I’ve been feeling pretty blah lately. Instead of rainbows and butterflies brightening up my head, I’ve been thinking a lot about how I’ve become rather cynical inside. Even though I know I find great joy in being around others, I’ve crawled into a space of isolation over the last year.
This is something I battle each and every day. It’s not that I am depressed. I have taken that train before. It’s more so that I am disenchanted with the world and my life. I’m having trouble trusting people, finding the good in others and finding a reason to share myself with almost anyone.
And so, I’ve been having a lot of conversations with God. Maybe a conversation with God is praying, but I don’t feel like it’s been praying. I’ve been asking Him a lot of questions about why the world the way it is, why people (including myself) are the way they are, why there has been such a change in me, what am I supposed to learn?
I’ve told Him that I’ve turned from being an exuberantly grateful person to someone who is always longing for something more. I don’t like this change in me. I’ve tried to create quiet spots where I can just see the world through my own eyes. I’ve made attempts to put myself in circumstances where I can see the collective good in people. I truly want to get back to seeing rainbows and butterflies in my head, and I’ve asked Him if I’ll ever get that back.
Two weekends ago, I drove my middle daughter to Terre Haute to play soccer. It was a chilly and rainy day, but I was excited to go there with her because I spent half of my childhood near Terre Haute. My plan was to take her to my favorite pizza place after the game to see if they still served the same pizza as they did 30 years ago.
When we got to the bowling alley (where the pizza is), I had to go to the restroom, so I left my daughter and her Harry Potter book in the booth and walked behind the bowling lanes to find the bathroom.
I recognized one of the women sitting at the table, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on who she was. Then I look at the woman sitting next to her. It took me a moment, but I put together that these women were part of a family who was near and dear to my heart as a child.
I told them that I was a Zell and their faces lit up in a way that made me feel that light flicker back on inside me. Instantly, memories drawing swans while the oldest daughter babysat me, walking into their middle daughter’s black and white bedroom, watching Rainbow Brite, playing softball and riding in the back of a pickup truck to get extra large milkshakes at Dairy Queen after the games ran through my head.
Of all the people I could have seen in Clinton on that day, I saw them. To say the least, it really made me think for a long time.
I went back to my daughter. She knew I was gone so long because I’d seen someone I knew. We ate the pizza, which unfortunately is not the same as it was 30 years ago-still good, just not what I remembered-and then I took her to meet them. When they looked at her, they said they remembered that face from when I was younger.
These people were different than so many others from my childhood. With circumstances both in and out of my control, I could have seen any number of people with some sort of ugly memory attached to them. But this family, for me, was different. All of my memories attached to them are those filled with hard work, laughter and playful times.
I thought about this moment my whole way home. I could have seen any number of people in that town on that day. But as those memories kept running through my head, I realized that God doesn’t always fill our cups with what we need. He didn’t just give me gratitude on that day. Instead, he gave me an opportunity to be grateful. And then, I had to choose.
