I tend to be pretty upbeat on this blog most of the time. Lest that lead you to think I never get discouraged with the ins and outs of motherhood–and life–please think again.
Lately, I can totally relate to this picture. Not that I walk around with billowing hair and gown all day–for more accuracy, you’d need to replace the silky gown with grubby sweats, the flowing hair with a short, not-washed-in-two-days ‘do, scatter a few Legos and Hot Wheels on the floor and smear some grape jelly on the chair. But it’s a good representation of how I’ve been feeling on the inside recently.
I’m tired. Just tired. Tired of laundry, tired of dishes, tired of permission slips and grocery shopping and diaper changing and bed making and….just tired. I’m in a rut. A big, fat, funky RUT.
I love my life. I really, really do. There’s nothing I would rather do than take care of this family that I adore. But some moments, do you ever just feel the weight of the responsibilities facing you, and they seem to loom on and on and on into the future and you wonder, "will I still be driving carpool when I’m 80?" And of course, you won’t, but doesn’t it sometimes just feel like it? And then I say things like this, and I think of the mother sitting with her baby in a tent in Sudan and I wonder what on earth I ever think I could complain about. I feel like an ungrateful wretch, and I feel guily about that, which discourages me more, and….you get the idea.
If there is one thing I’ve learned in the last few years, it’s that God isn’t just present at the high points and the low points, He’s smack dab in the middle of the doldrums, too. In the places, like this one, where life just kind of stretches out in a flat, when-will-this-ever change place that isn’t exactly painful, but just tedious.
The verse I come back to time and time again–my "banner" verse for this motherhood journey–is Psalm 73:26–
My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.
I share that verse reluctantly, because I don’t want to sound like life is just read-a-psalm-and-everything-will-be-rosy-tomorrow easy. Chances are I’ll wake up tomorrow with the same case of the blahs that I’ve had these last few weeks. But you know what? I’ll get up and make breakfast–again. I’ll take the kids to school–again. I’ll drop off the dry cleaning and run to the store and load the dishwasher and fold underwear–again. And eventually, somehow, the cloud will lift and I’ll be back to the place of finding wonder in the things that have me pulling my hair out now. I know this, because I’ve seen this rut many times before. And I’ll see it again.
That’s what that Psalm means to me. When my heart is discontent and disinterested, He gently takes the reins for a while and steers me through the doldrums. He puts my one foot in front of the other when I just want to curl up for a six-week nap. And why am I telling you all this? I’m not sure, really. Maybe someone out there feels the same way too? Let’s just plug along, friend.