I had big plans for the day. You know what I mean.
The dishes would be done, the kitchen clean.
I would finally get to mopping the wood floors.
I would have a chicken thawed, seasoned, stuffed, and in the oven half-done by the time hubby came home. Chicken and roasted veggies. Wholesome, no?
And the diapers would all be washed up and the rest of the laundry would be done.
Hubby would be impressed.
I woke up thanking the Lord--in advance!--for the gift of today. Wasn't I being a good Christian mommy?
Yeah.
The baby is teething, and all three kids have had a cold. And for some reason, some obnoxious mood has overtaken them. They're kinetic today. Mostly feeling better, but it seems they can't stop moving.
Even in sleep.
My middle child rolled off the toddler bed and bounced off a bookcase, splitting his lip, before thudding to the floor. Howling broke through everyone's nap.
And the diapers are all I've managed to clean. I have blood on my sleeve.
Yeah.
Today. It was one of those, "What in the world have I done?" days.
So I must remind myself:
Owies kissed and snuggles given.
Breakfast and lunch (so far) enjoyed.
Diapers changed.
Snacks eaten.
Train tracks laid.
Baby nursed.
Noses wiped.
Books read.
Giggles shared.
Prayers breathed.
Today has been a productive day after all.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Post-partum Depression, Part 3
This morning in my prayer closet (AKA, the shower), I had a remarkable conversation with God and I came to the realization that I needed to give myself permission to get better. Isn't that strange?
All this time I was praying for the odd combination of numbness and pain to cease, to have it taken from me so that I could get on with my life as I'd hoped it would be. Over the last few months my prayer changed from, "Help me! Take this pain away!" to, "Lord, take me through this," to, "Lord, have your way in me," to, simply, "Be glorified."
Thing is, I've been re-discovering how God uses the difficulties in my life to refine me as a Christian. Not just as a woman, or a daughter, or a mom, or Steve's wife (even though we've been inseparable for nearly 14 years), but as a child of God. God, as my refiner, turns up the heat now and then to burn off the junk he won't use. The fire hurts. It burns and blisters and I cry out in pain even as He re-creates who I am IN HIM. The Refiner holds me tightly in His grip even as I fight the process. I don't need my hang-ups, they can be burned away. I don't need past hurts lived over and over in my mind, nor do I need to let current trials define who I am in Christ. Fact is, I'm a blood-bought princess, a daughter of the Most High, not worthy to be saved but saved nonetheless. Mercy flows over old wounds and I'm healed. Love poured out red at the cross.
I know this might all seem like some weird code for those of you who are not in Christ, and maybe it is! But those of you who DO know Him know what I'm talking about: hope of healing is hope for what we haven't experienced yet, because the PROMISE of healing is all over the Bible. Not just my healing from depression, but from the hurt of disregard, from the pain of rejection and the bitterness of betrayal, to the deep throbbing ache that comes out of mourning. Healing comes. Not in my time, but in His time. And it comes over and over, even as we find we're bleeding afresh.
I think God allows heartbreak in this life so that He can re-shape us, re-work our hearts into vessels He will fill. If the heart is never broken, how can all the selfishness come out? How can we be rid of the junk we invest our hearts in, if they're locked tight against God? I've locked myself up inside for so long . . . and I really thought I was protecting myself, because depression is a self-focused thing.
The reality is, the only way for me to be free of the "me-ness" was for the lockbox I'd made my heart into to be gently chisled open by the wounded hands of Christ. Even as Jesus held me in my pain, I held the hammer that would drive the nails through his flesh and into the cross. MY sin (and yours) held him there. He died. He was buried and when He rose He bought for us new life.
I am humbled. I am brought low in the knowledge that the King of Heaven did this because He doesn't want to part with me, but to be with me for eternity.
I am undone, and yet made whole. A lock box may be whole, but it is locked.
A chipped, marred, uneven and imperfect vessel is more useful than a locked box without a key.
Fill me up and pour me out, Jesus, as imperfect a vessel as I am. I have no need for locks any longer.
You bought my freedom. Please help me not to waste it.
All this time I was praying for the odd combination of numbness and pain to cease, to have it taken from me so that I could get on with my life as I'd hoped it would be. Over the last few months my prayer changed from, "Help me! Take this pain away!" to, "Lord, take me through this," to, "Lord, have your way in me," to, simply, "Be glorified."
Thing is, I've been re-discovering how God uses the difficulties in my life to refine me as a Christian. Not just as a woman, or a daughter, or a mom, or Steve's wife (even though we've been inseparable for nearly 14 years), but as a child of God. God, as my refiner, turns up the heat now and then to burn off the junk he won't use. The fire hurts. It burns and blisters and I cry out in pain even as He re-creates who I am IN HIM. The Refiner holds me tightly in His grip even as I fight the process. I don't need my hang-ups, they can be burned away. I don't need past hurts lived over and over in my mind, nor do I need to let current trials define who I am in Christ. Fact is, I'm a blood-bought princess, a daughter of the Most High, not worthy to be saved but saved nonetheless. Mercy flows over old wounds and I'm healed. Love poured out red at the cross.
I know this might all seem like some weird code for those of you who are not in Christ, and maybe it is! But those of you who DO know Him know what I'm talking about: hope of healing is hope for what we haven't experienced yet, because the PROMISE of healing is all over the Bible. Not just my healing from depression, but from the hurt of disregard, from the pain of rejection and the bitterness of betrayal, to the deep throbbing ache that comes out of mourning. Healing comes. Not in my time, but in His time. And it comes over and over, even as we find we're bleeding afresh.
I think God allows heartbreak in this life so that He can re-shape us, re-work our hearts into vessels He will fill. If the heart is never broken, how can all the selfishness come out? How can we be rid of the junk we invest our hearts in, if they're locked tight against God? I've locked myself up inside for so long . . . and I really thought I was protecting myself, because depression is a self-focused thing.
The reality is, the only way for me to be free of the "me-ness" was for the lockbox I'd made my heart into to be gently chisled open by the wounded hands of Christ. Even as Jesus held me in my pain, I held the hammer that would drive the nails through his flesh and into the cross. MY sin (and yours) held him there. He died. He was buried and when He rose He bought for us new life.
I am humbled. I am brought low in the knowledge that the King of Heaven did this because He doesn't want to part with me, but to be with me for eternity.
I am undone, and yet made whole. A lock box may be whole, but it is locked.
A chipped, marred, uneven and imperfect vessel is more useful than a locked box without a key.
Fill me up and pour me out, Jesus, as imperfect a vessel as I am. I have no need for locks any longer.
You bought my freedom. Please help me not to waste it.
Monday, August 8, 2011
Post-partum Depression, Part 2
This was originally posted as a note on Facebook, on December 7, 2010.
Time to move my writing all to one place, huh?
I keep waking up hoping a new day will bring a change. Today isn't that day.
Trying not to be too disappointed, just trudging through. This is usually my favorite time of year, when we prepare to celebrate the coming of Christ: God made flesh, Love incarnate. Right now I just don't know . . . I wish I could muster up some excitement for my kids.
Trying to keep a joyful attitude is WORK right now. This stinks because I know that old adage "If momma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy" is proving to be painfully true, and the result is kids with stinky attitudes. My attitude sets the tone for my home--but I really just want to be away from everyone, and they just want to provoke each other.
This has been really hard on my girl. She's usually a very jolly kid, but she's been getting mad at me and really sassy. I try to tell her that mommy is just having a sad time right now, and she tries to sympathize as only a 4 year old can, but I can tell that she's frustrated. Naughty behavior= instant attention from mom. Hooray.
My big boy is still not talking and his preferred method of communication these days is the scream--how charming! Honestly I don't have the energy--or the willpower--to enforce house rules (but just how in the world do you enforce "No screaming" on a not-quite-two-year-old who can but won't talk?).
I know God has a purpose for allowing pain as well as joy. I know He is in control here. I'm just so tired of being in this mire. I hope I can learn something from all this..
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