I’m not a big fan of flying. (Go ahead. Insert broom joke here. Very funny.)
I know many people who do it with insane regularity and I’m sure flying in a plane is no bigger deal than riding in a car for them. Not so with me.
I probably do it once a year, if that. And when I’m on the plane, I’m not obsessing the whole time about crashing (just during turbulence, the landing process or over long stretches of ocean). It’s mainly all the pre-flight airport drama and the lack of control. I recently had a flight cancelled and was forced to be away from home another night. I was NOT happy.
We’ve all heard the opening speech. Here’s your life jacket, just in case (great). Your seat cushion floats too (wonderful). There’s the exit door (good, good). This is how you brace for a crash, I mean, emergency landing (got it).
And don’t forget the oxygen masks. (Seriously. We could run out of oxygen. Awesome.) They always tell you to put on your own oxygen mask first before helping someone else with theirs.
That always bothered me. Especially when Caroline was really young. Yeah, right. Like they could honestly expect me to care for my own safety before my child’s. Like I give a rip at all about the fact that I can’t breathe if my child can’t breathe either.
That’s probably why they say that. Must be a pretty normal reaction.
And what’s the big deal? So I hold my breath for a few seconds while I slip the oxygen mask over my child’s head, then I put mine on and we’re fine (aside from the obvious trauma of having to actually use an oxygen mask).
But what if the kid puts up a fight? In your panic to save her life, you struggle with her for longer than you planned, run out of air and pass out. Then you and your child are both in trouble.
On a plane, the oxygen masks drop down from the ceiling. When your car is almost out of gas, the light comes on. When your printer is low on ink, you get a message on the screen.
But as humans, when we’re running low on what we need, the signals aren’t quite as obvious. We may snap at others a little more quickly, feel short-fused, weary and impatient. But those could be chalked up to any number of reasons.
I could really use some alerts in my life:
Prayer/worship required.
Vegetable deficiency.
Needs time with friends.
Not enough exercise.
Social media overload.
Add scripture then press OK.
Therapy recommended.
Nap 30 minutes then try again.
One of the nice things about getting older is you really start to know your limitations and you can just own them. Weight Watchers is a regular part of my life (off and on, just for maintenance). I go to bed no later than 10:30 most nights (and I LIKE it). And five out of seven days, the first 30 minutes of my morning is spent in the Bible.
But we’re all different, of course. Some people can run on less sleep. (Actually studies show that MOST people think they need less sleep than they actually do.) Some people can STILL eat whatever they want and not gain an ounce. (I hate those people.) Some people can be filled up by a ten-minute devotion while others may need a full hour to start their day feeling connected with God.
The problem comes when we don’t know our limitations. Or worse, when we know them and don’t respect them.
I would say a fair amount of us go through our days running on empty, in one way or another. So many of our waking moments are filled with life-sucking duties that there’s no room for the life-giving activities that keep our hearts afloat.
I’ve heard that if you tell yourself a lie enough times, you’ll actually start to believe it. And we all do it:
I don’t have time to [insert life-giving activity here]. There’s too much to do. I can run on six hours of sleep. I don’t need time with friends. I’d rather be alone. That traumatic experience didn’t change me. I don’t need to process it or take time to heal. And on and on and on.
And the biggest lie is fed to us from the Father of Lies himself: Taking care of myself is not a priority. I’m fine.
And then we’re shocked when we need anti-anxiety meds, have affairs, get addicted to alcohol or drugs, go into debt. Our souls are starving. Facebook and reality shows cannot nourish our souls any more than Twizzlers can nourish our bodies. But if we’re not careful, we’ll find ourselves living on junk and wondering why we feel so lifeless.
God did not create us to be machines to just produce, accomplish, do and do and do. We’re living human beings designed to abide, enjoy relationships and co-create with our Creator.
To be sure, there are duties in our lives that we cannot shirk. Jobs, kids, dinner, laundry. And Brother Lawrence would tell us that there is joy to be found in the mundane.
But why do we feel GUILTY about doing stuff that just big fat makes us happy?
We are told in Proverbs 4 to guard our hearts because everything we do flows from it. Life is hard and we must be intentional about seeking out things that bring us joy. Just for joy’s sake.
But everybody’s counting on me, you say.
You got that right. They absolutely are. They need you fully present, healthy and available. When you take care of yourself, the ‘everybody’ in your life benefits as well. And when you don’t, your ‘everybody’ feels it. (Just ask Brad and the kids.)
You can love and serve God and your people best when you are caring for yourself. You’re not being selfish. It’s selfish to let your heart and health whither and make others pay the price because you’re too proud to rest and/or get help.
When we don’t care for ourselves, when we don’t put on our own oxygen masks first, we become grumpy, bitter, exhausted martyrs. See if this sounds familiar:
I realize I’m starting to feel worn out/drained/joyless. So instead of addressing that need, I either act like it’s not there or wait for someone else to notice so they can give me permission to take care of myself.
Well, no one notices and that hurts my feelings. I grind away at my life, secretly resenting my routine and everybody in it because, come on, it’s THEIR FAULT I’m so run down.
My fuse gets shorter with every passing day. Before long, everybody in my life is walking on eggshells.
And regardless of how tired I am, I lie awake at night obsessing over everything that has to happen the next day/week/year/decade. And the fact that my husband is peacefully sawing logs next to me does not help.
No one cares, I moan to myself. No one even notices what all I do. I am so unappreciated. I guess this is my lot in life, my cross to bear.
And THAT is what I call late-stage Martyr Mode.
Can anybody relate? Tell me it’s not just me.
Martyrs are heroes, right? They die for something they believe in. Give up their lives for a cause greater than themselves.
It’s honorable to incessantly suffer for your family and/or job, right? The world says we’re supposed to live jam-packed days, sleepless nights and wake up in our sixties and wonder where the heck our life went. We’re designed to pour out our lives for others and not take the time to refill.
No. Thank. You.
Here’s the thing about martyrs: Martyrs always die.
Now chances are your family or employer is not going to burn you at the stake or nail you to a cross. But the sparkle will leave your eyes, your soul will become comatose and you will become little more than a robot, just going through the motions of life. Functioning, but dead inside.
Does that sound like abundant life to you? No way. We were made for more. Much more.
During my Martyr Mode phase a couple of years ago, I was whining to God about … everything/nothing/who knows what. And I got a startling, sobering answer:
I died so you could live. Now LIVE.
Life to the full. (John 10:10)
My cup overflowing. (Psalm 23:5)
My heart is the wellspring of life. (Proverbs 4:23)
Love my neighbor as myself. (Leviticus 19:18, Matthew 19:19, Matthew 22:39, Mark 12:31, Mark 12:33, Luke 10:27, Romans 13:9, Galatians 5:14, James 2:8)
Now of course sacrifices have to be made for friends and family. But those sacrifices must be balanced by rest and joy.
Here’s what my recovery looks like:
I start with laughing. Once I reach Martyr Mode, I usually haven’t laughed in a while. So I watch The Hangover. I get on youtube and watch bulldogs jump on trampolines, Bat Dad, Michael McIntyre, the social security lady. (I know the language in the last one is horrible. Don’t watch it with your kids. But it’s so funny I literally cry every time I watch/hear it.)
Then I think back to life-giving activities I used to do before life started happening so hard and fast. For me it’s writing, reading, and most of all, spending time with friends. For you it may be golf, tennis, joining a Bible study or book club, fixing up old cars, painting.
Then I just do it. I put it on the calendar and make it happen. I try to stay completely present, even though my mind wants to wander back to lists and deadlines. The laughter is coming easier at this point.
Then I dust off my Bible and get back in the word. John is my favorite. And Philippians. Then I pray and ask Him to restore my soul. Just being in His presence can change everything. He does, after all, have a reputation for bringing dead things back to life.
As I start to feel like myself again, I think back to the last time I was running on all eight cylinders with my heart full and pumping life into everything I did, everyone I met. And I rediscover my purpose, my calling in the Kingdom.
Need permission from somebody? Here it is:
“Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.” – Howard Thurman
Put on your oxygen mask. Take a deep breath.
Now LIVE.
