Spent

I was told on Friday that I do too much and that I should spend the weekend resting. What a lovely thought. And while I did have an enjoyable time with a friend on Friday night for dinner (on the way home from haircuts) and then had lunch with my parents, kids, and same friend on Sunday, the rest of the weekend is a total and utter overloaded blur.

Saturday was just the busy kind of busy ... you know "Let's see if we can find that bunkbed we were looking for" kind of busy. Problem is: the rest of the week was so busy, even that was draining. I might need to mention I hate crowded, hectic places full of selfish narrow visioned people, and seemed to find myself in more than one. I also dislike pushy sales people who won't just let me ask for help when I need it. All that stuff drains me and I was already drained. Guess that's obvious by now.

Sunday though, after church was wonderful and lunch was a sweet time, all hell broke loose. I kept trying to remember Romans 8:28 and Jeremiah 29:11-13, truly I did. But I have never missed being married more than I have this weekend. Let's take into consideration the two trips to ikea (and no, that does not happen in Saskatchewan on the same weekend), a trip to my ex's b/c his dog had been alone for two days and the neighbor called me worried, an hour on the phone with said retail four letter word about a defective bunk bed frame.... and the list goes on, I promise.

It's not because my daughter is doing a huge project on fetal development, and not because the bunk bed was incredibly heavy to carry, even if three of us were sharing the load, but because I realize that no matter how much I am committed to loving God first and most, or how much I spend time getting to know Him deeply and intimately, I still physically and emotionally have the bulk of the load and there is only one of me. And I'm tired. Physically, emotionally, even spiritually a little. Satan is working overtime it seems and it is taking purposeful focus on my part to not allow him access to my brain, though I know some of my actions in the last 48 hours would have his fingerprints all over them....

It's not that the kids don't help, they do. A lot. They clean bathrooms and vacuum stairs and help with the cooking and assist each other with homework and help me grade papers. They empty garbages and take out the recycling, and help build furniture and move things way too heavy for any of us. We're a team. God is good to us that way.

And then, the phone rings. My ex, who was supposed to be home by the end of today, called to tell the kids he was just at the border crossing back over into the states, and to call him if they want to talk. Since they hadn't heard from him in a week, they did try, only to get his voicemail on first ring. While this may seem inconsequential, it's yet another evidence of a promise broken, two hearts wounded and all the outflow of emotions that I have to help sort through that seemed to make their appearance exactly while folding laundry, assisting with photo placement in a power point, fixing a broken toilet, cleaning the litter box (and subsequently having evil thoughts toward our beloved Smudge), and making sure dinner is not burning.

Please tell me if I'm just whining. Otherwise, praying is good. We will get through this, and I know I'm not really alone... and I didn't even feel "alone" this weekend. Just very keenly aware of what alone might mean for me for the long haul. And,I am grateful for Jeremiah 29:11-13 over and over again. They are a promise worth holding on to, and I do. Tomorrow is a new day, and there is still chocolate in fridge. Life is good enough.