Sitting in the quiet of my room, reflecting on the last 4 hours of the day. How did I survive those?
How did the girls survive those?
What utter hell. I'm sure part of the problem is the current plague Is and Helen are suffering from. Sick children tend to equal rotten attitudes. That equation works for adults, as well now that I think of it. Our day went as well as can be expected with fevers and congestion and coughs and runny noses. I made smoothies for breakfast (always a winner). We cuddled in my bed, watched movies, the girls took a long nap, watched more movies and then it was time to cook dinner.
I sent the girls the play area and told them to play and read while I fixed dinner.
WW3.
Spankings and tears and rebellion and prayers and tempers and more spankings. As if I had commanded them to clean the toilet with their tongues! Since when did I get the "Horrid Mother of the Year" award for telling the girls to go play?
Then my beloved husband comes home! Oh, what joy and relief flooded my soul! My best friend, partner and comrade in the trenches has come home to help me fight the good fight for their little hearts and keep me from loosing my freaking mind.
Oh. Wait. You have a mission meeting at 7 you forgot about? Ok. No problem. Allow me a moment to chose my poison. A shot of tequila or the pretty blue cyanide pill I have stashed away for a day such as this.
We quickly scarf down the meal I had prepared (and burned while trying to nurse Z and maintain order at the same time - not possible, I've concluded), bathe the girls, put them to bed and he jumps in the shower to then turn around and run out the door.
My heart is so broken at the way this day has ended.
Looking for a ministering effect on my battered soul, I go to a favorite website and click on "Popular items." Here's what I ended up on:
Sure, I'll watch this. I've already established I'm a self-absorbed, prideful-as-a-peacock Pharisee. I'm already feeling bruised from the beating I got out of the day. Why not seek out a little more punishment?
The message is delivered by Francis Chan. Never heard from him.
This guy is so real. He is so in love. With Jesus. You can hear it, see it, almost taste it from the moment he starts speaking.
I, on the other hand, am so in love. With myself. My life. My goals. My desires. The way people perceive me. Am I a good homeschool, hippie, bake from scratch, organic gardening, natural childbirth, breastfeeding, baby wrap wearing, pro-spanking, pro-gun, pro-life, physically fit, modest to a fault, conservative homemaker? As long as someone is watching.
As previously discussed, I don't pray often. But I bet my theology and doctrine is more sound than yours! And did I mention I read philosophy and bake my own bread and make my own cheese and yogurt and volunteer for charity and my husband is a missionary. I don't even have a tv.
I'm so holy I can hardly stand it.
Oh, God! Save me! Save me from my religion.
I like the things I do for my family. I like the work my hands have been tasked with...today a little less than others, but life goes on. What I don't like is my piety. In fact, I hate it. I despise my sin of self-righteousness. I abhor my unwillingness to get down on my knees every morning (if only for 5 minutes) to confess to my Holy God I'm a desperate sinner in need of His provision and strength.
Some of this is fear driven. What if He doesn't show up? What if I'm left there, talking to myself?
I live with enough fear to choke a horse. Fear of God's rejection, fear of failure, fear of falling short, fear that I'm not enough for God. Suffocating.
My A+ theology and doctrine tells me in a far off, clinical voice, "You're not enough and that's the point. God's grace is sufficient." I don't need my knowledge right now. I need God's love. I need to feel it, to share it, to experience it, to give it and live by it's power (not my own).
Here's where the Narnia moment happened. Watching and listening to Francis, I start thinking, "Father, I want what He's talking about. I'm dying for it." All the while knowing in the recesses of my mind, "I can never really get "there" where Francis is. That requires a life swallowed up in Christ. A life lived for Him not me. I can't do that. I can't even get up and talk to Him for 5 minutes in the morning."
And then the mental image of Aslan talking to Jill Pole flashed in my mind. Their dialogue was audible in my ears.
"Are you not thirsty? said the Lion. "I'm dying of thirst," said Jill. "Then drink," said the Lion. "May I - could I - would you mind going away while I do?" said Jill.
The Lion answered this only by a look and a very low growl. And as Jill gazed at its motionless bulk, she realized that she might as well have asked the whole mountain to move aside for her convenience. The delicious rippling noise of the stream was driving her nearly frantic.
"Will you promise not to - do anything to me, if I come?" said Jill. "I make no promise," said the Lion. Jill was so thirsty now that, without noticing it, she had come a step nearer. "Do you eat girls?" she said.
"I have swallowed up girls and boys, women and men, kings and emperors, cities and realms," said the Lion. It didn't say this as if it were boasting, nor as if it were sorry, nor as if it were angry. It just said it. "I daren't come and drink," said Jill. "Then you will die of thirst," said the Lion. "Oh dear!" said Jill, coming another step nearer. "I suppose I must go and look for another stream then." "There is no other stream," said the Lion...(They talk about how she came to be in that world.) "You would not have called to me unless I had been calling to you," said the Lion.
I feel like Jill. Unwilling to bend down and drink deeply for fear of what the Lion will do. What is God going to do to my life if I drink deeply and live fully for Him? As if it is even my life. As if I own anything. As if it is not God's to give and take as He wills.
What is going to happen if I fall head over heals for Jesus?
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