Feb. 17, 2005

Remember Me

He stared at me with the same incredulous look poor Balaam's donkey must have had when she hee hawed her famous words, "What have I done?" Poor hubby.

For whatever reason, I feel overwhelmed again. I don't like me.Thats okay, I don't particularly like him either. Nor my children.You know, the ones I've ruined. In times like these I turn to a trusted friend. Her first question...PMS? Maybe, but PMS is real. All my emotions are just amplified. All my failures weigh on me, like...like the carrot cake I said yes to last night. I only had a very little piece (about six times).

Why is my heart so heavy? Maybe I am not allowing myself to be honest. Maybe too much has been pushed down and it is spilling over. Or maybe my wise eldest daughter is correct with her acronym, possessed mother syndrome. Am I getting enough sleep? No, her candle goeth out not by night. See, I am a Proverbs 31 woman. Faithfully taking my B complex? Sometimes. Do I have legitimate reason to be hurt? Maybe. Can I control my emotions? Don't won't to at the moment. Sometimes can't seem to. Today I can. Am I really looking that much older? Can I just be joyful? No. I can't just be joyful. I can fake joyful, fairly well. Maybe I can find joy, but today it's hiding.

Ok, go back. When did I start feeling overwhelmed? Must have been just after that homeschooling "support" group meeting. You know, the one where all the moms share. Mrs. A shared some drawings her brilliant son had finished and encouraged all the moms to use his drawing teacher. The mom beside me is taking notes. Great. I did not even bring paper. She is signing her son up for Draw Like a Master. What else will I miss? Mrs. B, her infant is being stimulated by Mozart. Oh, like that makes children so smart! If that were true, why is it we have no idea what Mozart's children did with their lives. And if Mozart did not have children, no wonder he could play so well. He had time to practice! Mrs. C went on a field trip to the Great Pyramids; we made one out of sugar cubes. It collapsed. Mrs. D-- her children are learning Latin. And I can't even tango. Let's see...Mrs. E made a dessert out of toasted buckwheat. She said all the glory goes to God. Hey, it wasn't that good. Mrs. F custom makes quilts for orphans. Mrs. G, her children look polished. They do. Their hair gleams; their eyes twinkle. Their socks make the Tide socks look dull. Her children willingly floss their teeth. Mine floss their toes. Mrs. H chaperones her children to swim meets all over the East Coast. I barely can keep my gang in haircuts. Mrs. I can understand higher math (that would be anything over fifth grade to me). Mrs. J's son is going to play with the Boston Pops, as soon as he turns nine! Mrs. K just ran a 10K. She has eight children and is expecting twins. Mrs. L is working on her dissertation. Mrs. M just developed a character building curriculum based upon her exceptional daughters, Patience, Hope, Mercy, and Joy and her unequalled sons, Righteous, Loyal, and Steadfast. (Maybe my children will inspire me and I can write a character curriculum about Sneak, Cow poke, Aloof, Miss Fragile Princess of Emotions, and Moody.) Mrs. N is lecturing at a major homeschooling seminar. (Oh I lecture plenty myself!)

Hmmmm, I feel like I am getting in touch with the real me. It's not me thats the problem. It's all these over zealous children. It's all these moms and their accomplishments. They, well they pick on me. You've been there. These moms do all sorts of wonderful things, to bring me down. They are talented, bright moms of easy children, who have it all together while I'm afraid my crew is in the back yard hacking down a dogwood tree with a wheelbarrow. It's a conspiracy. True, these ladies are my homeschooling sisters.  Siblings bicker and they just want to start a fight. They are so competitive. Okay, bad theory.

Maybe it's my hubby. Let's not even talk about why there is not a Proverbs 32. I mean we all have faith, but let's not push it. He goes to work every day. And he leaves the children here with me. Every day. He even goes on vacations (calls them work trips) many times a year without me. Just because he deposits a paycheck in the bank every couple weeks, he thinks this gives him the right to have all this free time at work. I'm home and he is off gallivanting at his job, earning the respect of his co-workers and clients, focused on doing a good job, and providing for us. I'd like to see him sitting at his desk doing research  talking with one child by phone,  while one child is sneezing on his arm, another needs help on the pottie, one telling him she has been waiting for him for 15 minutes and one, oh oh oh he lost the other one! Now he has lost my baby!  He even thinks there is "the" system for loading the dishwasher. Only an engineering brain would force a non engineering brain to load the dishwasher his way. And don't get me started on the way he puts clothes away when he helps. I can see I'm oppressed. Well, maybe not.

Now I figured it out. I know why I am overwhelmed. My tank is empty. I'm poured out. No one appreciates me. I quietly serve in the background. No one cares. I'm not important. It's a thankless job. My children are suppose to rise up and call me blessed. One won't even rise up. She oversleeps nearly every day. Maybe if someone told me how worthy I am... Maybe they do and I can not accept it. Maybe I'm too humble. Thats it. In my desire to be a humble servant, I've neglected that my poor soul is so downcast from being so humble all the time. I've passed from marriage to motherhood to martyrdom. Oh, let me watch your children. Sure I would love to have nursery duty every week. No problem. I'll make the meal. Yes sweetie, Mommy will pick all the little seeds out of your grapes. Friend, I'd be happy to  if it lightens your load. What trouble? Sure, I'd be glad to help. Idle hands you know. Children, I'd love to wash your precious little paw prints off the walls. I'm here to serve. It will give me something to do.Yes, dear I'm sure I'd love to look for your misplaced sunglasses today. And that form. And write the card to your aunt. And you need the receipt. And your grey sweatshirt that you left in the back of the van last year. Sure, I'll be glad to look. Host the fellowship--sure whats another project? Could I take some of the burden off friend? I'm here to serve. Yes, thats it. I've been nice to everyone and neglected poor poor pitiful me. Nah.

Okay, it's not my children, my hubby, my friends, or my serious overload. What could it be? My parents! Yes, I always knew that liked Gina better.Well, I like Gina better too. I can't blame them for the blatant favoritism. I can't blame them they I never had piano lessons. Never wanted them. I can't blame them that I looked like a hippie cowboy in the 70's. That was my choice. I can't blame them that they never got me braces. My teeth were straight (emphasis on were!). I am a bit short. Yes, I can blame them for that. How dare they!

This is looking desperate. Let's try PMS again. It's Eve's fault.  The curse. The child bearing is a temporary pain, perhaps the Lord meant the whole kabang. The hormones and all. Is this what is meant by woman's suffrage? She had to eat the apple. Couldn't be happy with the peaches and strawberries. Or cocoa beans. That woman gave no thought to what her callous actions would do to my life. Oh, I can't blame Eve. Yet, I just can't seem to put my finger on the problem. Maybe there is no problem. I mean I've had problems, and I know problems. There isn't a biggy in my life right now, that keeps me close to Him, that keeps me dependent, that gets me out of my comfort and in to His.

What is going on? Why do I feel so restless and unfulfilled? Maybe it is me.When did my eternal perspective turn in to an internal perspective? Maybe I'm depending on me again. Maybe I need my plan, my control, my will be done. Then I can get the glory. Then I can trust in me. Then I can think I'm important. Then I can show them. Then I can thank me. Then they can say wow!Yes, thats probably it, again. Again, I turn to a trusted friend when I should have turned to Him. He would have told me more quickly. He would have told me....I'm the one getting the glory here. When you get the glory they look at you. You look at you. If they get the glory you look at them.

In Deuteronomy 8 the living Word tells us, "And he humbled thee, and suffered thee to hunger, and fed thee with manna, which thou knewest not, neither did thy fathers know; that he might make thee know that man doth not live by bread only, but by every word that proceedeth out of the mouth of the LORD doth man live.Thy raiment waxed not old upon thee, neither did thy foot swell, these forty years. Thou shalt also consider in thine heart, that, as a man chasteneth his son, so the LORD  thy God chasteneth thee." Yes, but Lord  my clothes do wear out, and my head swells." Are you telling me I'm taking care of me again?  Maybe I'm like my  sometimes naughty young daughter who covers her eyes with her chubby little palms when I scold her. She can't bear to look at me. Maybe I can't bear to look at God when I've been naughty. Maybe I'd rather look at nothing or everything, rather than sit still before the one who is allowing me to wallow in a sorry desert.

Why does my walk seem to revolve around learning the same lessons over and over? Why do I frustrate myself by trusting in me so often? Why does the Lord tell me, warn me, not to forget Him, even in this same text. Because I do. I'm sorry Lord. I'm sorry for last time. I'm sorry for this time. And I'm sorry there will probably be a next time. Thank you for being so gracious to bring me back. Help my time away from you to be shorter. Help me to return more quickly. I know you will be waiting for me to remember you.

Seeking to remember Him,

Me