I walk away from my husband as I answer. “It wasn’t the day. It was just me.”
True, the day has its challenges. My boys miss their nap. I haul all three to the grocery store when we are hot and tired and hungry. My husband gets home late and my children act like children.
But really, it is just me.
Because when I get down in my daughter’s face, wild-eyed and hissing, I want to take the words back as soon as I speak them. But I march straight ahead through the store wearing a ferocious expression, The Girl trailing at my heels. And with every fierce step I hear: You are that mom, You are that mom, You.Are.THAT.Mom…
And somewhere after that, I mentally throw in the towel. Since I am THAT mom, I have an evening of losing my temper with my children. I am not patient. I am not gentle. I make my youngest cry twice. I hole up in a room after dinner, hiding from my children and hating myself.
In my bedroom that night, I kneel down on the floor and lean my shoulder and head against the wall. A small light from the closet spills on the floor behind me and I close my eyes. I tell God how much I hate being a broken person. How much I hate screwing up a job I want to do so well. I ask him to protect those three precious spirits from the wounds their mother sometimes inflicts. I tell him I want to do better. That I need his help to do better.
And in response come the words I’ve memorized this year…
“For it is God who works in you to will and to act according to his good purpose.”
With quiet tears, I pray it to be so. Amen.
In the dark that night, Danny asks again, “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”
I don’t. He rolls over in quiet concession. And I feel alone.
I speak quietly to his back. “Do you have a little love for your wife tonight? {small pause} Because I could use some.”
He rolls over and pulls me to him, strokes my hair for a while. When I get too hot and I have to roll over, he nestles against me like a spoon. I wait for the heaviness to melt away, but it is thick and stubborn and slow to thaw.
After a while I feel his breath begin to deepen. His stomach expands and contracts in slow rhythm against my back. He exhales in great puffs onto my shoulder. Slowly, my body begins to unfurl, shifting that weight ever-so-slightly off of my chest.
And I can breathe again.
We've all had mom days like these. It's a wonder all of us don't need therapy!! But God's grace is sufficient.
ReplyDeletemy husband loves me like that, too, all solid strength and space-giver. and my Father loves me lie that, too, all Grace, and compassion renewed each morning.
ReplyDeleteand, i haven't even read the post but i might love you for having one titled "amuse bouche!" :)
so tender...smiles at the love both he and Hehave for you...particularly on days when it is really needed...smiles.
ReplyDeletethanks for sharing so intimately such an amazing bit of your heart
ReplyDeleteWe all have these days, and I am so thankful that we know to turn to Him for grace, guidance, and help. I can't imagine being a mother without Him. Thank you for your beautiful transparency.
ReplyDeleteoh, this is so well told, friend... you are beautiful in your brokenness. in your loving plea to be a better mom... this is all God wants. for us to want to be better, and so, to need him. you need him well. :)
ReplyDelete