I Have No Idea What I'm Doing

What on earth is going on??!!

From where I sit, a noticeable portion of me and my crowd are wading through what appears to be a constant deluge of challenge.  Complaining's of no use, so I'll avoid it at all cost, but something mighty fishy is going on!

Adelaide is almost three, and I keep putting off potty training her.  Levi was about three when he officially got it, and I don't put a lot of pressure on the process.  Obviously.  But now I know she's ready, and I am determined not to buy another package of diapers!  No pressure, right?  Today, I decided to put Adelaide in regular underwear so she'd feel when she went and then complain about it and start putting things together in her mind.  She peed about 4 times in the first hour and didn't say a word to me; I just discovered the puddle or her saggy, wet underwear.  The girl doesn't care.  Next approach.

Roxie is a mama's girl.  Levi and Adelaide were used to being passed off at church services to other people while Jed and I lead worship when they were only a few months old.  But with Roxie, I stepped down from that activity at Yahweh's leading.  So I held her constantly.  I nursed her for a year.  She. Loves. Her Mom.  They say that during this age, they have their favorite adult, and that adult is also the one on which they are the hardest, on which they unleash their greatest disdain and displeasure and need.  If I'm out of the room, Roxie will play contentedly and have fun.  If I walk through the room to get something, the little peach will start screaming at me relentlessly to pick her up.  Then she'll fuss about the other things that aren't right, whatever those are, because she doesn't speak English yet.  She just started walking, and she loves to climb, so when I'm not holding her, I pretty much follow her around anxiously.  She is the sweetest thing, but this bit she's practicing on me is nothing short of emotional terrorism, and I'm a blubbering mess.  Well, I was.  Now, after a conversation this afternoon with another grown-up, I'm realizing I've been totally played by the most classic of wee manipulations.  Roxie, I'm on to you, little peanut dollface.

Levi is magnificent.  He is curious, inventive, smart, and sensitive.  He is so sensitive.  Because he is older, and so capable that I often find myself treating him as older than he is, and because the girls require so much of my, well, everything--attention, mental focus, patience, deep breathing, creative magic-working, emotional energy, physical presence--when the girls go down for a nap, I either want to space out or I have grown-up work that needs my attention.  And my son, who craves quality attention, sometimes doesn't get it because it's all going to the girls.  And my heart breaks.  And he does get one-on-one attention, especially with homeschooling, and it's good for kids to grow up realizing they have to share with others and incorporate their identities and expectations into the family, but there are those moments when it transcends all that, and I'm beat, and he is gracious, and I love him.

My heart cries out to be the very best mommy, to represent Yahweh accurately, to expose them to all kinds of greatness in the world and in the spirit.  But here's a little secret. 

I have no idea what I'm doing. 

This is especially difficult, because I'm good at everything. *cough*  It's no indication of my character or worth as a human being; it's just one of the strengths/weaknesses/flaws/quirks/facts about me and my personality.  It's just a phrase, too, because there's plenty I'm not good at.  <--Like reworking every sentence that ends in a preposition.  But because my experience has been a proclivity to understand situations and patterns and information and therefore to "get" stuff, I am really in a jam.  Because in what I consider to be my most important job, rearing these sweetlings that are a treasure from God, I am pretty shell-shocked most of the time. 

I am also not a great homemaker.  It's true.  So true.  I mean, we have a home.  It is homey and ecclectic, and it is ours, and we are cozy here.  But it is not spotless, and my battle with clutter is ongoing.  I need someone to lay hands on me and impart some kinda mystery ability, 'cause I ain't got it.  It has never been Priority 1, but I'm getting better.  I ask Yahweh to please help me care about it more, because sometimes I just don't care about all that stuff the way I feel I should.  I care so much about other things, just not that as much.  Anyway, I climb uphill on that one as well.  

Then there's the rest of life: the people we love, our purpose on the grander scale, our relationship with God, making ends meet financially, demonstrating to our kids the principles that matter in the everyday, getting outside, raging against the machine, and other such stuff.

Then there's the other other stuff: mail, dirty floors, grocery trips, selling stuff, getting to the post office, leftovers, spills, pee puddles, kids crying, crying, crying, be it of the screeching kind or the deeper, hurt sobs, and this little list of the mundane could fill pages if I kept going. 

At freshman orientation at Boston University, my welcoming faculty counselor read my essay and looked up with raised eyebrows.  "Are you sure you don't want to be a philosophy major?" he inquired.  There was no way I was letting staff at Boston University teach me philosophy; this much I knew.  No, I was Poli. Sci. all the way.  But he said it, because I philosophize.  I have a lot of stuff going on in my head.  Always. 

I think about feeding my family real food and what I must do to learn more about that and how to do it economically and how to find the time to research it all and uplifting the vision of Yahweh and my apostle for New England and even the world and keeping my kids safe from harm when we're walking the park in our small town where creepy little groups come out right after dinnertime and they're probably fine but I am on red alert that whole stroll because I'm ready to mangle anyone who does anything to my kids and about type1 diabetes and how it's very different from type 2 and people say, "Is that the scary one?" and I have to put my hand around Levi's shoulder as I say, "Not to us," and how we can beat this thing that can be beaten even though a bunch of thugs say it's incurable and how I fight every day, every meal for his life, and go on like it's not happening inside me and how media is a great big crock of mularkey and needs Kingdom people to work hard and qualify themselves and get in that place of authority and also in education and health and politics and every high place that influences the lives of the masses so that rightness can flow freely and how I want to adopt every child in need on the whole face of the planet and how I want Jed to have his own, fully equipped studio because his heart beats for it and he is passionate about it and he is anointed for it and masterful at it and called to it and how I have song lyrics and melodies bouncing around inside me looking for a piece of paper upon which they can rest so that they can then soar out into the atmosphere and how I wish I had time to write them and how it's the exact same with my book that plugs along in fits and spurts but I cannot let it die because it wants to live and how the fire of Yahweh and His truth burn in me and how I see my friends go through struggles of their own and I pray my face off for their victory because sometimes I see the behind the scenes spiritual aspects and I fight, fight, fight, because I am a fighter and I will go to bat for the Body and I intercede and direct traffic in the spirit realm and how I want my kids' homeschool education to be stellar and I want all my kids' hearts to beat for Yahweh and to love truth, justice, life, kindness, while also being violent for those things and how I can hardly stand to see or read anything relating to abortion and how I want my kids to have good, rich memories of a warm, thoughtful, smart mom who guided and loved them and always had her face set to Yahweh and His word and who fought for them and lived for them and also showed them they were not the center of all things so that they could be grounded and refreshed and off-the-hook on that count and how I want to lift Jed's arms and show him how desperately I admire him and to keep little toys and random articles of clothing off the floor and how I know in 2 or 3 years I'll look back on these days that seemed just moments ago and reflect fondly on all the sweetness and loveliness and hilariousness of having ones so small and so demanding and so loving and how right this second when I just need to catch my breath I have to fight the wrong thought that wants to make me feel guilty.  For I don't remember what.

I've never considered myself high-strung.  But right now, I'm seeing challenge all around me (and in my own life that's not just related to child-rearing), exacerbated by the sweet challenge of the everyday, especially with kids so little.  To the degree that it's a push from the enemy; that is, the dark side, Satan's minions, what have you; it's been what we've called a war of attrition.  A constant, incessant pushing, pushing, pushing.  Sometimes you're having some hard days, and you can't pinpoint just exactly why it's so crunchy, but man, is it ever crunchy.  You know something's up.  Some people say something's in the air or there must be a full moon.  Maybe.  But sometimes you're under a little attack.  And when you've set yourself for the ultimate purpose of establishing the Kingdom of God and eradicating the holds of sin and death and, there they are, those minions again, well, they get scared of you and try to stop you in one form or another.  It's usually in your thoughts.  So guard those.  With your life.  'Cuz those little buggers are weaklings, but they can spin a yarn.

So I've never considered myself high-strung, but I've had to address stress in my life lately.  And with aaaaaaaaall that and more going on in my head and heart, I begin to feel like that proverbial rubberband that's streeeeeeeeeeeetched to its eeevvveeeerrrr-lloooooovvvvviiinnnnnnng limit, so close to snapping. 

If I have seemed at any point to any of you to be someone who has it all together, I do not.  I am strong.  And my faith in Yahweh is rock solid.  But that is my cornerstone.  I know who has the answers, and I'm eternally grateful.  And I believe what He says about me and allow it to make me stronger and better because of His presence in me.  But it is only because of His presence in me.  Otherwise, I'd surely have been found in some ditch years ago.  But sometimes I lose my temper and realize I'll have to spend the rest of the day saying however many true and gloriously uplifting things to the kids to undo whatever damage I surely caused them when I did snap.  No, I'm not a shrink.  Yes, I believe our words matter.  So yes, I'm serious; I go out of my way to encourage them to high heaven and back, above and beyond my normal affectations, when I have spoken to them in a way that I know in my spirit is wrong. 

But it's not lost on me that a significant number of people are fighting significant battles, some deeply personal.  I am too.  And it's no coincidence, and guess what?  We've already won, come what may.  This is how you're used to me talking--about rising up.  I felt down in my gut that since so many are going through things, maybe it might be nice to see another layer of my life that shows that we all go through storms.  Most of the time you hear from me about crossing and staying the course and reaching the other side, with little mention of the storm.  But, dude, trust me.  I know enough of storms.  And sometimes they're crazy, and I have no idea what's going on.  But that's OK.  I don't have to know; sometimes it's when we're really out there on a limb and beyond our understanding that we really break through into the good stuff that only comes from Him.  And sometimes I feel the weight of little eyes on me to see how we'll come through.  And I turn my eyes to Yahweh, and say, "Come on, babies, let's worship."  I cry to Yahweh for help, for guidance, and He most certainly gives it.  And I decide to keep sailing.  I decide to keep standing.  I decide to keep pushing. 

I decide to lean into the storm and speak words of fire, words of my God from the direction only He could give, for I am His daughter, and I give the charge, "PEACE!  BE STILL!"  And I manage my craft and steer until we've lighted safely ashore by the grace of God.  Heart, hope, passion, yearnings; they are all unto Him. 

And there it is!  Aaahhh... Sweet rest in Him.  May that be your experience and anchor no matter how your storm is raging.  Light and goodness triumph.  They must.  :)