August 27, 2013

I am writing this post to erase any notion that I keep this blog so that I can show off my incredible, organized life with happy babies who sleep great, never misbehave, and cause unseen violins to strike a melodious soundtrack to my divine life.  This is my memory book, and along with happy memories of sticky hands come desperate memories of days that are so trying, so frustrating that words can barely be used to describe them.

I don't want to describe specific instances or behaviors because I really don't want to use this as a forum to complain about or disgrace my children with anecdotes that might eventually seem amusing, but are really ungracious.  But I can speak about myself unabashedly.

I have been verbally berated by patients and their families. I have been treated equally astonishingly by some physicians and other providers (and sadly, fellow nurses).  I have sat with families, completely uncertain where to fix my gaze or what to do with my hands, as they receive devastating news about their child that will alter their lives and possibly their view of God forever.

But nothing has blown my spirit apart like my children, and even more specifically, how their behavior devastates my pride and exposes my heart for exactly what it is.  Anger that I didn't know I was capable of having, a tone of voice that I didn't realize I was capable of speaking, fruit growing out of my heart that is uglier than the weird mutant cucumbers I managed to grow this summer.  I curled in a ball on my couch this morning, begging the Lord to uproot it and help me demonstrate love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.  How on earth can I expect to instill these in my sons when I am barely capable of reflecting them myself?

I know this is only a season.  But another season will come, and harsh winds blow in warm weather and in cold, and clearly, if I faint in the day of adversity, my strength is small.  My strength has to come from the Lord, and quite honestly, I don't even know what that is supposed to look like half the time.

So.......there you have it. I have no ammo to add to the mommy war because the war for my soul is enough for me to endure.  Pictures of sweet boys on tricycles and babies in mud and coloring pictures and playing with blocks are only part of the story, and I never want to hold up a picture of my life that is anything less than honest. Thankfully, His mercies are new every morning - or after every nap!! - and like I keep telling Levi, tomorrow is a new day.