Blindsided again by Facebook “memories”.  I’ve really been making an effort the last few months to make good use of my days, to not waste them.  I’ve tried to be disciplined about starting my day with a dedicated quiet time, reading and journaling.  I’ve tried to end my day without the phone or television, reflecting on what’s gone well and what needs improvement, both in my thoughts and actions.  These are spiritual practices I’ve honed and refined over the years, borrowing from my recovery community, mentors, and even the Jesuits and their timeless use of the “Examen”, explained as an attitude, a “time set aside for thankful reflection on where God is in your everyday life”. (Ingatianspirituality.com).

And yet, I wake up most mornings just as exhausted as when I went to bed, anxious about the day, fearful.  My FitBit shows me a sleep score which is usually in the fair-good range, but I don’t feel rested.  Some days I fight the urge to stay in my pajamas and watch the latest binge-worthy find on BritBox while devouring an entire package of cookies or a pint of ice cream.  That may be an acceptable use of a day once in a while, but I keep trying to figure out why these feelings are becoming more and more frequent in spite of my efforts to overcome them.

And then I open up Facebook, and I’m greeted by “4 years ago on this day…”.  I look at the photos attached to that post in disbelief.  Not that the memories are bad or disturbing; in fact, they’re delightful- a trip to Wyoming, returning Jacob to school after Christmas break; a ride outside of Laramie to find a bakery in the middle of nowhere and, of course, a little coffee shop; a classic old Chevy pickup for sale out in a field.  But it’s the timing of that post- 4 years ago- and the realization of all that’s happened since-that really brings me up short, knocks the wind out of me.  No wonder I’m so exhausted and weary all the time!  

Almost 2 years ago (April 2020) I wrote a blog post about Facebook memories and how depressing they can be, especially in the midst of a pandemic that lingered much longer than expected, making us long for those things and people we once took for granted.  Now, almost 2 years later, still impacted to a degree by living life amid a pandemic, those Facebook memories have stirred different yet equally as troubling emotions.

Like waves that relentlessly batter me while I try to get my footing, the past several years have barely allowed time to breath, never mind rest.  

January 2018 – One year removed from a cancer diagnosis; 6 months out from chemo and radiation.

May 2019 – youngest son graduates from college; daughter diagnosed with breast cancer.

December 2019 – daughter’s cancer surgery; oh, and then a pandemic.

September 2020- husband starts new job resulting from closing of company (because of the ongoing pandemic).

October 2020- start of “retirement” (resulting from being forced to move)

November 2020- moved to new city.

December 2020- Christmas in an apartment, while “zooming” with family.

March 2021 – first of two knee replacement surgeries; sale of home.

May 2021- purchase of a new home, and the “work” begins.

July 2021- second knee replacement surgery, move to new home.

September 2021- older son gets married- in Tennessee.

To most people, this might look like a chronicle of a very normal life- illness, moving, weddings, graduations.  But when I list it out as if it were those memories on social media I really do have to step back a bit.  I don’t want to sound like I’m whining; I’m not looking for canonization or martyrdom here.  But people, really, it’s a LOT!  And in 4 years time.  Seriously?

For someone who has spent the better part of 4 decades trying to live “one day at a time”, who has taken to heart the teaching that says “Teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom” (Ps. 90:12), attempting to take each day as a separate unit full of its own unique usefulness is very much like trying to stand upright in the wake of those oncoming waves.  And expecting to do it without getting wet is really foolish.

I’m not saying I plan on abandoning the “one day at a time” mantra that I have lived by for 36+ years.  But I do need to remember that the lessons in those days are often cumulative.  I can look back on the past 4 years, or the past 10 or 20 for that matter, and acknowledge the challenges and the hard days; I can be grateful that I have come through somewhat worse for wear, a little drenched at times, but still standing; I can cherish days like that day in Wyoming or the other pleasant memories that Facebook might throw at me on any given day; and I can cautiously look ahead with hope at making new memories, not projecting the worse case scenario, which is really what living a day at a time is all about.

I am only responsible for my thoughts and my actions today.  I don’t need to let the weight of the past 4 years, or even the past week, to weigh me down and make me weary.  I can allow myself a few of those days spent in my pajamas in front of the tv as long as I am also seeking to learn from the other days in that string of years that might not be as pleasant.  

Psalm 90 also says “For a thousand years in your sight are but as yesterday when it is past, or as a watch in the night.  You sweep them away as with a flood; they are like a dream, like grass that is renewed in the morning: in the morning it flourishes and is renewed; in the evening it fades and withers… The years of our life are seventy, or even by reason of strength eighty; yet their span is but toil and trouble; they are soon gone, and we fly away… Satisfy us in the morning with your steadfast love, that we may rejoice and be glad all our days” (v. 4-6, 10, 14).  

I’m not sure if all this rambling makes sense or brings any comfort,  I mean, who wants to have their life compared to grass that withers or is swept away.  But I’m choosing, just for today, to number my days, not by Facebook memories or by allowing myself to be overwhelmed by the entirety of it all, but by rejoicing in each new day, seeking to be renewed in spite of what may have happened yesterday or by the prospect of withering by evening. I am grateful that God’s mercies are new every morning (Lamentations 3:22-23).