Monday, January 6, 2014

Losing It

It was such a great day.  The baby slept in til nine.  The big boy was all cute and helpful and remembered to say Happy Birthday Mama.  We went out for pastries and brought home fancy desserts for later.  I vowed to happily overlook the laundry piles and crumbs and dishes until tomorrow in order to just enjoy my day, knowing that it only makes tomorrow that much longer.  We even managed to make it through a large trip to Costco without any tears, whining or begging.

And even though Hubs was working an extra long shift, I was determined to make the best of it and enjoy the blessings.  I savored the well wished from friends and family.  Played with the kids.  Read the paper.  Watched some football.  Everything was fabulous.

But then...there's always a but then, isn't there?  But then I walked into the kitchen to see what my sneaky little trouble maker was up to only to find her bent over a bowl of water with beef thawing in it, drinking out of a measuring cup.  And all I can think is that I just fed my baby raw meat and she's going to die of ecoli. (Side note: The meat was sealed and Dr. Daddy is confident she will not get ecoli and we are watching her just in case).

And just like that the magic is lost.  And the illusion of any sense of safety and control over life fades away, revealing the cold hard truth that we have no control.  And the memories of the losses still fresh  flood my mind and I can't handle it, thinking about how fast it can all unravel. How truly fragile it all really is.  

All of a sudden the confetti all over the living floor from celebrating touchdowns that was so cute is unacceptable.  And the crumbs on the floors make me insane.  And the dishes in the sink and the laundry littering the bathroom floor and the scrabble tiles on the table and the toys and books that are EVERYWHERE overwhelm me and I lose it.

And when I finish the angry tirade about how I am so sick of messes and cleaning up after everyone and how no one ever helps out mom and I'm so sick of living like this and all I want to do is run away, I hear my oldest tell my youngest to leave me alone when I'm so stressed out and the guilt kicks in so fast it is a swift slap across the face.  And I flush with shame and guilt over being this person who not only gives her baby ecoli but then ruins her last days with yelling and vacuuming when there are so much more important things to be done.  Who am I?

You know who I am?  I am human.  I am a vulnerable woman and wife and mother trying so so hard to do it all right.  Which is usually the first way to make a mess out of everything.  I'm a woman who's so so afraid of more loss.  Loss of husband, loss of kids, loss of friends and family, loss of money, loss of control.  I am afraid to lose anything more.

And remembering that I am not the one in control is uncomfortable and comforting at the same time.  Because I would have done thing so differently before.  And I would take away any and all concern and fear and pain and sickness now if I could.  But my perspective is so limited.  And my desires so selfish.  And  Hard to not only acknowledge that I am not in control, but then even harder to submit to the one who is.  But I've seen the way he carries me through the deepest and darkest pits.  He has held me up through times I did not think I could survive. 

Today I remember that His mercies are new each morning.  New for this mama who sometimes yells and loses it.  I'm so grateful for the grace ever extended to me, who always falls so short. 

I'm working through this scripture today.  Because it is so easy to lose heart.  And so easy to lose sight of the big picture. 

2 Corinthians 4:16-18  So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison,  as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal.

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