Slipping Into a State of Disdain and Finding My Way Again

My very favorite moments with Jesus are the ones that are riddled with doubt, confusion, hopelessness, and despair. Certainly not because they are fun or pleasant moments, but because, after a time--and in His perfect timing--He gives me the grace to cry out in faith for the favor of His strength to carry me through. And the wisdom to know what to do. And His cleansing for the sin that has entrapped me until the moment I confess it.

And then He answers me. But not merely as a holy God who has obliged Himself to accept me in His son might, but as a loving Father Whose heart is softened toward a helpless, pathetic child who wants to do better but can't find the strength within herself.

Only she doesn't get that yet.

Or, I should say: I didn't get that yet.

It's been a difficult couple of weeks for me. Maybe months. Actually, maybe the past year. I don't know exactly when it happened or even why, but somewhere along the way I lost sight of the nobility of my calling as a homemaker, mother and educator. I have, instead, been living day to day in distraction. I've been treating laundry and food prep and housework as something I do on the side--in my spare time. I've been getting it done, but not with any joy.

And of course, those things combined easily take four hours of my time every. single. day. And they are important things; any one of them not done well and in a timely manner can throw the rhythm of each member of this household into a state of chaos.

And that's not good for anybody.

So, what do you think happens to one who treats such an integral part of her purpose with such passive disdain? Well, I'll tell you as much as I know. She slowly but steadily finds herself wading through life as if the day is made of quicksand. She awakens in the morning, but can't find a compelling reason to get out of bed before it is absolutely necessary. Figuratively speaking, she spins around trying to decide what chore to accomplish first, and becoming overwhelmed, she accomplishes nothing. She eventually finds herself so discouraged by all that needs to be done but has little chance of floating to the top of the list, that she passes the days as someone treading water; she is waiting to be rescued--she is not swimming anymore.

And that's how I've been living more days than not in the past couple of months. I thought it might be the blog's fault, but it was not. I thought it might be my choir getting in the way, but it was not. I thought it might be my body chemistry's fault, but it wasn't. I thought it might be my parent's fault...or my kids' fault...or Husband's fault, but of course, it was not. Guess whose fault it was?

Mine. So simple really--I have been inadvertently letting the Spirit inside me starve. That's what Oswald Chambers helped me understand this week. My relationship with Jesus had become parched over the course of months as I really only found time to accomplish the requisite, daily devotions and corporate prayer with the girls. I thought it was enough because I thought it was the best I could do. And maybe it was, but the consequence was there to be suffered nonetheless.

Last night, I went to bed in despair.

This morning, I awoke in the same sad fog I often do, and decided that--because if this was happening to my dear daughter, I would want her to seek the help she needed--I would talk to a doctor and if she could prove to me a medical imbalance, I might consider allowing myself to be medicated.

I didn't like the idea. But it seemed a reasonable next step.

But then something different happened.

Instead of the Saturday tradition of pancakes, Husband took the girls to breakfast--without me. I've a million things to do when I have the house to myself: school prep, ironing, tidying. But I didn't do any of them. Instead, I read from Ecclesiastes and had powerful, prayerful fellowship with my Saviour--the kind of prayer that seemingly transports me to somewhere...well...somewhere not here. The kind of prayer that leaves me startled when I open my eyes again, and find that everything seems strangely 2-dimensional.

And really...everything was different after that. Not the circumstances, of course--but me. I was different after that.

I cheerfully spent a crazy amount of time today prepping fruit snacks and cleaning up and fixing turkey wraps for lunch later and cleaning up again so that I could leave for the afternoon to go hunting and gathering for clothes for Fifi and myself. Usually, shopping brings me to the verge of an anxiety attack as I find a parking spot. But today, not even Walmart could undo me. I shopped and was often discouraged--but never debilitated. I kept going as if I was just along for the ride, and eventually I found what I needed, and some besides--and it was very productive and even...bizarrely relaxing!

And because I guess God loves "icing," when I got home, I found that Fifi and Husband had vacuumed and steam cleaned every carpet we own--including cars (except for one small bedroom that perpetually waits for a baby and never sees any traffic anyway). The little girls had entertained themselves all day with play-doh, and cleaned up as if nothing ever happened. Everyone was happy and showered and ready for bed.

And I was so happy to see them. And I am so hopeful for tomorrow. And the next day. And the next after that. The Lord is good.