Today in Oklahoma it feels like spring. I am thankful for that. Lately, it has felt like January. The week before it felt like July, so this rare “seasonally appropriate” weather puts me in a giddy mood. I love waking up, opening the back door and letting the crisp damp air flood my kitchen. Ahhhh… deep breath in, toes cold, fresh air on my skin… it’s a heavenly time of the year.
Its strange in my house today.
Walls empty. Rooms echoing.
The fine art of packing has commenced.
I have swept out closets that I haven’t seen the bottom of in 8 years. The contents of my overflowing dust pan are humbling. The bitter bite of moving from a house filled with so many memories is sinking in. I have become a bit unstable over it all.
Monday morning I woke up. Tired. Emotionally exhausted. We have had lots happen in our little life lately. With the death of Denver’s grandfather, the sell of our home, the pending purchase of a new home, a sudden ailment with my Dad’s health and an approaching wedding/college graduation we are attending in Colorado; all muddled with lot’s of inspections, appraisals, and repairs, each of which require some sort of check amounting to hundreds.and.hundreds of dollars… it’s taking it’s toll. (Was that the longest run-on sentence ever? yes. yes, it was.)
Monday morning was one of those mornings I wanted to stay in bed all day. Perhaps it was because I knew that once my feet hit the floor I wouldn’t get good rest for a month, or possibly it was the fact that I went to bed at 1:30 am? Either cause, it was difficult prying my eyes open, the sun piercing my retinas. I stumbled into the kitchen, realizing I was out of COFFEE MATE!!! Monday + No creamer = Disaster.
On my counter the baby formula sits right next to the coffee maker. I looked at it. A debate instantly occurred within the space of my foggy brain… “Was I indeed desperate enough to use the formula for creamer?”.
The answer was no.
But, I was desperate enough to even think of that option. Oh.my.gross.
I settled for black coffee with enough sugar to take the bitter taste away. (which was a.lot.of.sugar.)
Gulping down the warm black sweetened motor-oil, I was suddenly regaining consciousness. I set out to fix breakfast. Though our pantry was bare, I did have the ingredients for breakfast burritos. Tortillas- check. Eggs- Check. Cheese-check. scramble, scramble, fold fold…. waa-laa.
“Come and get it, breakfast is ready!” I said to gather my chickadees to the table.
Rushing in the older 2 kids grabbed a spot at our grimy table. After buckling Dutch in his highchair, I set a freshly scrambled egg yolk on his try. By the time I turned around, every single piece was on the floor. I bend over, and repeat. Then he returns the favor by throwing it all back on the floor. Again. (Sigh)
As soon as my 2 other children hit the chairs at the table I hear “uggghhhhh” “Not eggs.” “I hate breakfast burritos.” “GROSS!!” “I am not eating this!!” “I WANT KETCHUP!” (<--- Can you guess who said that?!) (And why is it that when kids complain their voices raise 3 or 4 octaves? Like fingernails on a chalkboard, so are the complaints of my children.)
Without thinking. I reached around to the cabinet behind me opened the bag of sandwich bread, yanked out a hand full, and threw it on the table. “If you don’t like what I made… eat this bread. blah.blah.blah.blah….(which the “blahs” are filler for all the other dumb, condescending words coming out of my mouth… who knows what I said, I blocked it out. I involuntarily slipped into an moment of mom-nesia)
Mom-nesia: The state which occurs when your kids flip your final switch and whatever comes out of your mouth will never be remembered by you, but will inevitably cause your child to have therapy when they are in their late 20’s.
Yup. A moment of Mom-nesia. I lost it. I should have just put the formula in my coffee that morning so I could blame it all on the Similac.
After traumatizing all the children. I go to the bathroom for a time out and to brush my teeth. After the rage and anger subside I realize that my mouth has a bubblegum aftertaste. Not yummy. Nor refreshing. Hmmm… Oh. That’s because I am using the kids Crest Sponge Bob toothpaste. Maybe I should have stayed in bed?
Denver walks in the back door to the room where our dining room table sits. We make eye contact but no words are exchanged. He knows. The room is silent. The kid’s eyes are round, bigger than normal and heads are down. He grabs Daxx by the shoulders, guides him out the door and they leave for school.
I am crushed. I just sent my kid to school in shambles. And with no breakfast. I felt horrible, ashamed. My heart sank as I picked up the pieces of bread, one by one, that were slung on the table. Zadie had left the room, Dutch was finishing up his meal. Still the room was silent. Could I have a do-over? Please?!?
Sitting down at the freshly cleaned table I open my Bible. I read Ezekiel 36, stopping at verse 26. Where I was stuck, reading it over and over and over again.
And I will give you a new heart, and I will put a new spirit in you. I will take out your stony, stubborn heart and give you a tender, responsive heart.
I love Marc Driscoll. I love his podcasts. I heard this week, “We are not guaranteed a “tribulation free” life, but we are guaranteed a “tribulation proof” life.” The recent events in my life are no excuse for me to act the way I did. Many people have larger stressors in their lives than me. Because you have large things on your mind and heart does not give you a free pass to treat those around you poorly. That’s what Satan wants you to believe, but it’s just not true. Once this stressful situation dissipates, another one will begin. I have learned, that is life.
A tender and responsive heart is what I ask for today. A gentle spirit is what I seek. A Holy heart is what God desires of me. He knows my situation. He knows my trials. His expectations do not waiver. His provisions remain the same. And for that I am thankful.