Strive

 Strive.

It's a word that in my mind means to try.  

To do something.  

To keep going, even imperfectly. 

It's part of the antidote to my perfectionism. 

But this weekend has been hard.  My health knocked me flat.  

Even more than usual and I literally couldn't do anything.  

I had to cancel my plans with friends.  

I started to empty the dishwasher but it hurt too much to lift the cups up. 

I couldn't climb the stairs.

I couldn't even eat dinner. 

So I laid on my bed and watched movies of people who seemed to have life together.  

Who could move. 

Who could do things.  

And I cried. 

And this morning I woke up only slightly better.  

And I wanted to go to church. To show the Lord my love for Him. To strive.

So I pulled myself out of bed and turned on the shower.  The water hurt too much so I skipped that.  

And I put on a comfy new dress and five layers of makeup to cover the splotches of broken blood vessels and lupus rash. 

And I went. I strived. 

And the Sacrament meeting talks were about how if our love for God is the most important thing, our choices will be easier.

And I agreed. 

But in my head I kept thinking, "But what about when it hurts to move? How do I add more when I can do less? How do I accept this reality and not feel like a failure?"

And in Relief Society (our women's group) we talked about what it means to strive. 

And then,  the Spirit taught me a bit more. 

The Hebrew word for strive means to long for or to grasp onto.

Sometimes that step is going to be a shift of my heart, even when my hands can't yet do it. 

It's going to be WANTING to follow God, or LONGING for the peace that comes from

obedience. 

I do long to be forgiving even when it's still so hard not to dwell on the hurt.

And I grasp for the tools to help me be a more patient mom and wife.

I long to feel the Savior beside me all the time, even though in my mortality I sometimes push Him away. 

And sometimes that longing  IS the effort.  

That IS enough.