Every day I wake up, it's as if God hits the reset button. Yesterday may have been a good day, a day in which I was feeling all kinds of spiritual, believing I'm on a great path, that I've finally learned how to be a better person—but then the baby cries earlier than I’d like or I stub my toe on the way out of bed, and all my loving thoughts disappear. Poof.
C.S. Lewis says that, in the morning,
"All your wishes and hopes for the day rush at you like wild animals. And the first job each morning consists simply in shoving them all back; in listening to that other voice, taking that other point of view, letting that other larger, stronger, quieter life come flowing in. And so on, all day. Standing back from all your natural fussings and frettings; coming in out of the wind.”
The hard part is remembering to step out of the wind. When caught up in our day-to-day struggles, we somehow forget to notice that it's so windy in our minds.
I try to constantly remind myself of the wind by asking myself a simple question on repeat. (While "What would Jesus do?" is a great question, I have no clue what Jesus would do. And, even if I did, I don't think I'm capable of pulling it off. He is God, after all.) When I remember, I ask myself:
How can I approach this with more love?
Because I know that good intentions and spiritual warm fuzzies on the inside won't matter if I'm not acting them out toward other people. In the words of C.S. Lewis,
"Fine feelings, new insights, greater interest in 'religion' mean nothing unless they make our actual behaviour better; just as in an illness 'feeling better' is not much good if the thermometer shows that your temperature is still going up."