The Ruination of a Good Pity Party

I used to throw a decent pity party.

I sent black and gray invitations (only to me, of course). I served Woe-Is-Me Hors D'oeuvres and Nobody-Loves-Me-I'll-Just-Eat-Dirt Pies and washed it all down with a hefty serving of whine. I didn't call it a night until I had wallowed in all the unfair circumstances in my life at the time.

Then I married Corey.

He doesn't allow pity parties under his roof. Maybe it's because he spent his early years without food, shelter, medicine or love. Maybe it's because he knows how useless pity parties are. Maybe it's because he's part Vulcan.

Whatever the reason, from the first year of our marriage (which was 16 years ago today, by the way), he made it blatantly clear: Pity parties are a waste of time, in addition to the height of self-absoprtion, and thus will not be tolerated in Chez Love Well.

It took me a few years to drop out of the pity party scene altogether. (After all, I had stocked up on What-About-Me Meatballs when I found them on sale.) But eventually, this whole marriage, two-become-one thing started to pay off.

I no longer had fun at my pity parties. So I stopped throwing them.

I'm telling this so you know -- I don't have many days like Tuesday anymore.

But sometimes, the emotions are too heavy to shake off without help.

So Tuesday, with my lungs thick with sighs and my eyes filled with tears, I decided to reach out.

I called a few friends. No one was home. I called my parents. They were busy getting their house ready to go on the market in Northern California. ("It will probably sell before ours," I sighed to myself.) I surfed the Interent and checked my e-mail and Twitter. I even called Corey at work, which is an option of last resort.

The conversation went like this:

Me: "Hi." (Meaningful silence while I swallowed the tears.) "I'm having a really bad day. I'm just so (sigh) discouraged."
Corey: "I'm sorry Nina. I'll pray for you."
Me: "Is there any chance you could, you know, come home early and we could all go to the park or something?"
Corey: (Meaningful silence while he rolled his eyes heavenward.) "I'll try, Nina, but it's really busy here."
Me: "Ummm..... OK. I understand. ... See you later."

Poor, poor me. I wanted to dissolve in tears and lay on the couch and let HGTV and The Food Network numb my soul. But Connor needed lunch and Teyla wouldn't nap and Natalie was going to be home soon and I had a pile of laundry that absolutely had to be tamed lest it take over my kitchen.

"You see, Lord?" I pouted. "I'm all alone. I have no one but You."

(Meaningful silence from God while Kelly gets it.)

"Ohhhhhh...."

This is a lesson God is gently but constantly teaching me. Because I am one of the most blessed women in the world when it comes to deep, rich, authentic friendships, I tend to gravitate toward people when I need a hug.

I want them to encourage me, point me to God, remind me of His truths.

And there's nothing wrong with that. What a blessing it is to be "Jesus-with-skin-on" to those we love.

But what God is teaching me is that He wants to be my comfort, my rock and my shelter. He wants to be my first option, not my only-if-no-one-else-has-time-for-me-today option.

So, with His gentle reprimand echoing in my heart, I sat with my Maker and let Him infuse my soul with fresh courage (which is literally what the word "encourage" means).

By the end of our time, I didn't feel listless anymore. I felt strong. I didn't feel disappointed. I felt hopeful.

And by the end of the week (such as today), I even felt a holy roar rise in my chest. Disappointment is a normal human emotion in response to what happened this week (or more correctly, what didn't happen). But buried in that disappointment was a nugget of unbelief. "Is God really good? Is God going to keep His promises? Can I really believe Him?" And when I saw that root, I was beyond annoyed. I was full-out mad. Compared to what I have already seen God do in my life -- and in circumstances much more impossible and painful than this -- how dare I doubt the One who is 100% trustworthy?

I don't know why God is choosing to keep us shackled to our old house. But I do believe that He is in charge of even this small matter. In the words of Daniel, heaven rules. He has a purpose, and it is for our good. I believe that with all my heart.

Yesterday, I likened my situation to a swimmer treading water in the ocean, facing wave after wave of crashing saltwater. To keep with that analogy -- reaching out to others is like that swimmer looking around for other swimmers to help her out in her time of distress. Not a bad idea, and there are times when it's the right thing to do.

But leaning into God to fight the discouragement is like that same swimmer stretching her toes down toward the bottom of the sea -- and finding solid rock on which to stand.

The situation doesn't change. The waves are still pounding, the water is still neck-deep.

But now, she has security and a strong place to stand.

That makes all the difference.

My soul finds rest in God alone;
my salvation comes from him.
He alone is my rock and my salvation;
he is my fortress, I will never be shaken.
- Psalms 62:1-2