when mom's not happy

Today stress rose up to greet me.  Some days I wake up wanting to shake free from my own self—so out-of-sorts that I don’t even want to be in my own presence.  Tension headache, sniffly nose, general grumpiness.  Did Jesus feel stress when he turned 30, knowing he only had 3 years to save the world?  What right do I have to feel this way?

Me on edge, scowling,

70 degrees and blue skies but mom’s not happy,

trip to the park but mom’s not happy,

icees for everyone but mom’s not happy,

yummy dinner gets made but mom’s not happy,

kids play lovingly but mom’s not happy,

a perfect day but mom's not happy. 

In the background of my annoyance I hear the littlest one chanting in a sweet sing-song voice, spinning and spinning in the brown grass:

this is the day

this is the day

this is the day 

singing softly on and on, for his own exclusive pleasure, an audience of one in a happy world, stuck on single line as two year olds are wont to do… 

I will rejoice

I will rejoice

I will rejoice

He murmurs on then flings his arms wide for the finale, little fists in the air with a convincing ‘hally-loo-ya!’  Oblivious of how he is shattering my heart into a million repentant pieces. 

It's time to stop treating love as a theory and gratitude as a nice idea. 

Here, in the midst of the dark cloud of my own making, am I going to choose to live out God's love?   The plain fact is that I am comfortable here; I know my friends Frustration and Stress well.   By abiding in a familiar but damaging place, I am destroying this gift of a day while single-handedly tearing down the one house I am trying mightly to build: a safe house of God's love where I pray daily His spirit will abide.  I falter on days like this as I unwittingly teach my kids that my own faith is insufficient for joy. 

I will
I will
I will
rejoice and be glad. 

Lord, I am praying to you for consistency in all things, across all days, and asking that You will stand in the gap for me when I falter.  Let me choose to rejoice when I want to wallow in my frustrations.  Let me build my house firmly on the rock, not the shifting sand of my own feeble sentiment.