My, how we love to complain.
Especially, we teens. . .about our rules, and our school pressures, and our decisions about which college, and our tiredness, and our boy dilemmas.
Especially, we college students … about our exams and projects, and our decisions about careers, and our boy dramas, and our tiredness.
Especially, we moms of babies … of our sleepless nights, our cleaning of spit up and poo, our decisions on parenting styles, and the struggle to balance our chosen man and the littles, and our tiredness.
Especially we moms of toddlers… of dilemmas in discipline, and the poo cleaning, and the humiliation received by our offspring, and our decisions on career/home balance, and our tiredness.
Of course, this is not a comprehensive list. I know better than to try.
Meditating on the hard tends to increase the weight of our burdens.
But, I write these because I see a paradox so stark in my life chapter that I believer exists in each.
My life with my littles’ is incredibly hard and phenomenally rewarding.
These days. ..
There are deep hopes for the littles’ future, interlocked with tremendous fear for the same.
My faith is both shallower and deeper.
My heart loves more. My heart has more limitations.
I am more confident in my beauty (a child’s adoration will do marvelous things for one’s self image). And, yet, my body has aged significantly from hosting these very parasites I adore.
I treasure watching my man become a daddy. I miss my man incredibly and tire of sharing him.
There are days I live for naptime. There are days I ache to get home to play with my littles’ who brighten my days with their laughter and discoveries.
There are moments I swear cannot get happier. (that look in his discovery of a new skill or his sleepy smile content in his mommy cocoon)
There are moments I swear my life has been altered for the worse. (as I cringe to be manipulated by him, horrified to see sin expressed in one I nurtured and prayed over since he invaded my womb)
There are joys I beyond describing; and tears filled with remorse at my shortcomings and sin.
Occasionally, in moments of clarity, I spy this pattern. I can see that building my muscle of gratitude will not only enhance my moments and my days, but it will carry me into my future chapters less battered and more prepared to relish the positive.
I want to choose to see His gifts.
I want to exercise restraint on my complaining.
I want my words to highlight the good work that He is doing, including the challenges and the sweet gifts too.