As time presses on, and life continues to go on around me, and my to do list becomes longer and longer with no tick marks next to any of the items I feel defeated. There is far too much for me to do, and the list of items seems impossible to hand out. I am not used to keeping up the house, I'm much better at being taken care of then having to change lightbulbs, make sure the trash gets out, turning off the lights at night, or just about anything in the area of the dog. Parenting is a challenge. Evelyn desires my attention in a deep way. I want to be there for her, and at the same time I feel like the things that need to be done can not be ignored. I want her to understand that these things I am doing are for her, but that knowledge is understandably lost on a four year old. There are days when I go to feed Isaac his bottle at bed, and looking into his eyes I have a tug at my heart telling me it's been days since I connected with him. And then there is me. I have sadness, and longing, and worries, and emotions I am overwhelmed with. I need grace, and I need it mostly from myself.
There are moments when I feel all is put together, and I just need to step one foot in front of the other and push on. And then that crashes, and I feel like I am lagging ten steps behind with no end in sight. I'm tired, Isaac rarely sleeps more than 3 hours at a time, I usually need to have the kids both in bed before I can make progress for the day ahead. And then there is the fear. Oh, am I scared. Scared about how we will make it financially. Scared about how I will find the patience to be the mother of two on my own. Scared I won't have time to even grieve, or worse. . .heal.
I was in prayer today, opened my eyes, and glanced over at the chair to my left. I felt whole heartily for two seconds that when my eyes reached that chair I would see Jesus sitting there. Today, I want to be the doubting Thomas. I want to see him with my own eyes, feel the scar, and touch the wounds. I want him to hold me. I want him to look me in the eyes and tell me,
Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.
Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.
Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy.
Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.
Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
I want Him to tell me Evelyn will not remember the mistakes I make on this path we take.
I want Him to tell me the house will sell, and He has the perfect one waiting for us.
I want Him to tell me I can take a vacation somewhere warm and He will watch the kids for me.
I want Him to tell me His plan for me includes peace, joy, and rest.
I want Him to tell me His provisions for me are complete, and I needn't worry one more minute.
I want Him to tell me it's okay.
Matt and me had a little ritual when I got overwhelmed like I have been so often in this last month and a half. He knew exactly what to do, and he had it down to an art. He would reach out for me, pull me in, hold me tight, and say, "Steph, it's okay. It's all going to be okay."
"It's okay, it's all going to be okay."
How simple. It would bring tears to my eyes every time, and inevitably his tshirt would have a puddle by the end of each of those hugs. I miss his casual reassurance, and trust in me. He trusted me as a mother, as a wife, as a friend, as a worker, as a Christian. He knew without a doubt I was good enough for what ever lay ahead. He found it so silly how I worried. I fear the loss of that reassurance now. Who will hold me tight and tell me it's going to okay? The words told to myself are drowned out by lies from the enemy. I'm surrounded by those who love me, but they aren't privy to my inner ugliness that only Matt was lucky enough to be subjected to. Amazingly, nine times out of ten that hug and few words was all it took. Matt was like magic to me. A hug, a simple sentence, and I felt new again.
So I guess what I really want is for Matt to tell me. . .
"Steph, it's okay. It's all going to be okay."