a day of grace

I'd been working so hard lately, really trying to bless my family with socks, underwear, and pajamas always in their drawers, bathroom sinks and toilets always clean, a dusted-vacuumed-straightened living room, and wood floors free of long-standing crumbs.  My youngest had been playing with her sister more, and keeping herself occupied with beloved bathroom chores, like pottying and brushing teeth.  There was simply more time to devote to household chores, and just as that happened, God worked with me on living more sacrificially to bless my family.

If anyone noticed the cleanliness and orderliness of the house, they didn't say anything, except for Peter, who mentioned that the laundry containers were remaining relatively empty.  It's possible that only Peter shares my affirming-words love language, so I don't really expect compliments from my housemates.  My husband is not an especially appreciative man, but neither is he critical.  The worst kind of husband for me would have been a critical, sharp-tongued man.  I can count on one hand how many times my husband has criticized me in the last twelve years.  So, I feel loved enough by my fellow earthlings, and it helps knowing that God is pleased when I use my time unselfishly.

Right about the time we arrogant humans think we're pretty hot stuff--making progress and all--God mixes it up a bit.  Have you noticed that?

My two-year-old is now in the midst of a molar-teething frenzy.  She's getting more miserable by the day, as one second-year molar prepares to break through the gum.  The three other molars are all in different stages of readiness, below the gum.  I can't even take a shower without her crying uncontrollably.  She doesn't want me out of her sight for long, and she's back to waking quite frequently at night.

Further, although she still loves to brush her teeth, there's a lot less independent pottying going on.

And the house?

It's going downhill again, despite my stronghold on new routines.

The other night I actually had to leave the kitchen in a colossal mess over night, after overcooking a large chicken in the crockpot, because Beth woke up twenty minutes before the chicken was due to be done, and in settling her back down, I fell asleep for an hour. (Husband gets home very late most of the time.)

I jolted awake, smelling the chicken.  Rushing to the kitchen, I feared the worst.

Yes, that's right.  Dry, dry, dry.  The thing was actually boiling--on low!

Just as I finished separating the meat from the bone, and started some bone broth on the stove, Beth woke up again!

I gave up, people!  This was the third wake-up before midnight.  I put the meat in the fridge and decided to call it a night.  My face and teeth were already clean, thankfully.

This chicken and messy-kitchen fiasco occurred on the eve of my PMS ride, and that certainly didn't help my dejected frame of mind.  Frustration abounded as I went off to bed with my hurting sweetie.

It felt like the walls were crumbling down.  (I know...forgive the melodramatic in me right now.)

Powerless....that's how I felt.

Much of the last two years, I've felt powerless.

Life was getting a little saner on the homemaking front, and now this whole teething thing!  Suddenly, I couldn't even cook a chicken right!

Every person here, except for me, just loves meat....especially chicken. While I eat meat regularly, I've always been neutral to it.  Not so, my housemates.  They didn't notice a cleaner house, but dry, yucky chicken, they would notice.  And the kids would definitely say something about it.  "This chicken is terrible!", is what I expected to hear the next day.  Not even soup would revive it, I feared.

To top it all off, in my haste to leave the kitchen and quiet my fussy child, I put the gas burner on level 4 for my 24-hour broth.  I usually put it on level 2.

My husband woke at six in the morning, detected a really strong chicken odor, and went to investigate.  All the broth had boiled away!  What a waste of nine dollars, for a hormone and solution-free chicken!  It was pretty much worthless now, except that my husband loves chicken enough to eat it dry.

Don't you love that kind of man?

All this wordiness to say.......we don't live on our own merit.  If we're good at something, it's God.  If we're failing at something.....well, that's usually God too.

I guess I was getting prideful about having a clean house?  And getting too involved in keeping it that way, at the expense of time with my children?

Aren't you glad God tends our hearts so well?

I'm so grateful for his pruning ways!

My husband felt sorry for me the next morning.  He read my dejected heart and knew what the two culprits were.  While he couldn't do anything about my hormones, he did delay his work departure and amuse our teething toddler for an hour, while I set the kitchen to rights.

He got less sleep that night as a result of his later start.  But I felt cherished and understood, and that was priceless to both of us.

I managed to smile through my day, remembering his kindness.

It was God's grace.

But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me.
2 Corinthians 12:9

....so that your faith might not rest on men's wisdom, but on God's power.
1 Corinthians 2:5