The sky today is as blue as blue as Esmae’s eyes—or her eyes as blue as today’s sky? Either way–woah. It’s gorgeous out. Not a lick of humidity—thank God, literally. Thanks to a helpful friend, I’m sitting at Starbucks getting my writing on here instead of at my home office; and by office I mean, my bed or my couch or my sunroom or my living room floor. I have two hours, and the first hour was a gift spent speaking with a total stranger on the outside patio of Starbucks. It started with me asking about her dog, and ended with a conversation about foster care. It just rips my heart out when I talk about the darling four-year-old girl that we had in our care for ten months or so.
I haven’t really spoken on the blog much of her stay with our family, and the day will soon come, but today I’m not sure I’m ready to dive into the memories.
Lately I have been reflecting upon the way I view my days. There are many days that are so fun, and the last couple of weeks I have honestly just been having a blast hanging out with my kids all day. However, every once in a while there’s a day mixed in there (or a few in a row) that feel out of control. It becomes wearing when I feel like I am constantly disciplining Martell and figuring out his little quirks and the ways that he chooses to push the limits. Sometimes there are days that feel totally ruined by his poor decisions (and my grace-less reactions). I am completely aware that he is two and this is how he figures out his life—he has to push the boundaries in order to learn where they stand. But man, sometimes Gabe gets home from work and I’m like, “Hiiiii! I love you. Your turn, honey! Peace out,” and I skip off to take a shower or drink my La Croix or make dinner (alone).
Sometimes I’m not so cute about it, though. And I know y’all aren’t either—because, let’s be honest, we’re people and boy, we have these sinful hearts beating inside of us that are not cute. Sometimes, Gabe gets home and I am just shut down. I have this irritated attitude that says, “I had a bad day and I deserved better.” I have the disposition that says, “don’t mess with this crazy lady!” My entitled “I deserve better” mindset comes along with the belief that because my day has been crappy, I get to treat everyone however I want to.
My last post was about the shame in my heart that can be so closely associated with these behaviors—so don’t shame me, friends. No judging! As I communicated some of these patterns with a dear friend, she was sharing about her life, and she shared that she experiences the same “I deserve better” attitude. When her husband asked her what gospel truth can be applied to that mindset, she immediately cried, and said, “Jesus deserved better.” When those words came from her mouth, I got chills and my eyes welled with tears.
Because of Jesus, I am not powerless to fighting this sin of entitlement or healing this wound that continues to open nearly monthly; and more, I am not deserving of better even when I feel like my days should have gone differently. In fact, I get what I don’t deserve every moment of every day because of what Jesus did for me on the cross. I get unmerited grace. I am forgiven over and over again. Not only that, but I’m not left alone, dead in my trespasses for God promises to complete the work that He has started in me. That’s why I’m writing this here, friends! I am being transformed into a more patient, kind, gentle, slower-to-anger mom and wife and friend and woman, and sometimes the Lord uses the words of friends or often even complete strangers to help the scales fall away from our eyes, and to remind us that we are not alone.
So friend, if you’re feeling weary or overwhelmed or without courage or unlovable or discouraged or unforgivable or ashamed, there you will not stay. For our God promises to make you more like Himself if you continue to go to Him in humility.
Lift up those drooping hands and weak knees—here’s to the women we’re becoming.