Of course it would happen this way. I’d sign up to talk or write or whatever about parenting and Jesus and allofthat, and prompty everything around me- kid things and PARENTING things, specifically- would start to get cray.
Y’all. We’re talking really cray. The past few weeks have been pure insanity. We (and by “we”, I mean everyone but me. Because, GOD’S GRACE.) have been sick for three weeks straight. We have never been this sick. Ever. Yesterday, as Mary Grace sat quietly (she never sits quietly) and Elizabeth’s plate sat untouched (food never goes untouched around Elizabeth), I was just about to wave my white flag.
Instead, I called Matt. “Um. Mary Grace is saying she can’t breathe again and we’re out of Motrin and I AM DROWNING HERE.”
It hasn’t just been the fevers and coughs and bodily fluids everrrywhere. It’s been other off-the-wall events that have transpired. Things that are still raw. Things I’m still trying to wrap my head around. Things that I’ll blog about… eventually. Things that have made me think, once again, that I am not enough.
The lies, they’re so loud these days. I keep telling Matt that I feel like I’m being attacked on all sides. That feeling- it’s exhausting. He agrees though. And he keeps reminding me of truth. Because sometimes my vision just gets too blurred to see it myself.
Then, there are all of these other people who, without even knowing the current state of straight ridiculousness around here, have send these “random” texts and emails. Speaking words of encouragement over me. Telling me about the awesome sermon at their church this past week that made them think of me. And as my spirit lifts, I’m reminded that our words are indeed powerful, more than we often even realize.
Perhaps they’re not so random after all.
Anyway. We’re okay. The dust seems to be settling a bit. For today at least. My guess (and, SWEET GOODNESS, my hope and dream) is that, tomorrow, all of my kids will be back in school. I’ll get a breather and a good night’s sleep one day, and until then, there’s coffee. And new mercies every single morning.
But, more than any emoting or venting or whatever this post is, I wanted to say this:
You’re not forgotten. Whatever nutso event you’re walking through, you are seen. Even if your tears fall silently, your situation is far from hidden from your Creator.
Maybe you’re right. Maybe you can’t do this- whatever “this” is for you right now- on your own. Maybe “this” is transpiring to turn your attention and affection upon the One who is beyond strong enough to carry you as you limp along, weary and beaten-up. The One to whom we can entrust every wounded and broken piece of us. Because He is a God who brings restoration and redemption for the broken. Strength for the weak. Grace for the sinners.
It’s good news. All of it. Because, that’s me. Broken. Weak. A sinful mess. A fiercely independent girl who is learning, slowly and sometimes painfully, that I really can’t do this on my own. That I don’t got this.
That maybe I’m not all that independent and strong after all.