In the Midst of it all...

A "Daddy sink bath"

A yummy start to my morning...

That little sewing project...hope to finish tomorrow...

Ice Cream Run!!!

and...

In the midst of it all…I think I’ve lost my focus.

 

T has been working an outage. Yesterday was day 31. That means that for the last 31 days my husband has risen at 4am, left our home by 4:45am, “turned over shift” at 5:30am, and worked at least 12 straight hours, without even an allotted time to eat a meal (as in, he eats on the “go” during that 12 hour shift). He doesn’t return home until 6:45 or 7pm. Each sixth day he is off. That means he comes home dead tired and is asleep by about 9. His off day is packed with yard work, fixing the latest broken thing, and whatever else needs his attention (insurance co, leaky roof, dog had to go to the vet…), etc. and then he’s in bed again by about 9. 

My goal each day has been to have the house picked up, our (mine and T's) dinner ready (to serve or warm up), both children fed, and bathed, and their toys put away, with school clothes laid out for the next day by the time T gets home. (This doesn’t always happen.)

Bet I sound like super mom, huh? (I’m being sarcastic…if only you knew how often my heart has revolted at this…)

A few days ago I ran into a friend who was with a friend I don’t really know. They asked me about my pregnancy and how things were going. I told them I was feeling “over” the whole pregnancy thing. Ready to not be pregnant. Ready to not have to deal with sleepless nights and leg cramps and the sciatic nerve stuff…and as soon as those complaining words were out of my mouth, I remembered that my friend isn’t having more children…because she can’t. And the friend she was with…has been trying to have a baby for a long time, a very long time. I felt shallow. Pathetic. Snubbing my nose at a miracle God has given me. 

Last night was rough. I pushed dinner later than normal…little man had a fit and threw alphabet magnets all over the floor. He pulled MW’s hair…she wound up in tears…things were falling apart.

 At one point I had to stop cooking dinner, turn off the stove, and deal with my sinful children.

By the time T made it home…later than planned…he was worn out. I was worn out. I thought if either of my children said my name one more time I might go insane.

I think I’ve lost my focus. I love my husband. I love my children. This calling – to be a wife and a mother – is an honor. It is a gift. My husband and children are gifts. My husband’s job is a gift. This baby growing inside me – the one who kicks me awake several times a night – is a gift from God.

I mentioned cereal spilled on a curtain panel in my previous post…I love my house and I love doing projects…and I love making things in our home beautiful…but this home, this earthly dwelling, is temporary. This isn’t forever. It’s just spilled milk.

I’ve lost my focus. I’ve forgotten what is forever, eternal. I’ve turned my eyes to outward behaviors, rather than internal heart issues. I’ve corrected the offense, rather than the well from which the offense came. Make sense? In a nut shell…embarrassingly, I stopped caring about my children’s hearts and pointing them to the cross and instead I've been quick to correct without thought to their sinful hearts…the place from which the sin came. It takes so much more energy in the short-term…energy I’ve struggled to find…to deal with their sin AND take them to the foot of the cross. (Let me spell it out - raising my voice at screaming children is not a mature or effective way to deal with an issue.)

Last night MW crawled up in my lap and said, “mommy, I’m sorry for the things I did wrong today.” My heart broke. I told her I was sorry for the ways I’d sinned against her, too.

SMACK…my sin hit me in the face.

I once heard that the problem with a living sacrifice is that it keeps jumping off the altar. I keep jumping off…and running away…and God graciously brings me back.

In the midst of it all, I lost my focus. 

Simply to Thy cross I cling; Naked, come to Thee for dress; Helpless, look to Thee for grace; Foul, I to the fountain fly; Wash me, Saviour, or I die.