Shower or a bath?
I’ll take the bath. I am a tub girl.
Always have been.
My home has a tub that requires more hot water than the hotwater-tank can accommodate. Either that or the water-heater just doesn’t have the umph. Maybe it’s a little of both.
It’s a tub I would never choose. It’s massive. It’s a small pool. But it came with, so there was little choice.
Because I am a tub girl, I’ve tried to make it work. But the truth is, after 5 inches of hot water, the faucet runs cold. And I run frustrated. Because a tepid full bath is not my cup of tea. Nor is quarter-full hot bath.
So I’ve been cranky.
I was cleaning house. Scrubbing corners and crevices. Perhaps it was the fumes of the strong cleaner or the fact that I’d been bent over too long —but when I stood up the room did a quick spin. I began to lose my balance, tilted backwards, and luckily—and semi-gracefully—fell into the tub.
The tub in the guest bath.
The tub that is tiny and small and unused.
The tub that had been disregarded.
I sat in the tub, with yellow rubber gloves, waiting for the flying birds above my head to stop. Half of me in the tub, while my legs hung over the edge. And once I felt fine enough to stand up, the only way to do so was to swing my legs into the tub and pull myself up.
As I swung my legs over and in, I stopped.
There was a Goldilocks moment of “…and this tub is just right.” The same tiny guest bath tub I’d overlooked.
I had ignored all along. I hadn’t even thought of it as a tub. And I don’t know why.
My perspective was absolutely skewed. Something that was plenty, that was enough, that was all I needed, was right there the entire time.
The next bath taken was in the tiny tub with piping hot water—filled to the rim. And I was a happy bliss-filled soaker. Floating, I considered how often in life we fail to notice something right under our nose that satisfies the need. Meets the want. Is enough.
Often do I not know what to make for dinner, I have no meat in the fridge, but in the end I have the means to make a meal. Or the times when I have nothing to wear…and that is simply not true. Or I don’t have the money to go have fun, and that is far from true either. Because happiness does not come in a steak, new outfit, or a date-night leaving you with buyer’s remorse.
And even admitting these thoughts, feels a little humbling. Because where we live, where you live, is enough. Chances are that what you have to wear is plenty. And you won’t go without food. And you’ll be able to take a shower with clean water. And I’ll be able to take a bath in a small tub with hot water.
I have more than enough. But comparison is the thief of all joy.
WHAT IT’S ABOUT
This isn’t about guilt of what you have and what a 3rd world country hasn’t. It’s about, “what can you do with what you have” AND “what have you overlooked?”
What do you appreciate about your spouse?
Even if it’s not a perfect marriage. Count those blessings.
What do you appreciate about your health?
Even though there is that pending issue. Count those blessings.
What do you appreciate about your family?
Regardless of how the holidays went! Count those blessings.
What do you appreciate about where you live? Even though you recently lost your home and everything you own. Count those blessings.
Maybe my heart is feeling full from contentment of a hot bath. Or that I’ve learned so much after a season of deep pruning and transformation. Maybe it’s the season of Advent around the corner. But I’m willing to see that I have enough.
Even when it comes to a tub of hot water.
Comparison isn’t always about what others have and keeping up with the Jones—it’s also about what you “used” to have—and now don’t. Living under those pressures is simply ick. Comparison truly is the thief of joy.
As you enter Advent, consider the joy around you—even in the smallest of bits. There is joy to be had. This is a season of hope and wonder. I hope you feel it, see it, experience it, believe it.