Too Tired to Be Anybody Today

There are some mornings when I open the back door and before my feet even hit the porch, there's already a committee waiting on me. Every dog I've ever owned seems to have the same meeting agenda.

"He's awake!"

Tails start beating against the kennels and food bowls start getting kicked around like somebody's playing bluegrass. One's on their back legs propped up on the kennel wall looking at me. Another has a tennis ball in his mouth that’s got more slobber on it than teething baby. Another is looking up like I'm the greatest thing that's happened since biscuits and gravy got invented.

Now here's the funny part.

Those dogs don't know if I am having a good day or a bad day. They don't know if I'm sore, tired, worried, or behind on a hundred things. They don't stop to ask how much money is in the checking account or whether the truck needs tires.

They just have joy because somebody who cares for them showed up.

I wish I could say people always worked that way.

I remember hearing about a little fellow whose dad and mom owned a local gas station where the house sat right beside the store. If you stopped in, that youngin was usually out in the parking lot saving the world. One week he was Superman. The next week Batman. Sometimes a cowboy. Sometimes a soldier. Every day he was somebody important.

One hot summer afternoon a friend of mine walked into the store and noticed something different. That little boy wasn't flying around the parking lot. He was dragging his feet with his head hanging low.

My friend smiled and asked, "Well, who are you today?"

The little boy looked up with tired eyes and said, "I'm too tired to be anybody today."

I chuckled the first time I heard that story because, if we're honest, we've all had those days.

Sometimes we're so mentally tired we don't even know who we are anymore.

The smile disappears.

The joy dries up.

We wake up already exhausted.

Life has a way of piling on until we begin measuring our joy by our circumstances.

That's exactly why the opening chapter of Philippians has always amazed me.

The Apostle Paul wrote what many call the "letter of joy," but he didn't write it sitting beside a mountain stream with a glass of sweet tea. He wrote it chained to a Roman guard inside a prison cell.

If anybody had earned the right to complain, it was Paul. Yet over and over he talks about rejoicing.

How?

Because his joy wasn't chained to his circumstances. It was anchored to Christ.

Paul looked around that prison and didn't see chains. He saw opportunities. He remembered Lydia whose heart God had opened. He remembered the slave girl who had been set free. He remembered the jailer whose whole family came to know Jesus. Most folks would've remembered the beating. Paul remembered the blessings.

I've noticed something about Satan. He loves reminding us of every disappointment, every failure, every closed door. God has a habit of reminding us of His faithfulness.

Maybe that's why those dogs preach better than we sometimes realize.

They don't spend their day worrying about yesterday's missed bird or tomorrow's weather forecast. They simply rejoice because the master is near.

The older I get, the more I think that's where Christian joy begins.

Not pretending life isn't hard.

Not denying we're tired.

Not ignoring real pain.

But fixing our eyes on the One who never changes.

Isaiah said it this way:

"You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you, because he trusts in you." (Isaiah 26:3)

Some days you may honestly feel like that little boy. "I'm too tired to be anybody today."

When that day comes, remember something wonderful.

You don't have to be anybody.

You simply belong to Somebody.

And that's enough to bring joy back.