I've been seeing the mantra #SurvivingNotThriving popping up all over the place lately, and while my initial reaction is to raise my hand right alongside all the other women who feel like they're barely making it, it feels a little like giving up to me.
I don't want to just survive. I want to thrive.
Yes, there will be hard days. Yes, there will be times when there's not enough of me to go around. Yes, there will be weeks when I feel completely overwhelmed by life. And yes, there will be nights when the best option for supper is peanut butter sandwiches. Again.
But we were made for more than that. That shouldn't be the norm. It should be the exception. If our entire lives feel like they're stuck in an exhausting and never-ending cycle of surviving not thriving, then something is wrong.
For those of us who are in Christ, the promise is not that we will never have hard days or experience the struggle that is real life. The promise is that he's with us in the mess, striving right alongside us, filling us with his spirit, and helping us not just to survive, but to thrive.
Why? So that others may see us and know that our God is the author of life.
When I find myself in those surviving not thriving moments, I know that it's time to take a step back and spend some time tending to my soul. To take a long, hard look at my planner and see what needs to go. To turn the praise music up and sing my heart out, whether I feel like it or not. To open my Bible and read the words of life. And to bow my head and pray for Jesus to fill me from the depths of his never-ending supply and enable me not just to survive, but to thrive.
Let's choose life today, ladies. Do the thing that your soul requires to thrive. Don't neglect it. You need it to live fully alive, just as Jesus intended.
Given the option between a life of ease and a life of suffering, I'll take the the easy road every time. Yes please to the good life. Hard pass on the hardship. But Jesus isn't like me. He knew what was to come, and he walked toward it with eyes and arms wide open.
Here lately, every time I hear the familiar chords of an old hymn at church, tears prick my eyes, and it's a real struggle not to ugly cry in the middle of the sanctuary. It's the darnedest thing. Given the sidelong glances she gives me every time it happens, I'm pretty sure that our youngest daughter is seriously worried about me.