The Pursuit of Enough: Remembering the Thankful


I can flip the switch from Resting Weekend Micha to Anxious Snap-Mouth Micha in about, ummm, three minutes of staring at my computer, remembering all that exists in there that I still have to do.

The lovely thing about beginning at sundown on Saturday night and ending sundown on Sunday night, is that I still have time on Sunday to sort out my week on the computer. I have time to catch up on some blogs, to read a couple of articles. Chris and I go through our calendars together and I plan meals for the week. (Both of those things old, unorganized, anxious-but-cool Micha would have mocked two years ago. Now I crave the planning.)

The terrible thing about my Sabbath ending at sundown on Sunday night is the fierce reminder about what I’m walking into the next day: writing deadlines and unfinished laundry. Daily meal making and dishes. My husband traveling this week and all those coming nights of feeding, washing, and putting down the little ones for bed.  Anxiety exists in my mind. But it also exists in my body. I feel it in my ribs. I feel it in my arms. I feel the overwhelming possibility that I will wake in the night to both children crying. Which will I go to first?

I think that’s why my tone turned nasty with Chris last night. Fifteen minutes staring at my screen, trying to make one of those terrible Evite cards for Brooksie’s coming birthday, and the moment Chris didn’t turn his head to my question, the moment he didn’t seem to care enough about what we would do if it rained the day of the park party, the moment he didn’t sense my FEAR… (Not my fear of rain on a park party, not my fear of an imperfect kid’s birthday celebration, but my fear of All These Things There Are To Do.) When he didn’t grasp my pounding heart, my physical memory of loneliness, the tape in my head that plays a constant: You will never complete all that is required of you. You will never be enough.

How is a husband supposed to know that when his wife asks, What will we do if it rains? She really means, Will I ever survive this to-do list? Will I ever be enough?

I said, “Fine, you don’t have to care. I’ll plan this thing all by myself. Don’t worry.” I said it with the bitter edge of my tongue. I said it the way a teenage girl speaks to the friend who rejects her. I said it with false self-sufficiency, when I felt nothing but self-insufficient.


Yesterday morning, my pastor preached about prayer, about Everyday Spirituality. He spoke from , an beautiful passage in which Paul prays for the Church in Ephesus to “be strengthened in [their] inner being with power through his Spirit, and that Christ may dwell in [their] hearts through faith…that [they] may have the power to comprehend, with all the saints, what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge…”

How can we ever live into that depth of power? How in the world, in the middle of our messy, busy lives, can we experience and comprehend Christ’s deep and tall, long and wide love? How to hold Christ’s love in our minds beside the monster of to-dos and everyday expectations?

My pastor’s sermon was one of his best ever. Which is saying something. (You can listen to it . And you probably should, in my humble opinion.) But among Fred Harrell’s words was a statement I can’t stop going over in my mind: “We use our memory to beat ourselves up and beat other people up,” he said. “You will be anxious if that is how you use your memory.”

I can’t get over that truth. If what I remember from my far-away and recent past is my own failings and the failings of others, of course my mind will be anxious. How have I never considered that unforgiveness (of myself, most of all) leads to anxiety?

And if instead of remembering the broken things, I choose to remember God’s goodness, those moments when God revealed himself, the sweet daily gifts God is giving me over and over. If I choose to be thankful, I will be battling anxiety. I will be choosing to comprehend the breadth and length and height and depth of the love of Christ.  


After I closed my computer in disgust last night and brushed my teeth with my most ferocious hand movements, I found my husband finishing the dishes in the kitchen. I said, “I’m sorry. I forgot to be thankful.”

I’m sure I’ll forget again. Over and over. But prayer is the coming back. Prayer is the comprehending again. Prayer is choosing the gratefulness instead of the unforgiving fear. Toolbars run their resources along the left hand side and top of the application

  • How hard it is to stay sweet when fear comes knocking on our hearts. No matter our good intentions, they just fly out the window with our patience. I love the reality here of struggling to be at peace when circumstances make us feel anything but. I also love the emphasis of making different choices so that “instead of remembering the broken things, I choose to remember God’s goodness….if I choose to be thankful, I will be battling anxiety”. Indeed! And it starts with returning to the place of peace as “prayer is the coming back…choosing the gratefulness instead of the unforgiving fear”. A lovely post, Micha, that resonated with me so much. Thank you.

    • michaboyett

      Thanks so much for your comment, Joy.

  • Oh goodness, you just described exactly what goes on in my head between an innocent question or comment to my husband, and the explosion of bitterness and resentment that often follows leaving him completely confused and blindsided. That underlying anxiety goes deep in me, but thank goodness that his grace does too. I need to choose to remember. Choose to remember the good.

    • michaboyett

      Fiona, I’m so glad to know my brain process makes sense to you! Thanks being with me in the anxiety struggle….

  • I can’t form a coherent response other than to say I needed to read this today.

    • michaboyett

      Thanks friend.

  • Oh yes, yes yes. Did you see Brene Brown’s TED talk on vulnerability. All the stuff you talk about here.

    • michaboyett

      Yes! So good. I’ve got to pick up her book. Have you read it?

  • Oh, here too, Micha. Christ’s kindness leads us to repentance and your telling here is kindness to this stubborn, tired heart today. Thank you.

    • michaboyett

      Peace for your stubborn, tired heart, Annie. So glad to see you here.

  • Micha, praying that God would fill your heart with gratefulness this week!

    • michaboyett

      Margaret, thanks for that gigantic kindness! Coveting your prayers…

  • Hi Micha, I don’t often comment here but I do read every post faithfully and each one speaks directly to my heart. Today’s especially. xo

  • Kate

    This is my favorite scripture passage. I can’t wait to listen to the sermon. When I read it I almost feel myself being stretched inside–in the good way that makes even more room for God to fill me. You are a blessing, micha. Thank you for sharing.

  • WAHOOO! Micha, your words here were a rope to me when I was trying to reconcile the dailiness of life with little one and the great big dreams and the small still voice. I cannot wait to hold your words in my hands and share them with so many others. Celebrating with you today!

    • Annie Barnett

      I was just looking for an old post and saw this comment landed here instead of on the announcement about the new book. Whoops! Sorry about that – feel free to delete these! Silly me.