I heard a phenomenal sermon on Sunday. Side note: besides the fact that the pastors at our church are amazing and most always give great sermons it is often so much more about where my head is at when they are given.
This is what I came away with and it may or may not be what my pastor intended and I am most likely mangling all of it together in a Glee fashioned mash up but it struck deep and I can't stop thinking about it.
As Christians we can sometimes equate Gods love with things being easy, everything going as planned and on our terms.
I feel that I have a pretty good understanding of how we live in a fallen world. God never promises to smooth away all of our difficulties, there is no guarantee that we will not experience sickness, loss, heartbreak and pain. I understand that God will ALWAYS enter into our trials and fears and we will never be alone in our suffering. I get that. But on Sunday I realized I'm still waiting for it to get easier most every day. I count the days until the kids are back in school or out of school or the next time I can get away. I count the hours until I can be alone and rest. The minutes remaining until I can stop being a mother and just be me.
Our pastor preached on Ruth and all she had lost but what she STILL HAD. A friend like no other, a community that loved her and welcomed her home. Bread on the table. My gaze has been consistently on what I don't have, time to myself, and I have been missing that all of the laundry and cleaning and answering ten thousand mundane questions per hour is what it is all about and it is GOOD. It is not easy. Life with four kids each barely two years apart is not supposed to be easy. Life is not supposed to be easy. Yet I have been waiting for the easy to come without even realizing it.
This summer has been mine for resentments and I am embarrassed to admit they have been hard to swallow. I have stubbornly held onto a quest for solitude and hoped that the house would somehow become self cleaning and my children would learn to get along without my intervention. There it is again, the desire for ease.
Last night our family was sitting together in the living room and Poppy began doing karate moves with sound effects. She had these Dora pajamas on that should have been passed on three sizes ago and her facial expressions were so fierce and animated. She told us that God had taught her these new moves because she needed them but she should never ever really hurt someone because God would not like that. The big girls joined in and invented dancing karate, sort of like a cha cha with awkward side kicks. Charlie just laughed and laughed. There was so much hilarity and joy in our house last night that it almost hurt a tiny bit.
We have bread on the table. I think I am finished, for at least a little while, looking for easy.