The hardest stuff is always the best.
I’m tired right now. I gave a sermon on Sunday. It was inspired by a conversation four angry Baptists had that I overheard. I’m always wrecked two days after giving a sermon. Preaching is, honestly, one of the funnest things in the universe. Stressful, tense, but fun. But it drains every drop of emotional, mental and creative energy I have. Come Tuesday, I have an IQ of 60, lack the imagination to draw a circle and nearly weep when I see an ugly cat.
So it’s hard to do the hard stuff in the week following a sermon.
Which sucks, because the hard stuff is the best stuff.
When you have to sweat a bit to create or consume something.
When it’s tough, but you’re still good enough to pull it off.
Reading a profound poem.
Writing an emotional scene.
Cooking a pot of palak paneer that makes your Pakistani wife go ‘Hai Allah!”
Those are great.
Those are hard.
Especially after draining myself on a Sunday morning.