This week we have felt out of balance. There was a sick husband (thanks flu), orders to be filled (thank you, hallelujah), homework to be done, art classes to attend, jobs to go to, dishes to clean, preschool work to organize, and ironing that didn’t get done. There were friends who were struggling and needed more hugs than I could give, babies who cried when I left for work, and a husband who, despite my teasing, was legitimately sick and just could not help with the chicks. The end of the week found me with a sinus infection and bronchitis, lying in bed with an inhaler. #allglamour
Weeks like this tend to be my undoing. I am tired. My list gets done but my moments with God slowly dwindle; quiet times shorter and shorter. If I’m being honest, this week felt heavy. Not bad enough to make me cry but heavy enough that carrying the burden alone for a week made me more tired than I knew. Sunday night I found myself in a full on pity party questioning why God had forgotten about us.
Heavenly Father don’t you see me here, working so hard, being patient, exhausted? When will it be my turn, God? When will things be easy for me? When will I be a success?
It’s that last question that really made me stop and think. I sat in my rocking chair praying for direction with my words all the while angrily resenting the way He has designed me and the life He has given me.
Why do I care so much about this silly kid’s stuff? Other people, better people, are out there with more and better ideas God. When will it be my turn for more space and a nicer abode? Why is it easier for everyone else? Why am I here? You know me, so why have you forgotten me.
As I prayed and questioned, I told God that success for me is found in having deep relationships. Growing closer with my husband, learning more about my kids, supporting and being supported by my closest friends is how I measure my worth. I said this and immediately realized that while relationships are vitally important to my well-being and are often how God shows his hand, they cannot be how I measure my success. As I continued to pray, angrily at this point, the deepest part of me knew that I still measure my success the same way the world does…through what I have in my bank account. I am smart and good at a lot of things, making money is not one of them. I was a history major for goodness sake. I feel like that says enough.
It was right in that moment, when I finally said those words to the God who knows me, that He flooded my heart with this realization: My success is the fact that I am covered in the blood of my savior, redeemed from every sin of my past. I will never be a success if I rely too much on others because they too are human. I will not be a success if my business grows exponentially and I am able to move to a better house because there will always be better houses and more money. I will never find true worth in these things because my eternal soul cries out for its Savior and all the deep talks and money in the world fail in comparison. And there I sat, my face covered in tears, fighting the same fight I have my entire life, wondering when I will feel like enough…although this time the tears washed off my Lash Boost and wrinkle cream.
For those of you who are here for the glamour, I hope you enjoyed the visual of this middle aged mom sobbing heavily into an Elsa blanket coughing sporadically because… remember the bronchitis. (Cue inhaler inhalation sound please.) As the tears slowed and the morning came I sat the chicks down and poured out my feelings in my prayer journal. There I wrote the words that I knew all along but that felt so intimately personal in the moment...I will never be a success if I measure myself by the standards of this world because I am no longer of this world. While I remain tethered to my humanity my soul has experienced relationship with my Savior and this has changed me. I am a success because I am His. And in the light of the next morning I better remember that I am a success because I am a daughter of the living God. The cross was enough; therefore, I am enough. If I never sell another box or this becomes a raging success… I count it all as loss.
And if I forget again, I’ve got my inhaler positioned neatly on my beside table to remind me that God will use whatever means necessary to bring me to him. Even if that means losing my wrinkle cream.