There's a potty chair bleaching in the sink in my laundry room. My leggings I am wearing just busted a hole. They chose to do this right in the part of my inner thigh that I was already uncomfortable about. I just cleaned out my bathroom cabinet, painfully aware of how many beauty products I haven't touched in days. Okay... weeks. Fine. MONTHS.
We own 7 sippy cups. They are all dirty. I only have two children. My youngest has latched onto her first "purse" and I've caught her delightedly stuffing it full of pepperoni and clementines. This "purse" is also the pocket on her bib. I'm not sure she's eaten a full meal all day. But her "purse" is well-stocked.
The piles of dirty laundry are taller than me. I'm not sure how this happened. I had a system. A SYSTEM.
I planned a delightful eggplant French concoction for supper. We ate pizza.
My body aches all over. I'm tired. I have three foreign substances on my shoulder alone. I'm pretty sure at least one of them is salmon alfredo sauce from lunch... the others, I'm not sure.
I ate a yogurt parfait for breakfast. Hard boiled eggs for snack. A delicious salad for lunch. AND THE ENTIRE REFRIGERATOR AS SOON AS MY CHILDREN WERE IN BED FOR THEIR NAPS.
Here's the deal... everyone's always talking about being "real."
This is the real me.
I smell like old salmon, I have crusty bits all over me. My hair is frizzing up and breaking off, and I'm growing a zit the size of Montana on my chin. Today, my children were not exactly angelic. And I'm calling my housekeeping successful because the house is still standing. I'm exhausted, bloated, ugly, and wearing busted leggings. And we're out of chocolate. Because I inhaled it.
This is the real me.
And you would think I would be crazy depressed.
Honestly, if you saw me right now, I might induce depression. I wouldn't blame you for sobbing tears of horror/pity/gratitude-that-you're-not-me. I'm a warning poster for all young women/non-mothers. Today, I would make you older women feel like blazing successes. And for my peers? You're looking good, my friends. You're looking good (especially compared to me.... you are welcome).
But I'm not really depressed. I'm tired. I would really like to smell better. And a live-in hairdresser would be lovely,but I'm actually feeling very contented. Yes, even loved.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not happy with how I handled every part of my day. (The spoonfuls of peanut butter and chocolate come to mind...) But I'm not crushed and despairing. I'm just tired.
And a little amazed.
Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us. (Romans 5:3-5)
Let me say it in short sentences. (Those are the only ones I understand right now.)
I've had rough patches.
They built some endurance.
That endurance has kept plugging away in my life, gradually shifting my character.
My character has learned to latch onto God's love for support.
And this gives me hope. The little flutter of happiness and peace I have in my heart.
Even on a messy, grimy Monday.
So today, in the whining, tornado-mess that was my life... I am tired. But I am not hopeless.
So keep plugging away, sister! Keep dragging that mind back to truth. Keep running to God for help. Keep praying, reading that Bible, and disciplining your time/mouth/thoughts/etc.
Today wasn't a big trial. But after hours of little bumps, I'm still hopeful. Still resting. And pretty excited that God has been gradually transforming me.
That being said, I think I need to go shower...