on missing the joy

It's 4:00 on a Thursday afternoon. My boys are less than happily playing together downstairs at my instruction. I can hear screams of anger echoing up the stairs. It's not quite at intervene decibel level, so I do my best to ignore it and hope that they can sort out their differences, which is unlikely.

My almost-two-year-old daughter is wandering around listlessly, unimpressed with every single one of her toys. She wants to sit on me, doesn't want me to touch her. I set her down firmly on the ground and tell her no more, Mommy's done with this game. Go find her baby - I think she's crying? My ruse works momentarily, and I'm left to my own gloomy thoughts.

I need this day to be over. Is it Friday? Please tell me it's Friday. It's not Friday, is it?

This week has been long. No, these past 12 days have long. My husband has started his 11 hour days with a schedule of 12 days on, two days off. I vaguely remember adjusting to this same way of life this time last year, but right now it just seems impossible. 

I can't help but wonder why this seems so hard, and why I'm not enjoying any of it.

Why does my lack of structure in my day weigh on me like a ton of bricks? Why do I feel so much guilt for taking shortcuts in preparing meals? Why does my flabby shell cause me to completely doubt my beauty? Why can't I consistently pour into my children's education?

I read about women who just can't seem to help running their homes like a well-oiled machines, with laundry that gets put away five minutes after it's out of the dryer, two months' worth of freezer meals safely sealed in labelled Ziploc bags, and tray upon tray of beefy seedlings growing in their windowsills, ready to be planted in their gardens. 

I am amazed at their prowess, and I'm painfully aware that I fall short of that standard. And I'm robbed of my joy.

Even though my laundry doesn't get put away right away (or even the same week), I have been making an effort to dry every piece on our clothesline. I find pinning up clothes and taking them down therapeutic and enjoyable. I am purposely saving money and energy. But, because I think that someone else is doing better than me, all of that good work suddenly turns sour. And I'm robbed of my joy.

Every Monday, I work out a meal plan for the week. Just one week. I then take all three kids shopping, and we have an enjoyable morning of rolling through the aisles, picking out which are the best deals, and finding ways to treat ourselves in some small way. But then I scroll through Pinterest and discover women who source everything they buy from local growers/farmers, and women who plan two months in advance and know how to feed five children on $0.50 a day. I decide that they are better than me at this whole providing for their family business. And I'm am robbed of my joy.

Whenever I dare to look beyond my little world and into the lives of those I don't know, I always find someone who does life better than me, and it always steals away my joy. 

Sadly, this has been the story of my life. As a little six-year-old schoolgirl, I discovered that I was good at things. I was good at math, good at reading, good at music. If I tried really hard, I found that I could be better than everyone else around me. Teachers loved me. I cultivated my own worth in what I was able to accomplish. I was never content to dwell on one level of competency too long. I needed to do better. Be better. Try harder. 

And I never learned how to enjoy where I was at the present.

My beautiful and wise mother and I have had many, many talks over this last year. It has seemed like the hardest year of my life. I am frantically grasping at doing things better than I currently able to do them, and my inability to make that a reality has me depressed, bitter, and lashing out at those I love. 

I have been missing out on the joy of this life God has given me, and I'm robbing my family of theirs in the process.

I need my mind to be re-wired to be content with the present. I need power from God to quell the anger that rises up when things don't turn out the way I envisioned. I need mercy. I need to be forgiven for how I've dragged my family down this path of misery with me. And I need grace to cover over my multitudes of sin.

My goal is to learn to simply dwell in the present, and learn to enjoy it. I must stop reaching for better and start being content with what I have... 

...'tis mercy, all.