....all you have is family...your friends are what really matters...you only have to answer to yourself...as long as your kids are happy...
...isms. That's what I call these little nuggets. This particular one, "at the end of the day...", followed by various fill-in-the-blanks, used to really bug me. The only thing that could make me madder was "it is what it is." Does anybody really feel better after that one?
I think I've recently experienced a mid-life crisis. I've said that before when in the throws of life-changing events, but this time, I mean it. Because there's no event to speak of. I'm just feeling old. And unnecessary.
But God...
When I was 18, age 33 seemed ancient. "But you're not 33!" My point exactly! Because when I was 18, forty-something wasn't even in my stratosphere of reality. Thirty-three was about as far as my mind could get. And yet here I am, ten years past ancient. My sister gave me a birthday card once that said, "If I had known I was going to live this long, I'd have taken much better care of myself." So true! She knows I'd have turned down a lot more cheeseburgers and never set foot in a tanning salon! She's heard me whine about my hips having their own zip code and seen my bathroom drawers full of wrinkle cream! Now don't get me wrong, I don't spend every day in my bathrobe wishing for do-overs. There are actually days when I'm immensely proud of my life and feel pretty crisis-free. My daughters, for example. They are 10 and 12 and I have never enjoyed their stages of life as much as I'm enjoying these years. That's saying a lot for me, because I love babies. Just typing the word makes my heart flutter. My insides literally leap when I see a newborn. I'd have one right now if God would let me, but apparently I'm done. I've had four miscarriages and will have to wait until eternity to hold those I've never met face to face. But that's a whole other blog for a whole other day! The point is, as much as my biological clock doesn't just tick but rather gongs at the sight of a new bundle of joy, I am absolutely, thoroughly enjoying these preteen years even more. And I couldn't be prouder of who these beautiful young girls whom God has entrusted to me are growing up to be.
Still, there are days, more than I care to admit, when that ugly, purposeless feeling rears its ugly head. Days when I do lament the cheeseburgers of my youth. Days when my husband doesn't take out the trash and I trip over it on my way to the car again, and how could he do that knowing that I'm so hormonal and in desperate need of chocolate, which by the way, he didn't bring home last night?! Does this man not have a calendar? Days when I'm grossly misunderstood. Days when I do the right thing and nobody notices. Days when I do the right thing, nobody notices, and other people do the wrong thing and get all kinds of accolades. Days when my friend's husband not only takes out the trash but sends her flowers. With gift cards for chocolate. Days when I'm not just overlooked, but used as the doormat to get to the ones I was overlooked for. Days when my very best simply isn't good enough, and the reason I know is because the shouts of joy the other guy gets are heard from a mile away, and the silence I hear after my best efforts is deafening. Days when, "at the end of the day," I'm thinking I shouldn't even be allowed to leave the house because the world should not have to look upon me.
I don't know who came up with that let it roll of your back ism, but it's not one of my favorites, either. The heartbreaking days and seasons I go through don't roll. They stab. Firmly and brutally into the exposed heart I wear on my sleeve. And all this has had me wrapped up in an ugly little box, secured nicely with a bow of bitter.
But God...
...in His relentless pursuit of this mess that I am...
... Just. Will. Not. Leave me there...
I subscribe to all kinds of daily emails. Fab, Fit & Fun, living with allergies & asthma, what Jillian Michaels wants to yell at me about, spiritual encouragement, etc. (I like to think I'm a well rounded girl.) One day last week I got an email about the way we view our days; how we begin them with morning and end them with night, and how God may view the beginning and ending points of our 24 hour day a bit differently. Our Pastor at church has touched on this same thing recently, so I did a little digging, and what better place to start than, well, the beginning. "And there was evening, and there was morning. The first day." Genesis 1:5. I admit it always confused me, but I overlooked it. I didn't think it was a mistake in scripture, I just didn't understand it, so rather than ask somebody or research it, I just sort of skimmed over it and moved on. But this email got me to thinking that overlooking these words had been terribly detrimental to my routine; my approach. If God set it up so that the beginning of a day was at sunset, then my day is actually supposed to begin with winding down. With settling in. With rest.
I decided to put this into practice last week while my husband was out of town. Yes, he does that a lot, but he's cute and everybody loves him so we let him go. There are many traditions that take place in our king sized bed (get your mind out of the gutter - I just said he wasn't home) and one of those is that, while daddy is away, the girls sleep with me. Rather than staying up unconscionably late that week, we actually headed to bed at a reasonable hour and did some chatting and reading. We talked about everything from crackle nail polish to 'what exactly did that boy say to you?' to 'Mom do we get to go to Heaven before all that really bad stuff is going to happen?' And then they would fall asleep and I would do some reading and praying on my own, all the while thinking of those precious moments as the beginning of my day rather than something we crammed into our last waking hours. And the results have been remarkable.
The sun setting as I begin my day with my two favorite people under the age of 13, their asking me all kinds of questions and trusting that I actually have the answers. The night growing as I begin my day with a study on a woman of incredible character named Ruth. Talk about your midlife crisis -- this chick and her mother-in-law could've thrown THE biggest 'God is SO Not Paying Attention to Me' party. (In fact mom-in-law kinda did which I really dig about her, but what's even better is that God didn't let her linger there for long.) My side of the world winding down as I begin my day with prayer for my husband. Preparing for rest and asking God to bless those resting hours of my family so that we could accomplish what He had for us when the sun came up at His command, and not a minute before. Knowing that, as I fall asleep, God is fast awake and fully in control of all that has passed through His heart to get to mine.
At the end of the day, hurt. Misunderstood. Broken. Unnecessary to some. Not good enough. Crisis in progress.
But God...
In His relentless pursuit of this mess that I am, sees me as beautiful. Worth saving. Filled with His gifts. Completely necessary for His work. Usable for His glory. Created for His purpose. Crisis interrupted...
Because at the end of the day, I'm just beginning.
