A number of years ago I led a worship team at the church I used to attend. Like most things I commit to, I poured my heart and soul into that worship team.
My impulse is to beat myself up for such a shallow motivation. To chastise myself and allow my Inner Critic to hurl insults in order to force me to change my motivation into something more pure. But, like a quote I recently read, “If being hard on yourself worked, it would have worked by now.”
Shortly after I got married and changed my last name from Dam to Van Huizen, I got a job in a Christian high school, where my maiden name was unknown to most of my colleagues. At one particular staff meeting, my colleagues and I were trying to set a date for the annual staff Christmas party. People were suggesting a bunch of different dates, and at one point I said, “Oh, I can’t go that day, I’ve got my Dam Christmas.”
As I sit and write this article, my husband is lying on the couch, mowing down on a bag of Doritos.
I love Doritos. I just can’t eat them. Well, it’s not that I can’t, it’s just that if I do, I have to make a choice: enjoy a few pleasurable moments of those delectable triangles, or endure a four-day “would-someone-please-cut-my-head-off” migraine.
This past week I turned 40. And I won’t lie: it’s been rough. You know that song, “It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to?” Well, that’s been me. All week.