So it turns out I’m competitive. Who knew? This competitive spirit especially shows itself when I’m at bat for my church league softball team.

Not sure if it’s possible to distinguish between personally competitive vs. team-ly competitive but I would err certainly towards the former if that distinguishment existed.

I care little for winning & dislike playing with people who are preoccupied with that goal. However, I care very much about playing well & putting forth an effort towards that cause. If little effort is put forth, I may have issue, but if, as a team, we try & fall short, it affects me very little.

But that perspective only pertains to the global effort. Those rules somehow don’t apply to me individually.

Effort carries very little weight in that realm. Success is utmost especially when I know I’m capable. It’s unfortunate, really, because I’d love to offer myself the same grace I believe everyone deserves. But somehow, in the moment, I’m convinced that grace doesn’t apply to me.

But I love my team & am so grateful for what we have. And I know my self-deprecation does little to advance that.

So here’s to fun, freedom & commoradery. Let that always win & let the pride lose out for that greater good. From here on out, I vow to receive the grace my team showers over me with every shortfall.

Let the competitive spirit abound in healthy & ample portion but may it never detract from the greater gifts of fellowship & enjoyment that this sport offers me.

I have officially become a bottom dweller– or should I say a basement dweller.

I live in a 1950s home without central air and the livingroom A/C unit doesn’t provide the relief I need at night (not to mention it’s a shameless energy hog!). And so I ventured downstairs in hopes of more restful sleep.

The basement bedroom doesn’t have the modern conveniences of the main floor. Those things haven’t gained entry into this sacred space where time stands still.

No alarm clock. No radio. Instead I find dated curtains & ceiling tiles, aqua-colored walls, the white noise of a humming fan, and a book on the nightstand dimly lit by the lamp beside it.

I’m transported back to my grandparents’ basement back when technology didn’t exist & connectivity was not a concern. I find no reminders of the responsibilities & burdens that exist on the main floor. And I don’t miss them.

I’m on retreat without leaving my house & I have a whole summer to enjoy it. Perhaps this won’t be a seasonal solution afterall.

Do you ever have days where you are certain you’re doing everything wrong even though you have no solid proof? Today was one of those days. In fact, I’ve had about a week of those days, tied together neatly, delivered in various packages but all following the same pattern.

An opportunity to make a decision is presented to me, with ambiguous alternatives in tow. My lack of clearmindedness won’t allow me to appropriately weigh the alternatives and approach the decision with any sense of confidence. One thing is certain, though–whatever decision I make, I can be sure it is wrong and there’s no one to blame but myself.

Generally speaking, I’m a pretty confident person, and I don’t need much validation. So, thankfully, these times are pretty rare. Perhaps that makes navigating through them more difficult because it’s so uncharacteristic of me. But the most recent bout has given me some new insight.

I am somehow finding comfort in accepting the guilty verdict that these unkind thoughts place upon me. Trying to convince myself of my innocence (which I know is the real truth) is futile. Truth doesn’t matter in cases like these.

And so I accept the guilty verdict and lay down my defenses. The sentence will pass and confidence will soon be restored in time. It always is after these storms.

I will take the blows with strength and a firm stance. I will let the irrational verbal attacks be spoken in my mind, and I will let them pass right through me without a fight.

The less time I dedicate to their presence, the less power they have over me.