It wasn’t confusion, or even a faulty premise that took a left turn somewhere.

But in those few minutes of an early morning conversation with God when seeking some collective noun to describe an unsettling set of circumstances which—individually—don’t add up to much, but together seem overwhelming and more than I could wrap my head around even after a third mug of coffee.

This, my friends, is where God lives and works and demonstrates his namesake.

So while I chip away to find some meaning and purpose to this cluster of concerns before they take me down a rabbit hole into an abyss of emotions, thanks be to God my hope is already being knitted into a fine explanation and sensible outcome.

Mornings like these are the very essence of faith over fear.

I grew up and never once questioned my Dads income, it was never a discussion. Rich kids were those who bought lunch not brought lunch.

We didn’t eat a lot of fast food because it was considered a treat, not a food group.

We drank Kool-Aid made from water that came from our kitchen sink with real sugar.

We ate fried egg sandwiches, or even tuna (which was in a can not a pouch), PB&J & grilled cheese sandwiches, hot dogs, but mostly homemade meals consisting of meat, potatoes, and vegetables, and meat loaf or beef roast on Sundays always at the dinner table.

We grew up during a time when we mowed lawns, pulled weeds, babysat, helped neighbors with chores to be able to earn our own money with which we bought vinyl records.

We by no means were given everything we wanted.

We went outside a lot to play, ride bikes, run with friends, play hide and seek, or went swimming.

We rarely just sat inside. That was for when you got in trouble.

We drank tap water from the hose outside, bottled water was unheard of.

If we had a Coke, it was in a glass bottle, and we didn’t break the bottle when finished. We saved it and cashed it back in at the store for a refund.

We watched TV shows like Leave It To Beaver, Gilligan’s Island, Happy Days, Bewitched, The Brady Bunch, Looney Tunes, The Flintstones, The Jetsons, Sanford and Son, Disney on Sunday night, McHales Navy, Andy Griffith, and I Love Lucy.

After school, we came home and did homework and chores, before going outside or having friends over.

We would ride our bikes for hours.

We had to tell our Mom where we were going, who we were going with, and be home when the street lights came on!

You learned from your Mom instead of disrespecting her and treating her as if she knew absolutely nothing.

What she said was LAW, and you did not question it, and you had better know it!

We watched what we said around our elders because we knew if we disrespected any grown-up we would get our butts whipped. It wasn’t called abuse, it was called discipline!

We held doors, carried groceries, and gave up our seat for an older person without being asked.

We didn’t hear curse words on the radio in songs or TV, and if you cursed and got caught you had a bar of soap stuck in your mouth.

“Please, Thank you, yes please, no thank you, yes ma’am, no ma’am yes sir, and no sir were part of our daily vocabulary!

A lot has changed in just one generation.

Something over which an addict has no control are the contents of dreams while sleeping.

But upon waking, dream states have real consequences.

Addicts dreaming of using again experience all the triggers, situations and feelings associated with active addiction, no matter how long they’ve been clean.

Waking with all of these renewed and on the table is a breeding ground for real life relapse.

The mind is both a wonderful thing and a terrible thing.

The ruthless enemy attacks within from our past experiences and would love nothing more than to trigger another succumbing.

Just shaking it off with distractions and another cup of coffee isn’t sufficient nor effective.

The power held by our dreams must be met with the confidence of our salvation and the renewing of our minds in a one-two punch wearing Holy Spirit gloves.

When it comes to the realm of imaginations, remember Jesus Christ is the real thing.

In the end, some days are just mediocre.

You say you gave it your best, but deep down you know it wasn’t.

You could have done more or done better, but the net result was that it was just ‘okay’—enough to get it done and, to your credit, still likely more than most would do.

Settling on some point between sensational and satisfactory is a dissatisfying dysphoria for otherwise truly exceptional performers.

Despite rationalizing about how insanely too busy you were to give it your all, the day ended leaving you wondering “maybe there’s a better way” so you don’t risk that gradual spiraling trajectory down to a “just okay” standard as concession to accomplish all you must.

This dilemma is everyone’s and the case for pretty much everything noble to which we set our minds and passions.

We are only human.

Enter zealous with good intentions…exit disappointed with less than enthusiastic results.

It’s human to be a critic of what you missed and also human to miss critical parts of what you did well.

Mediocrity is neither aspiration nor inspiration, but sometimes, it just is because we are imperfect beings.

And without a few of life’s mediocre moments, our shining ones wouldn’t look so shiny.