You're Catastrophizing

Yes, it's a verb: catastrophize. It means to make things worse than they actually are. Just to be clear, a catastrophe is an event that causes great damage and suffering. Think plane crashes, war, extreme weather, wildfires, epidemics, etc. These are catastrophes.

My life isn't a catastrophe. Nothing in it is catastrophic. 

Something in me, however, likes to dramatize my own inconveniences and little disappointments, my own minor aches and obstacles, to the level of catastrophe. 

Catastrophe! Give me attention! It's a catastrophe! 

My bad circumstances (today it's knee pain and grumpy children) become everything in my mind; they cloud my mood and bring in hopelessness and fear, and they aren't anywhere near the level of catastrophic. 

In my family, we talk about not catastrophizing. It's irrational, unfair, and pretty selfish to elevate whatever inconveniences we experience to the level of anything other than what they are: inconveniences, setbacks, and disappointments. 

This means we put our complaints in their proper place. We move on with our day, pushing forward against this thing that isn't a catastrophe at all. Somewhere in the world, very real catastrophes assault very real people in very real neighborhoods. 

We stop catastrophizing by taking a deep breath and putting any pain into the right context. We'll get through this. 

All This and the Romantic Dinner Too

The plan to celebrate our 14th anniversary was to end up at dinner and a movie after browsing bookstores (our favorite things). We're best friends and partners in everything, so we knew we'd have a great night just talking and enjoying whatever came our way.

And this is what came our way: All night, we kept running into people we love--like walk-to-school neighbors, friends from church, and even a former student of mine. At one point, we found ourselves visiting a grad student and praying with his family who was in town to help him move out.

Everywhere we went, significant parts of our marriage found representation through people sent our way: walking together every day with the Neighborhood Walk-to-School group, ministering together to graduate students, teaching college students, and volunteering with youth ministry and church. It was fun that these encounters kept happening all night.

And yes, we had all this and our bookstore, romantic dinner, and movie too!

It was a beautiful night out because every half hour or so, we received little reminders of what makes marriage so great. For years, we've been together in life and ministry; it's been so purposeful and connected to others that our night out included a wonderful sampling of what the years have meant to us.

It was never just about us.

"Without Writing, I'd Be Lost."

We write because it brings us closer to home. It unties what's knotted up in us. We write because it cares for our souls to do so.

My friend tells me that in the past he's agonized over why he's writing and for whom and whether this sort of thing--especially the publishing part--diminishes his character. It seems inherently narcissistic, inherently self-glorifying, and inherently dissonant with the hidden and quiet life.

He tells me he struggled but finally realized this: "Without writing, I'd be lost."

The writing life helps us find our way.

Why care so deeply about why and for whom?  The business of it doesn't care for the soul. But writing? I think of the necessity and pleasure of it. I think of how it nourishes the soul.

Another friend recently told me she loved talking to a particular person because of the way this person "cared for her soul." The words resonate for days.

Writing helps me care for my own soul and, by God's grace, the beautiful souls of others.