I trip down the stairs each morning, puffy eyed, hair wrapped in a band, clad in shorts and my husband’s triathlon t-shirt for pajamas. Kiss the baby and set him in his cradle to coo at a string of bright elephants crafted by women in Uganda. My eyes are accustomed to their presence and I don’t think of the women’s fingers holding thread while I push buttons on that beloved Keurig and have a steaming cup of coffee ready in one minute flat.
Two tablespoons of coffee creamer (70 calories) and Canadian bacon (25 calories). Cereal for the two big boys who are ready for fun and activity and what can we do today, Mama?
We all need diversion.
“There are worse things, Ashleigh!” She shrugs and she grins, the phrase passing her lips easily and often. “Oh well, there are worse things in life!”
I stare at her blankly, when she says it. Because my head hears the words and knows their accuracy, but my heart says that the school problem or the illness or the family drama is pretty darn difficult for today. And coming from someone who has endured multiple real life nightmares, I don’t understand how this could be her pet phrase.
But it is. And she means it.
There are worse things.
There are very tiny boys who can’t take in nutrients and lose weight before their parents‘ eyes.
There are young men who earn neuroscience degrees and sip beer with friends before shooting automatic weapons into trapped crowds.
There are people who spend their days skipping gleefully around the internet leaving mucked up word trails as they rip to shreds with typing fingers the real lives of real people with real feelings.
There are men who hurt children, adults to whom a child’s sobbing and a child’s pain mean nothing.There are people who turn a blind eye.
There are worse things. My friend is right.
And yet the baby was up all night and my brain is ready to be shut off for the night by 10pm and so I nibble chocolate and read a book.
Because diversion comes whether or not I wish it and I hate myself for it.
linking up with the lovely Heather, and all those who just write.
Oh, my. Oh, my. Oh, my.
I don’t think you need to hate yourself for it, love. Just as sleep is a gift that God gives to reset our bodies and minds (and maybe to remind us that we aren’t the ones doing the work anyway), I think diversion can be a Sabbath for the soul. It’s a matter of acknowledging that God is God and I am finite and cannot continue at His pace. I need to stop and rest and then re-enter His story.
It’s when it becomes escape, constant escape, that we need to question our motives. There is a difference.
I had an existential crisis about this exact thing yesterday, no joke. I don’t really know that I solved the problem, just asked the Lord to protect my heart and remind me of my purpose. Love you.
Three hundred beautiful words from you, and I also loved Kelly’s comment, because I believe it probably soothed you as it did me.
Sometimes it feels like all the worst things are a landslide that one woman just can’t keep at bay, and sometimes we just need to put our (impossibly strong but aching) backs on the door between the landslide and ourselves and eat chocolate and read a book (or a blog). The landslide will still be there when we’re done.
Love you.
I, too, echo Kelly’s words above with this, one of my favorite quotes:
“Sleep is a daily reminder from God that we are not God.”
Bear one another’s burdens — yes. Pray for these things without ceasing — yes. What you have done unto the least of these, you have done unto Him — yes.
But at the end of the work-hard day, we leave it at the feet of His faithfulness.
And we remember who we are.
Yes. Yes. :) And today I’ve been missing you. <3
“For He Himself knows our frame; He is mindful that we are but dust.” Psalm 103:14
We have a sympathetic High Priest. He knows. And He loves you. Please don’t think yourself worthy of hate for simply being human. His burden is light. It’s not about perfection. You don’t have to have it all together every moment of every day. Accusations are not from Jesus. He is the one interceding for you at God’s right hand. Read a book. Catch your breath. He’s got this one. He promised sustenance when you cast the burdens on Him. He promised to give you rest. Let Him.
Oh, I can relate… sometimes I feel so weak for allowing my proportionately small problems to so totally overwhelm me. ::hugs:: dear friend…
As much as I think it’s wise to keep the Big Picture in mind, it never negates our current reality. Nor should it impinge on the ways we practice self-care. You keep curling up with your book and chocolate, dearest. Sometimes it’s enough to keep on going.
Ashleigh, I love, love, love the way you think… the way you express yourself… the way you write. There’s a fine line between “Just Writing” and “Just Complaining/Bragging/Methodically Spiritualizing/Saying Nice Sounding Things” and you have mastered it. And not to be weird or anything, but there’s something about your crazy life that I admire. I think maybe it’s that in spite of all the mess and chaos your life is still beautiful and even becomes more beautiful. I don’t subscribe to very many blogs that are mainly about thoughts and musings and a lot of words, but you are definitely an exception. :) Thanks for being so real.
I read this the other day and thought of you:
“the artist is someone who is full of questions, who cries them out in great angst, who discovers rainbow answers in the darkness, and then rushes to canvas or paper. An artist is someone who cannot rest, who can never rest as long as there is one suffering creature in the world. [...]
divine discontent, a longing to find the melody in the discords of chaos, the rhyme in the cacophony, the surprised smile in time of stress or strain. It is not that what is is not enough, for it is; it is that what is had been disarranged, and is crying out to be put in place.”