 reminds us to “Rejoice with those who rejoice and mourn with those who mourn.” Sometimes that means doing it at the same time, like when my friend had one daughter announce she was pregnant while the other whisper their second fertility treatment had failed at the same time. 

It’s an occupational hazard for pastors that we run into a lot of sorrow and grief. And sometimes it is the most absurd things that keep me afloat. (If only you could see the frivolous things I watch on YouTube or the podcasts I listen to when my soul is feeling heavy!)

They say in the book, “ … there is a discipline to this kind of joy, especially when we’re not feeling especially cheery” (p 14). 

I wonder what would happen if we could work a bit of joy or absurdity into our regula so that it’s already an ingrained discipline the next time we need it!

Perhaps my favorite part of this chapter is from “A Prayer for Finding Joy in Sorrow” on page 13. I’ve changed it from the singular to the plural: “God, [we] can’t deny it, the way that sorrow catches up with [us] and forces [us] to pay attention. There is so much to grieve, so much to lament in the world, in [our] life, in the lives of those [we] love. You have shown [us] again and again that I can look sorrow in the face, take its hand and talk things over, because it shows [us] what [we] love” (p 13).

I really love that last line, how looking sorrow in the face reveals what we love the most. That re-framing makes sorrow feel a little more bearable, don’t you think?

Pastor Allison

I’m curious: have you asked this question or has someone asked it of you? If so, how did you answer it?

When you find yourself in this kind of situation, what do you do? Do you give in to the sorrow and let it drown out the joy?

What sources of joy or absurdity (like the list on p 11) do you draw on in times like this?  

Let me know in the comments! Or, show us you did your regula by just saying, "I did it!"