Like a fad from the 1980s, I'm throwing out that terrible idea of Morbid Mondays. Far too depressing for
Happy Monday from this well-rested house of chaos to your house of chaos. Enjoy my ramblings (or skim them quickly if you dare):
Many things happened this weekend, some of which I am sinfully proud of, some of which I am baffled by, some of which have humbled me sweetly, and some of which I am still ALMOST too embarrassed to admit. You'll have to decide which is which, my dear friends.
1. I left a cupboard open and went to bed. If you don't realize the gravity of the non-symmetrical, unbalanced earth at that very moment in time, you need to spend a few weeks in my brain. Perhaps I am obsessive/compulsive (aren't we all, about something or other?). Perhaps I am not, I announce with a foot stomp for emphasis. After all, I did indeed leave a kitchen cupboard gaping, it's door in a yawn that won't end until I get up in the morning and finally let the poor thing rest a bit. We'll see how I sleep tonight.
2. Speaking of sleep, I got just about none last night. But as far as I know, I did not fall asleep during church today, I did not forget any children, and...well...for Pete's sake, I am writing this amazingly coherent post at 9:45 at night. That must count for something.
3. If you want to know why I am so tired, surprisingly, it had little to do with my children, and a lot to do with one famously rude night visitor who decided it would be fun to freak out a mama on a Saturday night when her hubby was at work. (Famously rude night visitor, if you want to doorbell ditch a house, find the one that doesn't have sleeping toddlers. And tonight, I am indeed sleeping with a nightlight. And I've got weapons: speed-dial, groggy-aim, and mother-adrenaline under my belt - er, nightgown. Do not mess with me. Or the dear sheriff's deputy who so kindly patrolled the neighborhood after Dispatch told him to calm the hysterical lady north of town. No matter that dear Deputy lacked tact when he commented, "This house is really nice. I could see why someone would want to prowl here..." I cringed, especially when he asked if I was single (He wanted to know if hubby would return, he explained awkwardly.) But no matter, famously rude night prowler. If you come pounding on my door tonight in the wee hours, I am ready for you. And if any innocent person wanted to drop off some surprise basket of goodies - or small adoptable babies - on my doorstep, tonight would not be a good night to do so.
4. I sprinted today. I'm no spring chicken, I readily admit, and I'm sure I looked a little goofy, but this was an all-out, arms pumping dash. And unlike my usual sprints, it went further than the parked car in the driveway to the house for almost-forgotten essentials before outings. Details include one steep incline, one three-year old on a Razor scooter, and one family out for a walk with Grandma and Grandpa. When Sugs started her descent, Real Gil and I quickly realized her lack of control, her increasing speed, and - this is the part where I am almost too embarrassed to tell you the rest - her lack of a fitting helmet. So, I ran. There was no way that I could catch her, but her screams of fear and wobbling front wheel had me envisioning another ER visit. Then, a miracle. She rolled to a stop. The Razor scooter was thrown to the ground and her tears poured. (Yes, I know if you are a mother of boys, you would spend the rest of the day sprinting after the scooter as they repeated the adrenaline-boosting experience. It's an odd world you live in, I admit.) I scooped her up and held her tight as Real Gil came near, child lugged on his shoulders. We took a deep breath and gathered up our wits. Tomorrow we go helmet shopping.
5. Today, I worshiped my Savior, and let the first blooms of extended forgiveness grow in me. Surely it is supernatural forgiveness, because my brain isn't ready, but my heart - when focused on Him - can't fight it. So, I don't resist - that's a losing battle, I know. Just as I accept forgiveness from God, I also extend it, opening my hands and letting our family's hurts and rights fall through my fingers. So, I step out in faith, trusting Jesus alone to restore what has been lost, and to heal as I choose to obey, to forgive. It will have to be repeated again and again, I'm sure. Have you heard the saying, "If you want to bury the hatchet, you can't mark the site"? I'm trying not to mark the site where our family was hurt, where we are licking our wounds. Instead, I am turning it all over to Him who has forgiven me, and restored me. How can I not forgive another? His Spirit gently guides and empowers, as I allow. Such freedom, and rest in this place!
I'm resting, and I pray you are too.