Several weeks ago during Sunday services, my youngest son Thatcher nestled onto my lap. He snuggled me, brushing my cheeks with his hands, laying his head on my shoulder; the sort of affection from a little boy that softens each and every last cold prickly left in your body. As he smoothed my hair into a pony tail with his grubby little hands he brought his chewy lips up to my ear and whispered intensely, "You're a MANIAC." What? I'm sitting in what's supposed to be the most peaceful hour of my week and my son is somehow inclined to tell me I'm a maniac?
During the weeks that followed, his words did not leave me alone. Then it began to occur to me that few whisperings during worship services have rang more true. I am a maniac - always running from this place to that, never organized, rarely settled.
Today, I felt sick. Not sick with any kind of illness, more just the "unhealthy" kind of sick. When I get this way, I lock myself in the bathroom and draw a hot bath. I consume a bottle of spring water as I soak and contemplate what I am doing with my life. Priorities are pondered as I scoop up handfuls of soapy water, letting it trickle through my fingers. Do I go back to school and study sound recording? Do I commit to those guitar lessons that keep pressing in the back of my mind? Do I have another baby? Do I train for the marathon? Do I paint the house this summer and landscape the back yard? People, it just doesn't end with me. There are SO many things I want to accomplish, oodles of things I want to excel at. Where do I draw the line? How can I choose? Do I have an over-achievement issue? Do other people feel this way?
Later in the day I stare at the petrified chicken nuggets in the back seat of the family car. They lay stale and stiff next to the kid meal bag, next to the forgotten paper work which is crumpled under the pair of dirty socks. Mindy, you have GOT to simplify your life. First of all, how can you let your children eat those things? Secondly, stale chicken nuggets seem like permanent fixtures in the back seat. This has got to stop.
"We're going on a Ghandi Diet," I announce to the Glediator. "We're not buying anything for a month except the essential foods and we're getting rid of all the junk in our closets."
"That's fine with me!" Gleddy replies with hands in the air.
Maniac Mindy is on a "simplifying" rampage. If you have any realistic advice or proven tactics that have streamlined your life temporally or spiritually, I would eat up every word.