So I'm really bad at this, but my husband and I had a date last night with Jack Bauer so I'm a day late. This is actually my incredibly exciting day from yesterday. Who knows if I will ever catch up. That would require 2 posts in one day.
I wake up knowing it is going to be another lazy, sleepy day-the weather is still the same as yesterday so my head is fighting again. I don't even make it out of bed until it's time to take my oldest to school. My 2 youngest say good bye to me in bed. This always makes me feel like a loser mom.
I take my oldest to school and stop by my usual chick-fil-a. Once home, breakfast is in my study watching another show, a rerun this time of an episode I haven't seen-we haven't had TV for most of our marriage.
I feel the vertigo today with the ringing in my ears. It makes sense since my stress has been higher as we have been talking about our options and how we feel that there aren't many. I take my dizzy pills and manage to fold laundry. The up and down motion makes my vertigo stick around.
I read Flower Patch Farm Girl, and I don't leave disappointed. I can read whatever she writes. She has a way with words that challenges and moves. She could write about toe fungus and capture my attention. Her words spin around in my head as I think about brokenness. I read her words and think she is really doing "Jesus work". And well, I'm not. Not even in the smallest sense. I'm a seminary drop out with a Bible that hasn't seen the light of day in a long time. I'm a left over with nothing to offer to anyone that would be life changing, or even day changing. I tell myself I should be doing something-but what?
I find myself in the shower once again (2 days in a row) with the water dripping down. All I can think about is brokenness and what it looks like. I think about the typical definition of brokenness, and I wonder if we, the Church, have shortened the definition, cramming it into a tidy little box. I think about the things that probably come to most peoples' minds-divorce; a single mom desperately trying to make ends meet; a family that doesn't know where their next meal might come from; a person without a home; parents with bruised knees from hours of prayer for their Jesus denying child; sick children here and on the other side of the world-these are the broken.
You can see brokenness, the hopeless and exhaustion so evident in their eyes.
But my heart tells me otherwise. When did the broken become so defined? Has the Church decided somewhere along the way that brokenness only looks certain ways? Has the Church decided that some are worthy of help out of their brokenness while others aren't?
I feel completely broken right now. My family feels broken. I think that I look like a rag doll patched together with no space left for another patch. I'm unraveling at the seams, but you can't fully see it on the outside. I don't worry about health care, our meals, or if I can buy my kids' clothes. I have an amazing husband. I look around at a house that many would consider a wonderful home.
I feel that the Church maybe doesn't see us as broken, or at least broken enough for help. I think that maybe we forget about our own that are sitting in the seats inside our own church walls every Sunday that are broken, hopeless and badly in need of sewing up at the seams. Yes, we believe we are all broken. That is a Christianeze phrase that we throw around the Church to describe ourselves.
But do we really understand it? Do we really believe that the person sitting next to us is worthy of bandaging up, of stopping the bleeding as they sit there bleeding out? Maybe it is too close to home. Maybe it doesn't look enough like ministry, or this missional living that we are striving to do.
Maybe in our focus on missional living, of going out into our communities and across the globe, we have forgotten our own.
Or maybe, just maybe, it requires too much of ourselves.
So the broken sit right next to us, overlooked, bleeding out, until they no longer show up.
My mind snaps back to the here and now. I look down and realize how fat I've gotten. I'm not happy about this, but I don't do anything to change it. I tell myself I have at least 10 pounds to lose.
I get out mainly just to not have to look at my naked body that looks fat. I find myself on my bed with another migraine and exhaustion taking over. I drift off to sleep for about 30 minutes.
The kids show up one by one, grab snacks like they haven't eaten in days, start homework for a short while, and I find out that someone that was supposed to be a friend was mean to my middle child at school. She was left crying in the bathroom stall, and I remember that I hate middle school. My heart breaks for my kids and how much they are struggling. I buy new music on iTunes, look at the time and rush out the door with my 2 girls for counseling. They each go right now. Actually, we have all been at one point during this move.
In a moment of what I wonder is poor judgment, I tell my son he can stay home. His behavior lately hasn't been stellar, and I imagine coming home to a destroyed home. I tell myself that I am so tired of only doing things just to survive, things just to make it through the day. I exhale on the way to counseling; a place I'm thankful for, but also a place I wish we didn't need so much right now just to survive.
My husband and I sit on the steps outside where it is warmer waiting for the girls. I push play on one of the new songs I just bought. About 30 seconds into the song, I realize my heart isn't ready for the words I hear. Tears well up so I quickly turn off the music. We talk until the girls are done and head home.
My head still hurts so I take some medicine, lie down for a while, and then we leave to go eat out. We have a nice time just trying to do normal things, but you can tell there is something missing. We all look tired to me, aged beyond our years. We see people talking, people with friends, and another seam rips. My kids see friends together, giggling over what girls giggle about, and they stare wishing it was them.
We run by Target to get a few things, head home, the kids get ready for bed, excited that it is Friday, and Shawn and I sit down to watch Jack Bauer in action again. It's our date, as well as our escape.
It's 12:30 when we head to bed. I know I have a post I haven't finished, but sleep wins out. We crawl in bed and sleep finds us soon.