I can honestly say that very little is going right this week. Usually I would feel too ashamed to write that. It sounds ungrateful. Whiny. Self-centered.
But this week, it's true. A four-day hormone-induced migraine has me popping pills day and night. I'm fearful that my liver--despite following bottle instructions--might fail someday from too much acetaminophen, making it impossible for me to help my children when they have their own families.
I have aspirations as a grandmother, you see. Without the daily responsibility of feeding them, clothing them in clean, unwrinkled clothes, keeping their faces clean and hair combed, and wiping up their spills? That sounds like a recipe for real quality time. Quality time that lasts longer than twenty minutes.
I love these days and realize that the mundane is beautiful in and of itself. When I read on Ann's blog that her youngest turned seven, it made me sad for her, and grateful that my own youngest is still 3.5 years old. (Never mind that Beth's having fit after fit and seems as needy as a baby.)
The days of grandmother-hood? They will be sweet indeed. A different kind of sweetness. As long as my health holds up.
The headaches aren't all of it. My Beth is holding in her poops, creating havoc in my mind and heart. It's like a daily birthing, these poops. Sometimes just a little at a time. The fear of pooping? It. takes. up. a. lot. of. time. Her diet? Not the culprit. It's just fear.
That same three year old woke up and cried out for me, every time I rose early for devotions. The dinner dishes got completely finished on only one night. At least two loads of laundry were done per day, but very little got folded or put away.
Imagine it. Laundry on the couch, unfolded. Some laundry on top of the couch, folded. Laundry in the dining room, hanging. Laundry equals clutter and it makes me want to scream! And the kitchen counter, which I usually manage to completely clear at least three times a week, remains cluttered for the fifth day in a row!
I feel like an utter failure. Nobody has a house messier than this one. Order isn't everything, but it sure lends to a person's sanity.
I feel ready to admit this to the whole world. I am a horrible housekeeper!
I know this much. God wants me to hold my needy children. To sing to them on the potty. To whisper I love yous into their tiny ears. To kiss their ten-year-old cheeks. To give them the long hug they didn't know they needed. To tell them how good it feels to be with them on the couch, watching Stuart Little 3 from the library, while mommy's headache rages.
Children's hearts are so full of grace for mommy. At least at these ages. I wish my own heart could be so generous...to itself.
Prayer Time: Dear Heavenly Father, I'm at the end of myself. Heal this headache. Protect my liver. Help me, with patience and good will, catch up around here. Give me a heart of grace for myself. Help me with the fruit and cookies we're preparing today for our annual church town party. May hearts be beckoned to attend church. May all of us radiate your love, despite our infirmities and imperfections. May all mommies everywhere know that they are more than their clutter. More than their sticky floors. Help us to focus on You, and on Your Kingdom, while walking through our homes without tripping. I love you. Thank you for plucking me out of this world at age 31, and remaking me in your image. Help me to do you proud and be humble in heart. I owe you everything. May my life be a daily offering to you.
In Jesus' name I pray, Amen.