I'm a pout pout fish

What does a burnt bagel, an uncooperative tree stand, and the majority of drivers on the road have in common? The ability to stress me out. And make me cry. I recently listened to a message by Tim Keller to kill some time on a long drive. The title, Sin As A Predator, was intriguing to me and my husband had recommended it. There were a lot of really great points made through out the whole sermon, but the one that stuck with me most was this: most of the time, the sources of our "problems" come from the harmless propensities that we are just born with.

Classically analogous to a hungry lion being treated like a house cat, or a coiled snake confused with a comfy recliner (ok, I came up with that one), the parts of our lives that seem to be nothing more than "who we are" (and did I mention harmless?) are actually more accurately named as sin.

Most of you have probably heard this before. Let's move on to the Pout Pout Fish.

Since I got pregnant back in March, I've begun collecting a bin of children's books. Most of them are old favorites of mine, but others were more recently introduced to me, and added to the stack only after being flipped through and receiving the seal of approval with my genuine belly laugh.

Among these books was one called The Pout Pout Fish. I picked it up at Barnes & Noble one day when the glum face of the protagonist on the cover sparked empathy within my, at that moment, weary, distressed soul.

The story follows a small blue fish through the ocean floor on what seems to be a normal day for him. He runs into many friends who, upon the mere sight of him, embark on a mission to change his demeanor from sad to happy, gloomy to cheerful. This must indicate that through their entire sea creature friendship (or at least the past few interactions), the small blue fish, the Pout Pout Fish, has been nothing but sad and full of sorrow.

His response to all of their endeavors to draw a smile or laugh out of him is simply, "I'm a Pout Pout Fish with a Pout Pout Face and I spread the Dreary Wearies all over the place!" (Blub, blub, bluuuuuuuuub)

Do you not see, friends? Can you not understand? I was made to be miserable.

My burnt bagel, by the way, was not for me. I was making it for my husband to show him I loved him, and when the small oven that has an overly enthusiastic broil setting turned it into ash, I felt that it was a personal attack on me and my best efforts to be a good wife. That kind of thing always happens to me. I like to tell Hunter (my husband) that I am much like king Midas, but instead of everything turning to gold with my touch, it turns to pooh. So my husband, in that particular instance, comforted me over the loss of his burnt bagel while his empty belly gurgled patiently.

Instances like the above haven't been uncommon. Hence, tree stand and bad drivers (similar situations that I won't go into detail about but both ended in the same way: me, wallowing). A couple of days ago I was arriving home after following a particularly bad bunch of Tennessee, Georgian, Floridian, and South Carolinian tourists, while on the phone with Hunter. I parked my car in the driveway and yelled, "I'm just tired of trying! Life is so stupidly, pointless! I feel like I strive to do well in everything and in the end I see progress in nothing!" (that is most likely not verbatim, but if you'd like the original, ask my husband. The volume of my voice most likely seared the lines pretty deep into his memory).

The darling man continued to not just listen to my wallowing, but to affirm not the self pity (<- key point), but his love for me, throughout my entire shpeel.

I was gone late that night. When I returned home, dinner was made, a pair of comfy pajama pants and a huge t-shirt (to accommodate for my growing belly) were laid over my chair at the table, two bright yellow flowers sat potted on the table, and a letter waited propped up against them. What do you think were the contents of it?

Basically this:

Point 1) I love you.

Point 2) I will always love you.

Point 3) Your selfishness is killing you.

Point 4) I love you.

Point 5) I will always love you.

I have believed I was created to spread the dreary wearies around on certain days. And on those days, life has really only been about me. I realized after reading the book and then my letter from Hunter, that I really thought that I was created to just fail a lot, and that that gave me a license to wallow in self pity and stay self absorbed. Upon further investigation, I've found that there are many parts of "who I just am" that are actually, not at all the way I am. Or the way I am meant to be. Does that make sense?

Hunter's note helped me see that I have taken and aired these sins out on a regular basis, but rarely have I ever done anything about them. No efforts to remove, destroy, dismember, or demolish them have ever been made. Instead, at the end of my tantrums, the only interaction that I have with these parts of me is the equivalent of my aid in helping to recoil the serpent that unwound itself to show its fangs for the afternoon, before it goes back to sleep in the corner. Because those are simply parts of who I am.

I don't know if this post has come round full circle, or if I tied up all my loose ends. But I'm sleepy and don't want to write anymore.

Just so you know though, the Pout Pout Fish's face ended up not being for spreading dreary wearies.

Hint: Kiss, kiss.

Good night! - E

The Pout Pout Fish by Deborah Diesen