Our lives have been a tale of gypsies. We have moved 5 times since being married, pretty much every year until last year when we made the big move to Tennessee. We grabbed a rental house at the last minute, thank God. We had made 2 trips up here looking for homes and every.single.one fell through. Here we were, lease up in 1 week and we had no where to live! A sign had just been stuck in the yard that day. Almost before even walking in we said "we'll take it."
The plan was 1 year. Get established, on our feet, then look for a home. But with the lawsuit and the craziness of that, financially on paper after 1 year we could not get a loan. So 1 year became 2. After an almost 4 year battle, the law suit ended. Praise Jesus. Oh and can I say it again!? PRAISE JESUS. Finally, got approved for a small loan.
After that point several foreclosures or cheap houses popped up. We'd go look at them, get excited, then something would fall through. Disappointing.
Then the opportunity to buy an investment house presented itself. It would be a quick real estate flip. Came right on the heels of Dave getting his real estate licence, so seemed God was moving. We worked a few months to find a private investor. Felt like if we did the flip, it would give us more cash to put down on a house. It was kinda holding us up until we moved forward finding a house on our own.
A few days ago we got a call: the investment house had another buyer, so that door was closed.
Within an hour of that, we got an email from our agent/friend. A fantastic foreclosure. Looked too good to be true. In the midst of a crazy insane work week we scrambled to go look at it. It was only 10 min from where we are now. As I start walking around and through it, I am slowly seeing every little detail of of the longings of my heart... my little prayers offered up here and there.... a fireplace, a fenced in back yard, a big bonus/school room, a guest room (because we have people staying with us all.the.time!), kids rooms close to parents, open layout, garage, nice quiet neighborhood... you name it! It was in rough shape. Pretty much just a shell, ready to be loved on by two dreamers and visionaries that knew a boatload about construction. We saw a diamond in the rough. And the price was honestly TOO good to be true. In this area, you can't get peanuts for your dollar. Everything is insane expensive compared to Georgia.
So we moved forward on it. David worked all night putting together the contract. I drove around and ran errands with the kids like a crazy woman getting papers dropped off and signed.
It was all coming together in ways that seemed too good to be true. Our real estate friend was buying a new house and offered us her entire kitchen - pickled cabinets, granite countertops, and fancy stainless appliances just like I like, all for a fantastic barter deal. She even had brand new carpet she didn't need - perfect to replace the dirty ones in the bedrooms!
GOD WAS IN THIS! We were sure of it.
And we waited. A few days.
Then David texts me. "Call me when you get a minute."
So I did. And come to find out it had already had 5 or 6 cash offers, so they didn't even want to bother with someone who needed a loan.
No.
And like that *bam*. It didn't really hit me at first. "Ok" was all I said. But as I started getting ready to go, I felt the tears come close to my eyes.
I don't cry much. I used to cry like a crazy woman in my teens. The older I get, the less I cry. I cry more for other people/with other people than I do my own stuff. Somehow I manage to toughen up and bear my hardships like a spartan. Not necessarily something to be proud of. But after all the craziness of the rollercoaster our lives have been on, I have learned I can't cry about it all. Because I would probably be crying all the time.
It was already a tough day. We had not had one sit down meal at home with daddy the whole week. Catching up on work after being gone on vacation practically undid all the glories of vacation! haha :) I called David and said I was totally worn out. All the craziness of single parenting plus chopping veggies all day long for this dumb diet left me feeling physically and emotionally weak. He encouraged me to have sitter come and get out for a bit by myself.
Food is such an emotional pick-me-up. HAHA! I know they all say "don't eat for emotional reasons," but we all do. When we celebrate, we wanna eat! When we are down, we wanna eat! When its out of control, yes I know its bad. But in balance, food was designed by God to be enjoyed. And when you are bummed out, the last thing you wanna do is munch on a celery stick.
But since eating was out of the question, I decided to take my little coupon to the nail salon and get a much-overdue pedicure. My purple toenail polish had half chipped off, and my beach bum feet were raw and dry. They needed some luv.
As I got into the car the tears flowed. It just all came crashing out. My bottled frustration was exploding. Truth be told, I was angry.
Looking back if I had known we were going to be here this long I would have done more. But I did not know. It was not in our "plans." I have given it to the Lord many times. Had really tough days when I struggled. Had really great days when He taught me to count my blessings. It has been really hard to see so many of my friends find their dream homes. And to feel left in the dust, still asking God, still wondering why, still feeling overlooked. I'm truly happy for them, and rejoice! But it's hard.
When you have grown up in the church your whole life, immediately all the good christian lingo runs through your head. "When God closes a door, He opens a window!" or "It just means He has something better around the corner!" or "When life give you lemons, make lemonade!" Or the missionary martyrdom mindset takes over "think of other people in third world countries! They are living under a cardboard makeshift hut! You should be grateful!!!!"
This is when a good christian girl feels like giving the finger.
The truth of the matter is.... this was my trial. And it was hard for me. And no matter how I tried to polyanna my way out of the situation, it stung. I was frustrated. Weary. And angry.
I shot a text to our counselor. "Got any openings?" He said not today. So I round up the kids and head to the Rec Center. I need to at least blow off some steam. Kill something in that gym!!! I get in there and on the treadmill and get a text: "cancellation at noon." It was 10:40. So I crank up the treadmill and get in a few miles. Determined to sweat it off! And only pray I can find a last minute babysitter when its over.
I head home, take the quickest shower of my life, throw on some clothes and downgrade my makeup routine to a little tinted moisturizer and some mascara. Throw the kids in the car and find a sitter at the last minute.
I get there to his office right on the dime and say "ok. I'm a hot mess today. And I know. I'm going to talk 100 mph! You ready for this!?" He smiles. He knows me so well. "Go for it."
I spend 30 min spilling my guts, crying, getting angry, letting it all out. BOY does that feel good! If you have not ever done this, I dare you. Hire someone to sit there and let you yell at them. It's quite therapeutic.
I tell him my theology is messed up. I try to trust God and have faith, but when it all falls through I struggle to know if it was His perfect plan for it to not go through, or if it's the worker of evil or if other people simply acted and He will somehow work it out for His good....? I tell Him I am disappointed. Because God seems to be coming through for all my other friends BUT ME. I'm the lone one left in the dust. I tell him I am sick and tired of being left in the dust and disappointed. I tell him I am angry even for God not hearing my prayers and not seeming to care. I'm tired of being big, and tough, and brave and strong and over and over and over again getting a NO!! loud and clear. Just plan sick of it.
I finally pause to make sure he has gotten it all. And he has. His answers are always so simple, but so true. He has become a pastor/daddy/friend/counselor to us both this last year. He tells me, "Suzanne. I am so sorry you are hurting through this. It sucks. And ya know what? It's ok to be disappointed. To be angry. To feel let down. You need to just sit in that a while. Be honest with God."
I haaaaaaaaaate wallowing! He knows that! I hate whiners and wallowers! And oh my goodness, I certainly cannot tolerate that in myself!
"But how will you ever let God heal you? Comfort you? If you brush it aside or stuff it down and try to think positive and move on?"
Hmm. Good point.
He gently reminds me that this earth is not how it was meant to be. The Garden was how it was meant to be. Walking with our Savior in close communion. No suffering or hardships. All our needs and provisions met. Yet we are fallen. Broken. Our lives are shattered pieces. "In this life there WILL be tribulations...." We get off course when we think living the American dream is a sign of God's blessing. It's not.
"You are a young, modern day Job," he tells me. "Minus the children and husband dying." We laugh. "You have walked through a lot lately. For some reason God has you guys in a tough, hard, season of trials. I don't know why. But it's ok to hurt. And to know He is still God and nothing escapes His knowledge. Wanting a house is ok. It's a real, legitimate human thing. But does God love you more if He gives you a house? Less if He doesn't? Are all your friends truly experiencing the favor of God just because they have a house? Hardships come in many forms. All you are promised in this life is you will have hardship, and He will walk with you."
I finish sniffling, hug Mr.DaddyPastor, and walk out. Somehow nothing I don't know is rarely spoken in there, but I am pointed back to truth. Reminded of the basics. I swing through Starbucks to get an unsweetened iced coffee (in and of itself, a miracle I'm even willing to drink the black tar!) and just sit with it. Letting the pain sit with me.
It hurts. Even as I type this tears are swelling up in my eyes. It's hard to continue on when hope is deferred. It makes your heart sick. It's a let down. It feels the end will never be. But I am confident of this one thing: God is writing our story. And I'm coming to see that I may never get or do or be what I long for. We all have unfulfilled longings this side of heaven. My agenda has gone out the window many many times. And it will continue to. But more than anything I just want His hand in mine. Walking in the faith I know I cannot muster. Asking Him to help me make it to that finish line still looking to His face saying "please, be my faith!"
I know many believers go through hardships. Far harder than my own. Things I cannot imagine. I don't even know how they put one foot in front of the other. "In this life there WILL be tribulations..." As I read this morning in 1 John...
"For all that is in the world. the lust of the flesh and the lust of the eyes and the boastful pride of life, is not from the Father, but is from the world. The world is passing away, and also its lusts; but the one who does the will of God lives forever."
Living with eternity stamped on our eyes is near impossible. But reminders like these take us there. At the end of the day... at the end of our lives... all we have is Jesus. I know He will satisfy.
Friday, June 15, 2012
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
It's just the lettuce talking...
So the floors in my house had taken the form of a rather interesting science project. Oh yes - but of course! - "this counts as school!" (a phrase all too well known and frequently recited amongst homeschoolers). Yes, I'm pretty sure you could identify many cell walls with membranes, chloroplast, cytoplasm and a nucleus. (Be impressed. I remembered half of those terms on my own. The rest of them came from a quick google search. Oh glorious google.... making me appear knowledgeable....)
It was so overdue. In my efforts to live my life, spend more time with my children and others, and do what really matters, the floors had gotten shoved to the back burner. Long gone have been my perfectionistic take on housekeeping. The superwoman cape was beginning to collect dust in the corner. I have not baked bread, reorganized my closet, or sold anything on ebay in over a month. Impressive. Oh yes, be much impressed by my progress! The toilet has a RING in it! There are crusted-on black beans adorning the highchair! Protein shake spills down the face of the cabinets! Cobwebs behind the kitchen aid! And a concoction of sand, cheerios, glitter, dust, hair bands, and naturally dehydrated sweet potato bits all. over. my. floors.
It has been good. To let it go. Very unlike my triple-type-A personality. Has it bothered me? Yes. Have I sat on my butt more? Not a bit. Somehow I've managed to stay just as busy not getting to those things, but my mindset has been more carefree. More "embrace the moment." More aware of what matters. (I hear a hippie chic version of "they'll know we're Christians by our looooooove" serenading the backdrop of my story here....)
Anyway, I had HAD it. When you have to get a warm washcloth to scrub off the black off your feet at night before crawling into bed, you know its time. (ok, so maybe some of it came from running barefoot in the yard to rescue a child who, for kicks, had screwed their LIP into a sippe cup [true story]) but still. It was time.
So I pick the perfect opportunity! The morning after I went to bed at 3:15am! YEAH! I'm just wise like that.
I decide to mix it up a bit and start backwards. Our house isn't big, 1100sq feet. It feels entirely too small for us most days, but when it comes to mopping, it seems WAY too big. The WHOLE house is hardwoods. Oh how I long for carpet in the bedrooms! Plush underfoot, not to mention a breeze to vacuum.
Ok, so plan: kids corralled in the living room with an episode of Sid the Science Kid (since after all, our floor unit study was in the subject) and I would begin on the bedrooms and hallway. That way by the time Asher was melting for a morning nap, his room would be dry, and I could re-situate kids. Brilliant. All seemed to be going quite well. I was thrilled with my progress! Then 11:00am hit me like a ton of bricks. I had failed to have breakfast. I never do that! HUGE breakfast fan! Probably because we are on the Maker's Diet. Day 6. And by now, I can promise you, I have almost forgotten what it means to eat. I think the handful of nuts and berries we are allotted are actually starting to escape my mind. But yes. I did hear my stomach growl, and quite loud. I ran into the kitchen to scramble up my spinach, peppers, onions, and 2 eggs. By then, the floors were dry in the back and YES, baby boy to bed! So, so impressed with myself. Yet again.
Then I decide to send the girls in the back yard while I tackle the kitchen/living/dining room. I start sweeping the kitchen, and mop a few rows and then McKayla comes bursting in, as she always does, with a bladder so full it must be relieved right now. Yes we've had the whole "maybe you should try before you have to go that bad?" talk. But to her, life is a serious game of playing hard, no time for unnecessary work! Until there is no way to avoid it any longer. So therefore, the intense declaration "I gotta go potty!" There I stand, mop in hand, realizing I had just mopped the sole lone passageway to el bano. I find my frustration mounting as I am finally getting a hold on these floors and little black tar baby feet start running in! I grab her up and am like "you can't go! you'll have to hold it!" But the look on her face says otherwise. In the moment my reasoning failed to compute that mopping up a few footprints would be far easier than a half of a day's worth of sippie cups exploding. In a stroke of brilliance, I run to the garage to see if I see the potty training chair out there, I'm digging around looking everywhere for the little happy frog kiddie toilet while McKayla is doing the potty dance and a look of pain and panic is on her face. Dangit, why do I ALWAYS see the dern thing when I am out there and the one time I need it, it's no where to be found!?!?!? "Well why don't you just go in the YARD!?" Wow Mom. Stooping to an all time low. How far ya gonna take this? What's next? "Why don't you just construct a toilet of out sticks and neighborhood yard debris and then roll up the whole tree of maple leaves into a toilet paper roll to wipe with?!" Finally I just get upset. It happened. The "my cleaning mission above all" takes over. I'm irritated by the situation, and start scolding her for not going potty BEFORE I started mopping! (like a 3 year old would really have that kind of foresight!?) Then in an effort to rush her along to the bathroom, because I see no other way, she stumbles and falls. Bursts into tears (and I am just praying nothing else bursts!). Great. She looks at me brokenhearted. I think she thought I pushed her. I frustratedly try to tell her I didn't push her, she fell, pushing would be mean. Kinda like, oh I don't know, someone that won't let their poor child go potty because you'd rather have clean floors? Anyway, I finally send her on her way and watch as one little footprint after another tramples through my precious sudsy strokes. I hear her whimpering in the bathroom.
I then see what a looser with a capitol "L" on the forehead I am.
She heads back outside and I half-sincerely say "I'm sorry McKayla, please just go play." Then with my head full of "this is what she will have to tell her shrink about when she is grown" thoughts, I continue on to finish the dang floors. I then decide instead of sweeping the whole thing I will sweep a section, then mop it. Somehow it felt like I was going faster?? I failed to calculate the fact that as I swept the area next to the wet area, the grime would mix with the edge of the wet therefore turning my broom into a smearing paintbrush of gunk. Ok. Bad idea. It's all a bad idea....
A CLEAN HOUSE IS A BAD IDEA!!!!!!
Why do I even try? If I do it, I don't put people first. If I don't do it, we start to lose our sanity! Or godliness. Since cleanliness is next to... yeah. What the heck am I supposed to do!!? As always, I try to look for a 3rd option. That's what smart people do. The only thing that pops into my head is some glowing illustration from a child training book on how your 2 and 4 year old's should have hair tied back in handkerchiefs, brooms in hand, merrily sweeping along with mom as we do the leprechaun side toe tap of magic cleaning bliss and we are all in it together!
--REALITY--
Applause for you all that have that homestead image down. But sorry, nope. Just not happening. And before you judge and think I do all the work and my kids don't help and blah blah please rest assured they have lots of chores around here and we are doing our best to instill good work ethic. Yea and amen.
I mean for one thing *I* can barely get the whole ill-designed broom sweeping the crumbs into the dustpan action. I mean don't we all chase the little remnants of that pile around the room about 11 times until we get most of it up!? And I can't imagine what that would be like if the broom was 2 or 3 times your height. So there. I'm a realist.
But the heart of it. OH YES. The heart of it. I put my floors above my relationship with my daughter. Pure and simple. No way around it. It doesn't matter that I had some "glowing record" of a month (or two?) of not being the cleaning Nazi and investing in my child. I let it go! I failed. I flopped. I was wrong.
I finished "polishing my idol" and threw on my flip flops and went outside to have a little heart to heart. Then I recalled how I had practically slammed the door in Gabrielle's face when she opened it and was about to come in for something. Granted I had already told her not to come in and the disobedience had to be dealt with, but the trailer trash momma's-gonna-slam-the-cardboard-door-in-yo-face action had no excuse. Really. I sat down at the bottom of the slide and called them around. "Mommy really messed up. I'm sorry for getting angry. I was wrong. I love you more than floors. Will you forgive me?"
Kids are always so stinkin' gracious. Thank God.
I have felt more anal and irritable this week being on this dumb salad diet. I know it's good. It's a cleanse. I've made the choice. But I have to watch myself. When I get hungry, I'm worse than a man. No joke. But this wasn't just the lettuce talking. This was me. RAW ME. Me in need of Jesus. Me in need of a Savior!
I honestly have been asking God to show up. To prove His love to me, to make it real, to help me sense He is near. This last year has been a tough one. Maybe I'll write on that sometime. But I find this week He is starting to do some crazy things that seems He just might be answering that prayer. I long to feel it and see it in my own heart more clearly so I can pass that on to my children. Because if it's not real from within, no plastic smile or hug will make it seem true. As I look to my Father to say "can ya just give me a hug?!", I find myself realizing that's more and more of what my kids need. I'm so thankful several month's back He started helping me love them in a whole new way. But days like today, I still need reminders. It's easy for me to slip back into productivity mode and fail to see what really matters. My children need to know they are not overlooked because I have a lot of other stuff going on. Maybe that's because honestly, that's how I feel a lot in my heart. God seems so stinkin' busy blessing and doing for and answering prayers for everyone around me, I feel He's too busy for mine. Silly, I know. Childish, yes. But faith is hard. If it truly is the evidence of things not seen, then I have a perfect opportunity! Because I ain't seein' a lot of action! Mhmmmmm! (Queen Latifah voice, there). Haven't for a while. And I'm usually ok with the "no's". I choose to believe He has a better plan. But it still hurts, after a while. I know God has me on a journey right now. I know it, know it, know it, down to the core of my soul. I feel I can barely wait for the "breakthrough" moment, when my soul bursts open into His light and He comes rushing in and His purposes and His love is revealed. Time and time again He has done this in my life. It's not always something dramatic, but I always know it's Him. I feel I am on the verge of Him scooping me up in His arms and snuggling me close and tearfully saying "I've heard you all along! I've loved you all along! I didn't ever have floors to mop..."
He has made us His priority. What a crazy thought. He gave His whole life up for us to live. I'm grateful for that truth. And I truly pray He continues me on this journey of finding His heart.
Last week I had the chance to hear Ann Voskamp, author of "One Thousand Gifts", along with some talented singers Christa Wells and Nichole Whitt. This song really touched me. It's where I am.
It was so overdue. In my efforts to live my life, spend more time with my children and others, and do what really matters, the floors had gotten shoved to the back burner. Long gone have been my perfectionistic take on housekeeping. The superwoman cape was beginning to collect dust in the corner. I have not baked bread, reorganized my closet, or sold anything on ebay in over a month. Impressive. Oh yes, be much impressed by my progress! The toilet has a RING in it! There are crusted-on black beans adorning the highchair! Protein shake spills down the face of the cabinets! Cobwebs behind the kitchen aid! And a concoction of sand, cheerios, glitter, dust, hair bands, and naturally dehydrated sweet potato bits all. over. my. floors.
It has been good. To let it go. Very unlike my triple-type-A personality. Has it bothered me? Yes. Have I sat on my butt more? Not a bit. Somehow I've managed to stay just as busy not getting to those things, but my mindset has been more carefree. More "embrace the moment." More aware of what matters. (I hear a hippie chic version of "they'll know we're Christians by our looooooove" serenading the backdrop of my story here....)
Anyway, I had HAD it. When you have to get a warm washcloth to scrub off the black off your feet at night before crawling into bed, you know its time. (ok, so maybe some of it came from running barefoot in the yard to rescue a child who, for kicks, had screwed their LIP into a sippe cup [true story]) but still. It was time.
So I pick the perfect opportunity! The morning after I went to bed at 3:15am! YEAH! I'm just wise like that.
I decide to mix it up a bit and start backwards. Our house isn't big, 1100sq feet. It feels entirely too small for us most days, but when it comes to mopping, it seems WAY too big. The WHOLE house is hardwoods. Oh how I long for carpet in the bedrooms! Plush underfoot, not to mention a breeze to vacuum.
Ok, so plan: kids corralled in the living room with an episode of Sid the Science Kid (since after all, our floor unit study was in the subject) and I would begin on the bedrooms and hallway. That way by the time Asher was melting for a morning nap, his room would be dry, and I could re-situate kids. Brilliant. All seemed to be going quite well. I was thrilled with my progress! Then 11:00am hit me like a ton of bricks. I had failed to have breakfast. I never do that! HUGE breakfast fan! Probably because we are on the Maker's Diet. Day 6. And by now, I can promise you, I have almost forgotten what it means to eat. I think the handful of nuts and berries we are allotted are actually starting to escape my mind. But yes. I did hear my stomach growl, and quite loud. I ran into the kitchen to scramble up my spinach, peppers, onions, and 2 eggs. By then, the floors were dry in the back and YES, baby boy to bed! So, so impressed with myself. Yet again.
Then I decide to send the girls in the back yard while I tackle the kitchen/living/dining room. I start sweeping the kitchen, and mop a few rows and then McKayla comes bursting in, as she always does, with a bladder so full it must be relieved right now. Yes we've had the whole "maybe you should try before you have to go that bad?" talk. But to her, life is a serious game of playing hard, no time for unnecessary work! Until there is no way to avoid it any longer. So therefore, the intense declaration "I gotta go potty!" There I stand, mop in hand, realizing I had just mopped the sole lone passageway to el bano. I find my frustration mounting as I am finally getting a hold on these floors and little black tar baby feet start running in! I grab her up and am like "you can't go! you'll have to hold it!" But the look on her face says otherwise. In the moment my reasoning failed to compute that mopping up a few footprints would be far easier than a half of a day's worth of sippie cups exploding. In a stroke of brilliance, I run to the garage to see if I see the potty training chair out there, I'm digging around looking everywhere for the little happy frog kiddie toilet while McKayla is doing the potty dance and a look of pain and panic is on her face. Dangit, why do I ALWAYS see the dern thing when I am out there and the one time I need it, it's no where to be found!?!?!? "Well why don't you just go in the YARD!?" Wow Mom. Stooping to an all time low. How far ya gonna take this? What's next? "Why don't you just construct a toilet of out sticks and neighborhood yard debris and then roll up the whole tree of maple leaves into a toilet paper roll to wipe with?!" Finally I just get upset. It happened. The "my cleaning mission above all" takes over. I'm irritated by the situation, and start scolding her for not going potty BEFORE I started mopping! (like a 3 year old would really have that kind of foresight!?) Then in an effort to rush her along to the bathroom, because I see no other way, she stumbles and falls. Bursts into tears (and I am just praying nothing else bursts!). Great. She looks at me brokenhearted. I think she thought I pushed her. I frustratedly try to tell her I didn't push her, she fell, pushing would be mean. Kinda like, oh I don't know, someone that won't let their poor child go potty because you'd rather have clean floors? Anyway, I finally send her on her way and watch as one little footprint after another tramples through my precious sudsy strokes. I hear her whimpering in the bathroom.
I then see what a looser with a capitol "L" on the forehead I am.
She heads back outside and I half-sincerely say "I'm sorry McKayla, please just go play." Then with my head full of "this is what she will have to tell her shrink about when she is grown" thoughts, I continue on to finish the dang floors. I then decide instead of sweeping the whole thing I will sweep a section, then mop it. Somehow it felt like I was going faster?? I failed to calculate the fact that as I swept the area next to the wet area, the grime would mix with the edge of the wet therefore turning my broom into a smearing paintbrush of gunk. Ok. Bad idea. It's all a bad idea....
A CLEAN HOUSE IS A BAD IDEA!!!!!!
Why do I even try? If I do it, I don't put people first. If I don't do it, we start to lose our sanity! Or godliness. Since cleanliness is next to... yeah. What the heck am I supposed to do!!? As always, I try to look for a 3rd option. That's what smart people do. The only thing that pops into my head is some glowing illustration from a child training book on how your 2 and 4 year old's should have hair tied back in handkerchiefs, brooms in hand, merrily sweeping along with mom as we do the leprechaun side toe tap of magic cleaning bliss and we are all in it together!
--REALITY--
Applause for you all that have that homestead image down. But sorry, nope. Just not happening. And before you judge and think I do all the work and my kids don't help and blah blah please rest assured they have lots of chores around here and we are doing our best to instill good work ethic. Yea and amen.
I mean for one thing *I* can barely get the whole ill-designed broom sweeping the crumbs into the dustpan action. I mean don't we all chase the little remnants of that pile around the room about 11 times until we get most of it up!? And I can't imagine what that would be like if the broom was 2 or 3 times your height. So there. I'm a realist.
But the heart of it. OH YES. The heart of it. I put my floors above my relationship with my daughter. Pure and simple. No way around it. It doesn't matter that I had some "glowing record" of a month (or two?) of not being the cleaning Nazi and investing in my child. I let it go! I failed. I flopped. I was wrong.
I finished "polishing my idol" and threw on my flip flops and went outside to have a little heart to heart. Then I recalled how I had practically slammed the door in Gabrielle's face when she opened it and was about to come in for something. Granted I had already told her not to come in and the disobedience had to be dealt with, but the trailer trash momma's-gonna-slam-the-cardboard-door-in-yo-face action had no excuse. Really. I sat down at the bottom of the slide and called them around. "Mommy really messed up. I'm sorry for getting angry. I was wrong. I love you more than floors. Will you forgive me?"
Kids are always so stinkin' gracious. Thank God.
I have felt more anal and irritable this week being on this dumb salad diet. I know it's good. It's a cleanse. I've made the choice. But I have to watch myself. When I get hungry, I'm worse than a man. No joke. But this wasn't just the lettuce talking. This was me. RAW ME. Me in need of Jesus. Me in need of a Savior!
I honestly have been asking God to show up. To prove His love to me, to make it real, to help me sense He is near. This last year has been a tough one. Maybe I'll write on that sometime. But I find this week He is starting to do some crazy things that seems He just might be answering that prayer. I long to feel it and see it in my own heart more clearly so I can pass that on to my children. Because if it's not real from within, no plastic smile or hug will make it seem true. As I look to my Father to say "can ya just give me a hug?!", I find myself realizing that's more and more of what my kids need. I'm so thankful several month's back He started helping me love them in a whole new way. But days like today, I still need reminders. It's easy for me to slip back into productivity mode and fail to see what really matters. My children need to know they are not overlooked because I have a lot of other stuff going on. Maybe that's because honestly, that's how I feel a lot in my heart. God seems so stinkin' busy blessing and doing for and answering prayers for everyone around me, I feel He's too busy for mine. Silly, I know. Childish, yes. But faith is hard. If it truly is the evidence of things not seen, then I have a perfect opportunity! Because I ain't seein' a lot of action! Mhmmmmm! (Queen Latifah voice, there). Haven't for a while. And I'm usually ok with the "no's". I choose to believe He has a better plan. But it still hurts, after a while. I know God has me on a journey right now. I know it, know it, know it, down to the core of my soul. I feel I can barely wait for the "breakthrough" moment, when my soul bursts open into His light and He comes rushing in and His purposes and His love is revealed. Time and time again He has done this in my life. It's not always something dramatic, but I always know it's Him. I feel I am on the verge of Him scooping me up in His arms and snuggling me close and tearfully saying "I've heard you all along! I've loved you all along! I didn't ever have floors to mop..."
He has made us His priority. What a crazy thought. He gave His whole life up for us to live. I'm grateful for that truth. And I truly pray He continues me on this journey of finding His heart.
Last week I had the chance to hear Ann Voskamp, author of "One Thousand Gifts", along with some talented singers Christa Wells and Nichole Whitt. This song really touched me. It's where I am.
Bare feet stepping on glass
We break along life’s paths
Our fear and loss, we bring it all to you
Soul-breather, making all things new
You’re making all things new
We come in pieces
We come in fragments
We come discolored
To the foot of the cross
Our Maker sees us
All that we have been
Bonds us together
The Image of God
(Image of God, Christa Wells & Nicole Witt http://www.christawellsmusic.com/)
The pieces, the fragments and pieces. The discolorations. The fear, the loss. He owns it all. And I truly trust He's creating a beautiful stained-glass mosaic of it all. (that's my attempt to be creative and not use the typical "tapestry" illustration...) But it is true. I sense He is near, and I look for His hand of love. Seems that is His theme for me... for all of us... after all, it is the greatest, even above faith and hope.
Oh Jesus, may we be lovers.
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