Sacrifice

Warning: This is not the uplifting kind of post I'm proud to create. This is the spilling of guts. It's what I promised. I have no pretty pictures to post. All I have is laid bare in this unoriginal font knitted together in some unimpressive words.

This is flippin' hard. I'm not really parenting these children as much as I am rehashing my own childhood and cursing them for being the same as 8 year old me. The "you spot it, you got it" phrase is more than appropriate but it's reminder only makes fun of me for knowing better. Shouldn't I be able to see them fail at following kindergarden instructions and smile with remembrance? Why can't the moment I recall with fondness how air-headedness was a way of life be the same moment I apply grace to my kids?

But that moment of grace comes way later and usually after the idea of an apology to them has flooded my mind and then been quelled by pride. No apology escapes, just vacancy where yelling and looks of disappointment wiped out whatever frivolous and innocent thoughts or dreams they were concocting were beginning to bud.

I confess this, Lord. May the cold feeling of inadequacy be warmed by your grace blanket. Let me teach them the way you taught others. Not with harsh words, but with patience, gentleness, kindness.

I don't want to eat the lies hidden in the cupcakes of life. I know I am doing good. I know they are better off here than anywhere and I know God made me for this very purpose. But the dross keeps clouding the silver on top and so He keeps heating me up, purifying me with uneaten dinners, unmet expectations, spilled milk. (But not the on-the-counter kind.....the under the table-seeping into my favorite pillows that have been tossed on the floor because NOTHING WILL EVERY BE PRETTY AGAIN-running down the cracks in the fake wood floors.....that kind of spilled milk).

And this all makes me so tired that my very best friend has been ailing for over a week with a terrible sickness and I've been unable to muster up the energy to bless her in any way. And yes, I feel dreadful, because Hurricane Katrina would not keep her away from me if I were in the same condition. I love you, Christy, and I'm thinking of you hourly as I kick up to the top of the water for another breath before being dragged back down by the swift undercurrent of my life right now.