Tales from a Mid-Lifer

Pulling cookies from the oven on that Sunday afternoon, three dozen chocolate chip circles were the closest I’d felt to any real accomplishment in many months. I created something.

It would be easier if I simply appreciated the basic equation of work = money but I’m the sort who cares about the process, people and product. Most of my life, I’ve enjoyed meaningful work. The job I speak of here (during my baking day) was only for a few years and felt void of value outside of Benjamins.

This cookies-out-of-the-oven scenario wouldn’t be touted as “accomplishment” by most women across developed nations. Nor would the church service I attended, nor teenage Sunday school class I taught earlier that morning. But cookies, worship and Sunday school were the highlights of my week.

During the previous six days, I had devoted 55 hours to good work in a soul-crushing, well-paying job with uncouth executives. The previous six months were a hazy mirror of the last week. There was no partnership ahead, not even a next step promotion to justify the near 60-hour weeks. That was a pure money job. I knew I’d eventually leave, but right then, we needed me to stay.

That particular Sunday, it had taken more effort than ever before to haul my body out of bed, put on makeup and portray an energetic, joyful follower to the students. It took serious praise during worship to get my heavy heart out of the basement. Some days, moving your body at all despite being really down and painfully tired is accomplishment.

Most people would have opted for a Sunday nap vs. baking. For me, the excessive hours of ’empty’ necessitated that I complete something I could share with friends and my grown kids. I enjoy baking. Being in the kitchen made me feel normal for an hour. Feeling anything was a win through the mental fatigue. 

In hindsight, we often see fruit or lessons learned after living through challenging work seasons like the one I describe. Other times, we walk away scratching our head, unable to process any good reasons for that particular period. In my case, God provided. His way. It was a lonely professional experience. Yet, we saved and gave more during my tenure than we had in our entire marriage.

Would going to church and baking on a Sunday be as precious to me without the former experience? Can Santa Monica and Honolulu residents appreciate Spring as much as us living in the gray Northeast? Would we still crave good in this corrupted land if evil didn’t exist?

I’ve learned to walk away from the occasional difficult seasons, avoiding an attempt to classify them (hard for this recovering type-A who likes labels for ever-y-thing). I try not to make myself nuts figuring out the why’s. Instead, I accept experiences for what they are because I learn through the good and the bad.

One of my students once gave a presentation about how to fold the perfect bath towel. At the time, she was a Mama-homemaker finishing her 4-year degree. Most of the younger students found the task a waste of time, the demonstration silly. Through a thoughtful explanation, she taught the value and ultimate satisfaction of taking time with the little things, excellence in the small bringing out the elevated feeling of a “big” achievement.

Whatever your version of accomplishment – it counts. A perfectly folded towel. Baking the tastiest cookie. The little things matter…to and for our soul.

Related: Baking Brings Calm. Order. Completion.

Photo Credits: cookies: foodnetwork.com Woman at desk: iqualifylending.com Sunday School: cefonline.com Sunny/Rainy image: patch.com