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Last night I dreamed I was renting a room in a boarding house. Another woman was renting a larger space across the hall. She came to me and offered to switch rooms. I thought it would be nice to have more space; however, I realized how cozy I felt in my warm, inviting room with its lovely fireplace, desk, and bookcase. The larger room was not cozy. I felt a bit of a conundrum, but I woke not having switched rooms.

This dream was a classic “the grass is greener” message telling me that, although I considered switching, I liked my own room too much to exchange places. When seeing another’s home or possessions, my husband’s grandmother used to say, “No now, I like mine best.” It’s been a family saying ever since, and I often smile when I think of it. My mother-in-law used to say, “I suffer from contentment,” as though it were an illness. Some would consider it just that, as if contentment were the enemy of achievement rather than the opposite of discontent.

To those living under or near the poverty line or dealing with health issues, discontent is understandable. In that situation, the struggle for health and life’s basic needs is often painful and exhausting. For the rest of us, discontent can cause problems—especially in relationships. It can lead to comparison, which is not healthy and can result in continuous unhappiness and reinforce low self-esteem. Comparison can also lead to competition and envy, which is not compatible with support and kindness in a relationship. No matter how much we own, there will always be those who have more. In my experience, everyone struggles in this world. Those who have more materially struggle too—in different, invisible, ways.

I am lucky all my needs are met, and I have very few wants. Perhaps I feel fortunate because of the contrast between my present and my past. I was an abused child, not fed properly, not cared for, and often cold. And those in responsible positions were the worst offenders. That is why I am now grateful for all God has given me. Still, I am human and envy occasionally crosses my mind; however, I am blessed in that envy is a feeling I rarely experience.

More important to me than possessions are goals and purpose. They make my existence worthwhile and the daily struggle and demands of life bearable. I look forward to writing, and when I write, the time flies. Being an author, and all it entails, is an enormous challenge and also a source of joy. Caring for my family and myself properly continues to be fulfilling. Spending time with and making myself available to my friends is a high priority. Like my mother-in-law, I suffer from contentment. I may think about it for a moment, but I inevitably decide I don’t need or want a bigger room.

I’m alone on a circular track where I either go around again and again or finally stop—depending on a guy on a pedestal holding either a green or checkered flag. I know what you’re thinking. Flags are used for car racing and starting pistols for track races—but it’s my dream! Each time I pass the flag man, I ask myself: Who gives this guy any right to determine another lap? He’s not running the race.  Is he even qualified to impel me to run the length of my race?

I feel tired when I awaken. I’ve kicked off my covers, and my feet are freezing.  Still, my dream brings questions to mind. This morning I am on an endless track where how many laps and when to stop is not determined by me. While laying in bed contemplating repeated challenges in my life and staring at the ceiling I ask myself, “You here again? Why? Wasn’t that enough?” I’m sure you’ve heard that our emotional lives are spirals. We return to the same place horizontally as we evolve spiritually and emotionally upward to a higher plane. Frankly, that’s a nice image, but today I don’t buy it. I don’t feel on a higher plane. Yet, there’s the green flag, and with a deep sigh I know I have to keep running the race.

My life has multi-faceted, overlapping tracks. When I write, for example, I sometimes feel like I’m running in place. I become a perfectionist and find fault with every effort: “This is terrible. Do something!” A yellow warning flag keeps waving until finally I pull out the checkered flag myself and shout, “Enough already! Get this endless, imperfect book to a publisher!” I am reminded of Leonardo de Vinci who said, “Art is never finished, only abandoned.”

Then there’s the motherhood track. Every mother knows there are only green flags on this track until we are six feet under. Even if the kids are grown, we remain influential and continue to offer support and mentor (when asked). The hardest part is to keep silent until asked while I continue to circle this track.

The homemaking track is short, and I pass the same place every day. Everyone knows that housework is never done. Yet, it is both cathartic and routine for me, and I sometimes need one or the other—or both. I just keep mindlessly circling this track without complaint. Pretty much expected that anyway.

I’ve had almost 42 years of green and yellow flags running the marriage race. But honestly, only Randy and I hold the “Enough already! I’m outta here” flag. So far, we are still functioning as life partners and neither has waved a checkered flag. After all these years, we may both be too tired to do so. Or, more likely, we still enjoy each other’s company.

I know God holds the ultimate checkered flag in life-and-death issues. Until He ends my foot race and calls me home, I’ll keep running—even though at times my body feels too tired, my heart wants to burst, my purpose is difficult to see and my feet are still cold. However, I’ll trust Him with that flag.

With that thought, I climb out of bed with a prayer that God will help me focus on the moment and run my race today. My cold feet and I hit the floor—not exactly running but at least I’m upright.

I dreamed I was sailing a fully rigged tall ship. I felt the wind in my hair and watched the sails billowing. I was content, in control, captain of my own destiny. I picked up my spyglass and saw another vessel not too far away. That boat was sailing in sand—beached. The captain waved at me—oblivious to the that he was stuck and going nowhere. I wondered why he wasn’t conscious of his predicament and considered how I could inform him.

Suddenly, I looked down. There was only sand beneath my ship as well, and the water was several hundred feet behind the stern. I was distracted by the other captain’s conundrum and didn’t realize my ship had left the water and was now also sailing on sand. I awoke, panicked.

The lesson of my dream was quickly apparent: When focusing on other people and their perceived difficulties, I fail to sail my own course. Instead, I work out problems in my head that are not my own. Moreover, in my experience, people find a way through their own dilemmas. They only need a compassionate, listening friend.

As I lay in bed contemplating my dream, I realized that both the other captain and I were confident–and had run aground. I couldn’t (and shouldn’t) do anything about his problem; however, my problem was another story.  My dream was telling me that my subconscious knew where I was stuck in life, and I was anxious to make a course correction. I grabbed a pen and began journaling. Within a short period of time, my writing revealed the problem. I said a little “Thank You” to that part of me that keeps me focused on my own issues and immediately turned my attention to the real source of my concern.

There are several reasons we sometimes obsess on the uncontrollable. First, it is often easier caring for others than caring for ourselves. (That is especially true of me as a mother.) Second, obsessing on the uncontrollable can be a way to circumvent pain. Third, it can be a way to avoid change. Still another factor for me is my over-developed sense of empathy as a sensitive, which in many situations is a good thing, but can be taken too far.

I learned much in this dream and writing exercise. Concern over another person is a good thing. Compassion requires it, and we need more compassion in this world.   However, if I find my thoughts turn from concern to excessive worry about people and things I have no control over, it is a red flag—an indication of the need to divert my attention to what I can control.

To accomplish our goals in life, to stay on track, to be whole people, we need to spend time focused on our own issues and life path. I know that when I do this, I can avoid dreaming about problems with another’s ship while I overlook that my ship has run aground and I am sailing on sand.

I played marbles a lot in grade school. (Lost a lot of my marbles there! 😦) I learned teamwork playing first base and sometime shortstop on a girls’ baseball team in junior high. (Softball was for wimps, and we were good enough to consistently beat the boys’ team.)  But one of the most important lessons in life I learned playing Jacks.

My friends and I gathered for a Jacks-a-thon every recess on the covered cement patio outside the parish hall of our Lutheran school. We’d sit, legs folded neatly to the side. In those days, we wore dresses properly tucked to protect our modesty. (Thank God for slacks that came with feminism!) At first, we’d play with the rubber ball that came with the set at the five and dime. As time progressed, we began using golf balls, which bounced better.

It was a quiet game, and I loved quiet—even as a kid. We broke into twos—different pairs at different times. It helped us all connect as friends, and those friendships continue today. I don’t know who was best. (Chances are if I were best, I’d remember. 😀)

Jacks is a game that has its own built-in order and practice. First pick up one, then two, then three and so on. One can’t get to the next pickup until one finishes the last. If you missed a pickup, you started again. It’s a good game to prepare for life. Sometimes, I think too far down the road: How am I going to pick up ten? When I throw the jacks out, will they spread too far? In reality, I can only play the game in order. And when I get to the number ten, I will be practiced and ready for it.

What I learned playing Jacks works well in my writing. I ask myself when I’m going to find time to write. How am I going to write my next chapter—define my character? What will I do to market my book? But, as in the game of Jacks, writing is done one step at a time, and if I can concentrate on today, tomorrow will take care of itself.

“Sufficient unto the day is the trouble thereof.” That’s somewhere in the Bible. Keeping on task, not worrying about the next step, accepting mistakes and continuing on, letting the game (and life) unfold in logical order can be applied to any task in any environment. It works in small tasks like cooking, cleaning and paying bills and in large efforts like marriage, raising children, the work environment and planning for retirement.

I only have to train my mind to stay in the moment, to pick up what I need to learn today, to let step ten be what happens another day—and nothing I need to worry about now. When I get off track, I remember those games with my friends and remind myself that life and Jacks should be played in a similar way.