I'm calling it. 10:34am on Friday morning, and I'm calling it. February's hustle is a bust.
I haven't lost any weight. But I haven't gained any. So that's something.
My daily Jesus time happened today. For the first time since February 9. Ugh.
And clearly, the blogging has not happened. Not even three times a week.
I went to bed last night feeling defeated. Feeling like I have lost momentum. Feeling wilted and heavy - like kale that has been boiled too long.
I went to bed, telling myself that February was a wash, and March will be better.
But this morning I have new perspective.
Because last night I had a dream. I dreamed that I was asleep. I was asleep between the paws of a lion. I was asleep, resting sound and comforted, in between Aslan's front paws, resting my head on his mane, under his chin. Feeling the rise and fall of his chest as he kept watch, and I slept.
And I woke up this morning and remembered something. Something I learned long ago in the middle of my depression. Failing at one thing (or two or three) does not make me a failure. Failing at one thing does not define me or label me.
Because I did hustle this month.
I got my family of five, plus the dog, packed and loaded and relatively happy so that we could enjoy a trip to the mountains. And when we returned, I got my family of five, plus dog, unpacked and unloaded in a relatively timely and peaceful manner.
I cleaned my house. Like, the whole thing. Every. Room. I don't think that's ever happened before.
I hosted overnight company in my home for a week. And I loved it. And enjoyed it. And didn't stress about the dust bunnies one iota.
I opened up my home and my heart to two Connect Groups. Women who are overcoming Anxiety and Depression. And families who are seeking to parent their children with Grace.
I tried a new class at the gym.
I paid off debt.
I kept a relatively clean minivan (canIgetanamen from the minivan section?).
I hustled. A lot. More than most months, I think.
Yet somehow I dismiss all of that because, you know, I didn't do three things perfectly.
But waking up this morning, after sleeping all night in the bosom of the Lion, I know that His grace is sufficient for me. That His power is made perfect in my weakness.
I know that my life is not defined by a number on the scale or the stats from my blog or even the amount of time I dedicate to His Word.
Because He doesn't just meet me during my quiet time. He meets me when I'm rocking a snotty, fussy, sick baby at 2am. He meets me when I am the snotty, fussy, sick baby at 2am. He meets me when I'm doing the umpteenth load of laundry and looking at umpteen more loads that need to be done. He meets me when I'm grumpy with my family and impatient with the mess. He meets me when I'm waking up in the morning, making mental lists of all the things that must be done before my head hits the pillow that night.
He meets me in my sleep, when I am wilted and heavy and feeling like a failure.
So here at the end of February, my hustle doesn't look like what I thought it would when I started on February 1.
But my house is clean. And my heart is at rest. And my God meets me where I am.
And that, my friends, that's worth more than all the hustle in the world.