I’ve only bounced a check once. It was a decade ago, but I still feel an inner “ouch” when I think of it. Maybe this sounds a little uptight to you, but my distinct impression growing up was that bouncing a check was serious business. Seriously wrong. Seriously embarrassing. And a serious no-no. So imagine my horror when I realized that I had not only sent out a bad check, but I had sent it to someone I knew. Double ouch.
We were living in Chicago at the time, preparing for a cross-country move, when I noticed on Facebook that Travis, a casual friend from college, was roasting his own coffee beans. Totally fascinating. I sent him a message asking for a recommendation on a roaster, and he wrote back saying he was upgrading his roaster and would be happy to sell the beginner model he’d been using.
Great—sure. After all, why go all out when you’re just giving it a try? I popped a check in the mail and looked forward to home-roasted beans.
A week or so later, my husband mentioned in passing that he had gone ahead and opened bank accounts with the new bank we’d be using out west. Great—sure. I love when people are proactive.
Except, after a few hours passed, I realized that all direct payments had already been diverted to the new accounts. And that over the past couple weeks I had still been spending money out of our old account (note to friends in the early years of marriage—communication is key).
I instantly felt ill. I had committed the unforgivable sin—I had sent a check that linked to a defunct account. I have a feeling that this was not as devastating for Travis. I was mortified—he was, I would later learn, in the midst of launching a now massively successful new coffee company. I still cannot see a bag of their coffee beans without my stomach flipping. On the other hand, he, I assume, has moved on.
Unfortunately, no matter your intentions, or how much money you earn, you can’t keep drawing from an account you’re not refilling. And this goes for more than your bank account. We can’t expect a friend to keep offering favors if we never give into the relationship. We can’t expect our car to run without stopping at a gas station (one lesson I haven’t quite taken to heart yet). And we can’t keep giving of ourselves if we aren’t being poured back into. Yet that is exactly what I tried to do.
I was giving everything I had—taking care of my own responsibilities, extra ones Jon had to release, trying to keep everyone’s spirits up even though my own were shaky, trying to keep all balls in the air so that we could pretend Jon’s illness wasn’t rocking our world. If I was honest with myself, I was totally depleted. And in all of this scurrying, I had let go of the only things that could have refilled me.
Life-giving practices are the regular parts of our lifestyle that help us be whole—things that tune our hearts to what is good and true. Life-giving practices remind us of what we believe deep down, even when it’s way deep down. Life-giving practices restore our weary hearts so they can beat strong again. We need these things to stay grounded, clear-eyed, and steady. We need them to retain our joy. And in a swirl of chaos and despair, I had slowly let go of everything I should have held on to. I needed to make a change.
I started out by heading to the gym. In the midst of stress and to-dos and being completely overwhelmed, this had been one of the first things to slip through the cracks. I rationalized it by telling myself that by skipping the gym, I was saving time in my day, thus relieving pressure. And couldn’t I catch back up later once life had calmed down? What was the worst that could happen, I’d put on a few extra pounds?
Somehow, I had deceived myself into thinking that an hour of exercise was simply about my physical health, when in reality it had a significant impact on my emotional health as well. One unimpressive workout later, I had so much more than sore muscles—I felt renewed, refocused, and for the first time in a while, reenergized.
Later that week, I forced myself to sit down with a journal. Full disclosure: the first day I didn’t write a thing. I just sat, pen in hand, staring off. But the next day, I sat down again and a few words came. In time, the floodgates opened and all sorts of thoughts and feelings and emotions came pouring out as the most honest prayer. It wasn’t pretty, but it didn’t have to be.
Authentic prayer is less about honesty with God (he already knows) and more about being honest with ourselves. I was surprised to discover the intensity of what was going on inside. It hurt to feel those feelings—but it was so good to let them out, to release their hold over me, and to ask God to make sense of it all.
Also, I realized I needed to set aside some time for friends and family. I needed to reach out, reengage, and spend time with all those good people in life who speak words of truth, peace, and care. You know who I mean: The people who help you laugh and make it okay to cry. People who show up just to share a meal, reminding you that you’re not alone, not the only one with bumps in their road, that there are still, and always, blessings along the path.
We simply cannot keep giving what we do not have. And even on our very best days or most stress-free weeks, we need these life-giving practices. Because not only do they save us from bottoming out during the storms, they keep our hearts humble, gentle, and joyful when everything is smooth sailing.
Some of these practices are as simple as eating dinner as a family or ditching your phone on Saturday mornings. Maybe it’s a morning walk with time to pray and reflect. Or perhaps you have a standing coffee date with a trusted mentor. While life-giving practices may look different for each one of us, the result is the same: a life that is centered, alive, rooted in hope, and never running dry.
~ By Jen Wise
