Here's what I'm not missing lately: Opportunities to listen, learn, and be gracious or patient. What I can't seem to find: The grace, patience and sleep I need to face them.
This last week has been tough. For the first time, my so-fledgling-it's-not-even-a-business-yet company was tested (since the company's just me, that means I was tested). And I'm short. In nearly every way I could be.
One of my favorite people often says, "I'mma just be real." Can I be real, friends? Often I'm just angry. I'm angry that I don't know what or where or when is next, angry that my husband is gone so frequently. Angry that I'm not in control of really anything. I am angry that the setup of our life doesn't yet reflect what I long for it to be. And then? I'm angry that I get angry and can't do a better job managing it. I am not angry with anyone. No one is at fault, so I have nowhere to direct it.
Daniel called me out this week. "Why are you so angry?" he asked, after I lost my patience with him over probably nothing. I told him why and that I think I have a right to be. And also, that I'm not happy about it and can't figure out a place for it to go. "We need to find you a different punching bag," he said, and he's right. I know. Maybe an actual punching bag? Working two jobs, raising two kids, and managing a home with any level of proficiency requires time and energy. It requires care and leaves very little space for self care.
We are blessed to have support in the way of wonderful childcare, family and friends, and a church community that is so much more than that there should be a different word for them. We are not alone. Yet in the midst of that, we can never answer the question, "What can I do to help?" with anything tangible. Because, really, nothing tangible is wrong. Like most people, our plate is loaded, with good and difficult things. We have uncertainty. But that's it. So I am left sort of complaining, like now. Then feeling bad about that too, like five minutes from now.
I have a need to know what's coming. That's how I am. If there was a time when I relished the unknown, it is gone. And yet, here we are, unsure about so much. But sure of this: That we have each other. That we have a Lord who deeply cares about our dreams and who sees around corners. That we have today.
I turn my struggle toward acceptance, toward thankfulness. Even though I don't know what the coming month or year holds, I can choose to be thankful for this day. I can settle into the discomfort of the things I can't control. Somewhere in there, if I nestle deep enough, maybe there is peace.
This last week has been tough. For the first time, my so-fledgling-it's-not-even-a-business-yet company was tested (since the company's just me, that means I was tested). And I'm short. In nearly every way I could be.
One of my favorite people often says, "I'mma just be real." Can I be real, friends? Often I'm just angry. I'm angry that I don't know what or where or when is next, angry that my husband is gone so frequently. Angry that I'm not in control of really anything. I am angry that the setup of our life doesn't yet reflect what I long for it to be. And then? I'm angry that I get angry and can't do a better job managing it. I am not angry with anyone. No one is at fault, so I have nowhere to direct it.
Daniel called me out this week. "Why are you so angry?" he asked, after I lost my patience with him over probably nothing. I told him why and that I think I have a right to be. And also, that I'm not happy about it and can't figure out a place for it to go. "We need to find you a different punching bag," he said, and he's right. I know. Maybe an actual punching bag? Working two jobs, raising two kids, and managing a home with any level of proficiency requires time and energy. It requires care and leaves very little space for self care.
We are blessed to have support in the way of wonderful childcare, family and friends, and a church community that is so much more than that there should be a different word for them. We are not alone. Yet in the midst of that, we can never answer the question, "What can I do to help?" with anything tangible. Because, really, nothing tangible is wrong. Like most people, our plate is loaded, with good and difficult things. We have uncertainty. But that's it. So I am left sort of complaining, like now. Then feeling bad about that too, like five minutes from now.
I have a need to know what's coming. That's how I am. If there was a time when I relished the unknown, it is gone. And yet, here we are, unsure about so much. But sure of this: That we have each other. That we have a Lord who deeply cares about our dreams and who sees around corners. That we have today.
I turn my struggle toward acceptance, toward thankfulness. Even though I don't know what the coming month or year holds, I can choose to be thankful for this day. I can settle into the discomfort of the things I can't control. Somewhere in there, if I nestle deep enough, maybe there is peace.
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