A is for Average
Today’s post is from Dena Hobbs, M.Div., campus missioner for the Diocese of Atlanta- and also my friend.
I peered at my yogurt lid, reading the phrase on the foil, “Create a life today that will be worth writing about tomorrow.” I wanted to tell Yoplait where they could stuff their perky little phrases, but instead, I crumpled up the lid and threw it away. Living a life worth writing about feels a little high-achieving for now. Survival is a more achievable goal.
For the past nine months, I have been trudging through what I affectionately call my year of grief. Twelve months ago my mother unexpectedly passed away. Though she was 85, she had been doing well. So well, she was the primary caregiver for my elderly father with dementia.
After she died, I was immediately thrust into the role of caregiver for my Dad, now a 90-year-old man with dementia and a broken heart. All while I nursed my own grief at the loss of my mother. That all went about as well as you would imagine. We struggled through for about three months until Dad gratefully exhaled his last breath and joined my mom in the great beyond.
When Dad died I collapsed. We humans can rise to great challenges and summon amazing strength. But not for long. After the challenge is over we need to rest and recover.
You would think my need to rest would have made total sense to me. And in a way, it did. But dear reader, I was not raised to rest. I was raised to DO things. And not just average things, but actions that are ABOVE average.
As I went through my parents’ things after their death, I found countless certificates of appreciation thanking my parents for all their hard work and contributions to our community. They both spent every day trying to make the world a better place. And they expected me to do the same. They raised my brother and me to be amazing people who helped create an amazing community.
So, I felt like I was failing my parents when my motto after their deaths became, “Good enough is good enough.”
I kept waiting to bounce back, to become the person who awakened every day wanting to do great things. But nine months later, it has yet to happen. And I wonder if it ever will. Not because I will be grief-stricken and depressed forever, but because my understanding of life has changed. Maybe the goal of my life should not be to do awesome things every day.
Yes, many people said kind things about my parents at their funerals and I hold the memories of them dear to my heart. But as Ash Wednesday and the season of Lent tell us, we are mortal creatures. From dust we came and to dust we will return. Though my parents lived long, full lives, a hundred years from now no one will remember the details of their day-to-day existence. The certificates of appreciation will one day fall apart in my hands. As Isaiah reminds us, all people are like the flowers in the field. Though we are glorious today, we wither and fade away tomorrow.
Now I don’t want to send you into an Ecclesiates-like existential crisis. I don’t think my life is pointless with no meaning. But I do think I had my priorities wrong. For after we sold 90% of my parents’ belongings in an estate sale, I began to reflect on what they really passed on to me. I realized the one thing I cherished most, the one thing that would not pass away after their deaths, is the love they gave to me.
Maybe the most important things are not the big achievements we get awards for, but the small repeated acts of love we pass on every day.
Maybe we don’t have to be awesome after all, maybe we just have to be consistently average.
If I come to the end of my life and all people remember of me are the small kindness I offered them every day, I will be satisfied. If my children leave my graveside filled with the love I instilled in them, I will rest in peace.
If you like me are struggling with doing your best these days, take heart. We don’t have to always be or do our best. Keep getting out of bed, putting one foot in front of the other, and do whatever small acts of good you can. For small acts of good done over time are powerful things. Hmm, that is a pretty good phrase. Let’s put that bit of wisdom on a yogurt lid.
