My mom talks about things that "fill people's tanks" -- a spa day, a note from a friend, an atta-boy from a boss. Things that take all the bad stuff and make it all seem a little less significant. Things that make us feel like we're worthwhile, intelligent and needed.
I'm well aware of things that fill my tank. I like warm, protective hugs from men I care about (thank goodness I care about so many men who give good hugs); listening to music, especially music I can sing along with soulfully; watching a good chick flick; hanging out with dear friends doing nothing but enjoying being together; spending down time with family; hearing someone say I'm good at my job; children who think I'm funny and lovable; adults who enjoy hearing what I have to say; being told I'm hilarious or sweet or lovely or intelligent; sitting by a fire, or better yet napping by a fire; holding my sweet cat (who died five years ago, so I can't really do that); having a child understand a concept that's been frustrating them, or get interested in something they are learning about; jazz and candles and wine; sitting outside and tending my plants; writing; having alone time; cooking things that require chopping.
While you're thinking of all the things that fill your tank, please feel free to take a minute and revel in this virtual hug from Amos Lee. The quality isn't great and it cuts the song short; however, the vocals are some of my favorite I've ever, ever heard:
I'm also aware of things that deplete my tank. I don't like feeling inadequate; comparing myself to others; having to give bad grades to kids who try hard, or really giving any grades at all; knowing I can do better, but not doing better; eating too much junk food; sitting in a messy living room, but being too tired to clean; not having time or energy to be with people I care about; missing dear friends and family who are far away; getting up early; being disrespected or disregarded; being in one place for too long; darkness; not being able to afford things, especially trips (even gas for my bitty car has taken a toll lately) or regular-priced clothing; always being alone except for church and school; feeling like I'm not good at my job because I'm not organized enough, or not differentiating enough, or not meeting the individual needs of all 110 of my students.
I have an excellent self-esteem, and I know that I have a lot to give others. I struggle with guilt, though, feeling like I am not living up to my potential. I also struggle with feeling like my view of myself is inflated compared to how the rest of the world see me (which may not be hard to believe for those of you who've ever heard me extol my own wonders, but in actuality, I have a less elevated view than I exhibit). Sometimes I think that if I had a job with more respectful surroundings -- imagine having groups of thirty children ignore you, talk back to you and try to be more grown than you, repeatedly, all day long, then have to explain to their parents how it's not actually your fault their child does nothing and is failing -- then maybe I would have more left in my tank for other things at the end of the day, I'd be able to take a pottery class or have dinner with a friend more than once a month. Or if I had a job that allowed me to leave my work AT WORK (novel idea, right?), then maybe I wouldn't feel so guilty when I came home and did more than just worry about what's going to happen the next day. Or if I lived closer to home or friends, would I be happier just by spending more time with them? Do I need to find a random man who lives nearby, and ask him to hug me, strongly, for a full minute, every Tuesday and Friday? Should I plant plants and get a living cat?
Just over a week ago, I was stressing over a parent who was having issues with how I was teaching. It was keeping me up at night and making me feel ill during the school day. It was pretty awful, and it made me really face my doubts about how I am as a teacher. The Sunday before, though, the preacher used Psalm 139 as his text, and I found myself reading it, out loud and with more passion than I ever would've expected, for the next few nights.
I'll include that text in just a moment; but while you're reading it (if you so choose), I want you to think about all the things that drain your tank. There may be a jillion of them, and that's okay. I'm with you. I want you to think, too, about all the things you try to do to fill your tank back up. Now, I'm convinced that I would find much of my ease in the arms of a man, especially if that man happens to be Amos Lee. I'm convinced too, though, that Amos Lee can declare his undying love for me in a song that lasts for days and feed me chocolate and carrots and sausage dip and milk all the while, and I still wouldn't really be happy.
How come I never give God the chance to give me a hug even though he's the one consistent, good, strong thing in my life?
Psalm 139, verses 1-18
O LORD, you have searched me and you know me. You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar. You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways. Before a word is on my tongue you know it completely, O LORD.
You hem me in -- behind and before; you have laid your hand upon me. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too lofty for me to attain. Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there. If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast.
If I say, "Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me," even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you.
For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place. When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, your eyes saw my unformed body. All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.
How precious to me are your thoughts, oh God! How vast is the sum of them! Were I to count them, they would outnumber the grains of sand. When I awake, I am still with you.
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