Ever wonder about the difference between poor people and really poor people?
Just me, huh?
Well, lately I've been trying to wrap my mind around the sometimes subtle, other more obvious, divergences of those with wealth and those lacking.
I began my mental foray through poverty and richness with a closer observation of my habits, my preferences, my actions, and lastly, my thought processes.
See, I know realistically I'm not poor. I'm not homeless, I'm never without food, and I always have a bed to sleep in. I have Facebook, a car, and a washer and dryer. As many might say, in comparison to the majority of the world, I'M RICH!!
And yet, I feel unwealthy.
I have wants that go unmet. I have dreams I see as unrealistic in any near, or otherwise, future.
But it's more than that and I persist in this line of thinking not as an ungrateful American, but as one surverying the intricacies of the haves, the have nots, the sometimes we have but we always make do, and the we have so much we hardly know what to do!
I find myself in the "sometimes we have but we always make do" category.
Here are some identifiers if you are wondering if this is your category as well:
1. You enjoy fancy coffee drinks, but make do with a creamer and home made brew most days of the week.
2. You could really use a new wardrobe, but you'll instead choose to ravage your mom's or sister's or best friend's closet for the upcoming social event.
3. You'd love to have a pet, but realistically know you could hardly afford the shots, the food, the toys, etc. so you pacify yourself with weekly or monthly visits to Petco to pretend adoption is an option.
4. You love to eat out! And who doesn't? But you convince yourself that another homemade meal and time around the dinner table far surpasses the joy and excitement or a bustling, over-priced, stuffy, noisy restaurant.
5. Even fast food is too pricey, so you give yourself the consolation prize of having less salt in your homemade French fries.
6. You can't afford the gym, but you'll be darned if you'll let that stop you. You get your leg lifts in while brushing your teeth, you tone your calves while standing on a curb, and you always park a little further from wherever you are because you actually could use the extra walking.
These are fine distinctions that identify the lower middle class from the upper, but I'm happy I'm here.
I feel resourceful, powerful even.
Excuse me as I go and join my husband as we watch some Netflix.
Are you kidding me? Lower middle class cannot afford a regular television provider! Dream on, but remember, at least we don't have commercials we have to fast forward through!!
Thursday, May 21, 2015
Thursday, April 23, 2015
My Journey through Depression
Pregnancy was emotionally, mentally, and psychologically difficult for me.
Of course, I felt like an idiot when I explained that to my sister-in-law who was on bed rest during her second pregnancy. It's still hard for me to feel legitimate when I examine my situation, since I know it mostly takes place on the inside and leaves scars very few will ever notice.
I found out during my first pregnancy that depression while expecting is called perinatal depression. I had happened to be walking through the mall, feeling more than just bloated, fighting back tears. My husband and I were fighting again and I was mortified to be doing so in public, when we should have been enjoying ourselves. I felt angry, betrayed, and sad. An overwhelming sense of sadness. Why? I'm not sure exactly, except I know there was a hint of dashed expectations in there, too.
We had married after only 5 months of courtship and I was pregnant less than two months after the honeymoon. With everything happening so quickly, I was just as quick to blame this seemingly consistent numbness and pain on the trials we were facing, rather than to label my illness.
I didn't want to admit the problem. I didn't want to say that word, "Depression."
And not just depression, but perinatal depression. A depression because of raging hormones and God knows what else happens in our bodies the moment we conceive.
I often look back on that first pregnancy and my second and I can see glimpses of moments I am not proud of. Questioning friends who contacted my husband with a fierce sense of obligation and protectiveness. It's embarrassing now and honestly it hurt some of my friendships, but I was just doing what I thought I had to at the time. Call it primal, if you will. I know it to be what happens while I'm pregnant, because as soon as the baby is born, I have an overwhelming sense of relief.
Actually, the first time I was flooded with relief. The second time, I did have lingering feelings of isolation and detachment for about 6 weeks, but I recovered and now those blues are a distant, albeit sometimes painful memory.
The reason I'm writing this is because I don't want other soon to be moms to feel alone in their angst. We all experience different symptoms, to varying degrees. Try to carry on the best you are able and forget all the rest. Just remember, even if no one else can relate and you feel ashamed or unsure of who you can talk to, this too shall pass. It's beyond your control and you need comfort- NOT judgement! Good luck and remember the little life inside of you completely appreciates the sacrifices you are going through to get where you are! Good job, and keep going strong! You're doing a great job and I'm proud of you momma!
Of course, I felt like an idiot when I explained that to my sister-in-law who was on bed rest during her second pregnancy. It's still hard for me to feel legitimate when I examine my situation, since I know it mostly takes place on the inside and leaves scars very few will ever notice.
I found out during my first pregnancy that depression while expecting is called perinatal depression. I had happened to be walking through the mall, feeling more than just bloated, fighting back tears. My husband and I were fighting again and I was mortified to be doing so in public, when we should have been enjoying ourselves. I felt angry, betrayed, and sad. An overwhelming sense of sadness. Why? I'm not sure exactly, except I know there was a hint of dashed expectations in there, too.
We had married after only 5 months of courtship and I was pregnant less than two months after the honeymoon. With everything happening so quickly, I was just as quick to blame this seemingly consistent numbness and pain on the trials we were facing, rather than to label my illness.
I didn't want to admit the problem. I didn't want to say that word, "Depression."
And not just depression, but perinatal depression. A depression because of raging hormones and God knows what else happens in our bodies the moment we conceive.
I often look back on that first pregnancy and my second and I can see glimpses of moments I am not proud of. Questioning friends who contacted my husband with a fierce sense of obligation and protectiveness. It's embarrassing now and honestly it hurt some of my friendships, but I was just doing what I thought I had to at the time. Call it primal, if you will. I know it to be what happens while I'm pregnant, because as soon as the baby is born, I have an overwhelming sense of relief.
Actually, the first time I was flooded with relief. The second time, I did have lingering feelings of isolation and detachment for about 6 weeks, but I recovered and now those blues are a distant, albeit sometimes painful memory.
The reason I'm writing this is because I don't want other soon to be moms to feel alone in their angst. We all experience different symptoms, to varying degrees. Try to carry on the best you are able and forget all the rest. Just remember, even if no one else can relate and you feel ashamed or unsure of who you can talk to, this too shall pass. It's beyond your control and you need comfort- NOT judgement! Good luck and remember the little life inside of you completely appreciates the sacrifices you are going through to get where you are! Good job, and keep going strong! You're doing a great job and I'm proud of you momma!
Loving the life you live...
Do you ever think about, daydream perhaps, about an alternative universe where everything you ever did was a direct result of good decisions and resulted directly in positive outcomes?
I'm talking about being fulfilled because you know that you've never made a mistake, and therefore have "arrived" at a very beautiful place in life.
It isn't real, this place (or your place, either). Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but none of us live that fantasized existence of perfection. We dream about it sure, but dreams only take us so far. They are lacking the spontaneity of improvisation when we find our selves up "Crap Lake" (most likely due to our own mistakes-but quite as probably due to unforseeable, unfortunate events beyond our control). Either way, there we find ourselves, and we are grumpy at this point, bewildered at how a simply beautiful, impeccable day, had gone so bleak-so quickly.
But then it happens, we make a change. We decide to laugh in the face of this disastrous circumstance and we succeed. We turn the grumpy mood of our child into a game of hysterics as we go on pretending to bump our heads into the wall over and over for the shear joy of watching their distress disappear. We are good people and parents and we want the very best for our children. We might not always live in the ideal land of sweet talk and lively conversation, but when we do get a glimpse of that Heaven, we dwell there- cherishing every last second!
I find myself here today. In solitude, seeking a distraction from the room I desperately need to organize and the bathroom longing to be scoured. I need escape, I need levity, I want FREEDOM. So, I come here. I seek solace in the words I imagine give others comfort. And perhaps I comfort myself with the knowledge that I am not alone in wanting to come away from my real life, to escape the monotony of sleep deprivation and melt-down wails and cries, and be someone assured and comforted by an idealized existence. Maybe some people really are "living the dream," but it seems more like I'm living to dream at this point. I know this is only a season, kids only stay small for so long, and that on the horizon I am there, looking back wondering where all that time had gone.
Someday, I'll look back and think to myself that I wish I could have back one moment, one day, when the kids were so little and we had nothing to do but sit around and take baths and play imaginary games. Someday. Far, far away.
I'm talking about being fulfilled because you know that you've never made a mistake, and therefore have "arrived" at a very beautiful place in life.
It isn't real, this place (or your place, either). Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but none of us live that fantasized existence of perfection. We dream about it sure, but dreams only take us so far. They are lacking the spontaneity of improvisation when we find our selves up "Crap Lake" (most likely due to our own mistakes-but quite as probably due to unforseeable, unfortunate events beyond our control). Either way, there we find ourselves, and we are grumpy at this point, bewildered at how a simply beautiful, impeccable day, had gone so bleak-so quickly.
But then it happens, we make a change. We decide to laugh in the face of this disastrous circumstance and we succeed. We turn the grumpy mood of our child into a game of hysterics as we go on pretending to bump our heads into the wall over and over for the shear joy of watching their distress disappear. We are good people and parents and we want the very best for our children. We might not always live in the ideal land of sweet talk and lively conversation, but when we do get a glimpse of that Heaven, we dwell there- cherishing every last second!
I find myself here today. In solitude, seeking a distraction from the room I desperately need to organize and the bathroom longing to be scoured. I need escape, I need levity, I want FREEDOM. So, I come here. I seek solace in the words I imagine give others comfort. And perhaps I comfort myself with the knowledge that I am not alone in wanting to come away from my real life, to escape the monotony of sleep deprivation and melt-down wails and cries, and be someone assured and comforted by an idealized existence. Maybe some people really are "living the dream," but it seems more like I'm living to dream at this point. I know this is only a season, kids only stay small for so long, and that on the horizon I am there, looking back wondering where all that time had gone.
Someday, I'll look back and think to myself that I wish I could have back one moment, one day, when the kids were so little and we had nothing to do but sit around and take baths and play imaginary games. Someday. Far, far away.
Tuesday, February 17, 2015
Why Those People are Morons...
I read countless books when I was pregnant with my first son.
Here are a few examples:
What to Expect When Expecting
What to Expect During the First Year
Parenting Your First Child*
How to Raise a Good Kid*
All the Things You HAVE To Do To Be a Good Parent*
(*The names of these books have been changed to represent the only information I remember about them. I'll get into that later.)
Now, into the second month of having my second son, there are some notes I'd like to send to the asterisked books' authors.
"You are idiots."
"Thank you for the undue stress you placed on a pregnant woman (and, I'd wager, countless other emotional wrecking balls) during the most vulnerable state in our lives, particularly those reading during their first pregnancy."
"You have no idea what you are talking about UNLESS a)you never had children so you were guessing or b)you only had one child therefore you think everything you did worked great or c)you are a judge mental therapist with a God complex and would never admit to getting it all wrong!"
Ok, I feel a little better. Well, a little relieved anyway. Not quite better because it pains me (figuratively) to be so snappy.
However, here is what I'd actually say in an effort to not just criticize, but to do so constructively.
"Please stop telling parents to limit their adoration and pleasure in their first born."
I read a book that told me that parents look foolish when praising their child for going pee in the toilet for the first time. Similarly, it sighted our indecency when we dare to play with our children while feeding them ominous vegetables. All of the things that come so naturally as first time parents- hours awake during the night but never enough time to stare at that little face, cuddles among cuddles while just doing the routine diaper and pj swap, bottles or breast offered prematurely "just in case" the little one is hungry. All of these things we do because WE HAVE NO CLUE WHAT ELSE IS GOING ON. And we want to succeed.
Now, introduce baby number two. We KNOW we can succeed. We have successfully birthed, and partially raised a previous child. We are comfortable with swaddling, even if we aren't that good at it, we can already distinguish between types of cries (oh, that just means he's wet, etc). All of these things we do because we must and we know what produced one other healthy child.
But, had I limited myself to only the needs of my first born. Had I listened to those fools and not let my first son take up all the extra room in my heart, I wouldn't remember what it felt like to be so enamored by a child that I might miss those opportunities to do so with my second born.
I am comfortable with routine. I am secure in repetition. So, when my newest child sits in his swing, it is tempting to think, "Yes, good, his needs are met. Check check." And carry-on with my list a mile long. But when I turn to walk away from my blue-eyed baby to change the laundry or to "use this opportunity" to finish a load of dishes, I remember piles of laundry adding up while I sat and sang and nuzzled and cooed and goo goo ga gaed over my first born. I look back at the fool I was for that first child and I struggle to find the moments now when I have the time to just be me with my youngest son and give him the fullest view of how nuts and wild I am over having his angelic presence in my life. I'll look crazy, stupid, and ignorant every day of my life if it means that my son will feel strengthened to listen to his heart, to know he is completely loved, and that people who get to publish books can be so completely and absolutely wrong.
Love,
Jenn
Here are a few examples:
What to Expect When Expecting
What to Expect During the First Year
Parenting Your First Child*
How to Raise a Good Kid*
All the Things You HAVE To Do To Be a Good Parent*
(*The names of these books have been changed to represent the only information I remember about them. I'll get into that later.)
Now, into the second month of having my second son, there are some notes I'd like to send to the asterisked books' authors.
"You are idiots."
"Thank you for the undue stress you placed on a pregnant woman (and, I'd wager, countless other emotional wrecking balls) during the most vulnerable state in our lives, particularly those reading during their first pregnancy."
"You have no idea what you are talking about UNLESS a)you never had children so you were guessing or b)you only had one child therefore you think everything you did worked great or c)you are a judge mental therapist with a God complex and would never admit to getting it all wrong!"
Ok, I feel a little better. Well, a little relieved anyway. Not quite better because it pains me (figuratively) to be so snappy.
However, here is what I'd actually say in an effort to not just criticize, but to do so constructively.
"Please stop telling parents to limit their adoration and pleasure in their first born."
I read a book that told me that parents look foolish when praising their child for going pee in the toilet for the first time. Similarly, it sighted our indecency when we dare to play with our children while feeding them ominous vegetables. All of the things that come so naturally as first time parents- hours awake during the night but never enough time to stare at that little face, cuddles among cuddles while just doing the routine diaper and pj swap, bottles or breast offered prematurely "just in case" the little one is hungry. All of these things we do because WE HAVE NO CLUE WHAT ELSE IS GOING ON. And we want to succeed.
Now, introduce baby number two. We KNOW we can succeed. We have successfully birthed, and partially raised a previous child. We are comfortable with swaddling, even if we aren't that good at it, we can already distinguish between types of cries (oh, that just means he's wet, etc). All of these things we do because we must and we know what produced one other healthy child.
But, had I limited myself to only the needs of my first born. Had I listened to those fools and not let my first son take up all the extra room in my heart, I wouldn't remember what it felt like to be so enamored by a child that I might miss those opportunities to do so with my second born.
I am comfortable with routine. I am secure in repetition. So, when my newest child sits in his swing, it is tempting to think, "Yes, good, his needs are met. Check check." And carry-on with my list a mile long. But when I turn to walk away from my blue-eyed baby to change the laundry or to "use this opportunity" to finish a load of dishes, I remember piles of laundry adding up while I sat and sang and nuzzled and cooed and goo goo ga gaed over my first born. I look back at the fool I was for that first child and I struggle to find the moments now when I have the time to just be me with my youngest son and give him the fullest view of how nuts and wild I am over having his angelic presence in my life. I'll look crazy, stupid, and ignorant every day of my life if it means that my son will feel strengthened to listen to his heart, to know he is completely loved, and that people who get to publish books can be so completely and absolutely wrong.
Love,
Jenn
Monday, February 2, 2015
And then there were four...
It's been an uphill battle, and I'm winded.
Countless times, I've wanted to throw down my sword (and that's not including the times I've cowered behind my shield for protection and cried bitterly like a little girl).
However, I'm not there right now.
In this moment, I'm somewhere in between.
It's not really the eye of the storm because, for now, there is no impeding doom just minutes from my doorstep.
It's more or less like I, and my invisible army, have just defeated our enemy on sacred ground and are in reprieve---until we meet again.
I'm not angry and not sad. I am, as I mentioned, winded.
In this time of catching my breath I have been able to think and here's what I've come up with:
Four is better than three. There is another baby to love and it requires so much more of me to do so.
I am not the only one loving this baby though. In fact, he is getting loved from his father and his brother, too.
I cried rapids a few times over this next one.
I am unable to love my first son the same anymore.
Oh, wait for it, my heart hurt so much over this point I thought I'd never be the same.
But, God intervened graciously on my part and pointed out that the moon and the sun do not revolve around a mother's love. Thankfully, I have a husband who can snuggle and hold our boy while I nurse or change the baby. I saw this, of course. The extra bonding time for Dad and Son, but I still yearned for our time together that was lost.
Until I understood God more clearly. If it were just up to me to make my first son feel forever loved and entirely fulfilled, I would fail and fail miserably. I have a husband who loves me and who I vowed to make number one in my life. I didn't see how easily entangled my heart had become by also loving my first son so much. I could, quite literally, give that little boy everything I have and it would never seem like enough to me. Now, introduce baby number two and I am forced to divide my time even more.
I thought at first I couldn't do it.
I thought at first that I would surely fail.
But, now, I see the bigger picture.
God gave Oliver an older brother to play with, to laugh with, and to love.
They need each other already and it is the relationship they have and the one that will flourish, that will allow me to step aside. Not every day, and certainly not in everything, but little by little, as their needs are more in sync with one another and they can provide the joy that only one little boy can bring to his brother.
Countless times, I've wanted to throw down my sword (and that's not including the times I've cowered behind my shield for protection and cried bitterly like a little girl).
However, I'm not there right now.
In this moment, I'm somewhere in between.
It's not really the eye of the storm because, for now, there is no impeding doom just minutes from my doorstep.
It's more or less like I, and my invisible army, have just defeated our enemy on sacred ground and are in reprieve---until we meet again.
I'm not angry and not sad. I am, as I mentioned, winded.
In this time of catching my breath I have been able to think and here's what I've come up with:
Four is better than three. There is another baby to love and it requires so much more of me to do so.
I am not the only one loving this baby though. In fact, he is getting loved from his father and his brother, too.
I cried rapids a few times over this next one.
I am unable to love my first son the same anymore.
Oh, wait for it, my heart hurt so much over this point I thought I'd never be the same.
But, God intervened graciously on my part and pointed out that the moon and the sun do not revolve around a mother's love. Thankfully, I have a husband who can snuggle and hold our boy while I nurse or change the baby. I saw this, of course. The extra bonding time for Dad and Son, but I still yearned for our time together that was lost.
Until I understood God more clearly. If it were just up to me to make my first son feel forever loved and entirely fulfilled, I would fail and fail miserably. I have a husband who loves me and who I vowed to make number one in my life. I didn't see how easily entangled my heart had become by also loving my first son so much. I could, quite literally, give that little boy everything I have and it would never seem like enough to me. Now, introduce baby number two and I am forced to divide my time even more.
I thought at first I couldn't do it.
I thought at first that I would surely fail.
But, now, I see the bigger picture.
God gave Oliver an older brother to play with, to laugh with, and to love.
They need each other already and it is the relationship they have and the one that will flourish, that will allow me to step aside. Not every day, and certainly not in everything, but little by little, as their needs are more in sync with one another and they can provide the joy that only one little boy can bring to his brother.
Friday, December 19, 2014
Christmas Traditions!
MooI've always been one to love the holidays. If it's Easter, you can bet I'm dying Easter eggs and participating in an Easter egg hunt. On Halloween, I've always dressed up or at the very least attended a ghoulish party. Thanksgiving, which used to be my "favorite" holiday, is an occasion to absolutely see family and cook up a storm in the kitchen. I'm sure you get the idea by now, so you must be thinking, get on with the Christmas traditions already!
That's been the problem this holiday season. I've been living in Texas for the last month and getting into the holiday cheer has been both a tremendous success and simultaneous failure. The bad of it is, I've allowed the loneliness of missing family to creep into my quiet moments and threaten my positive outlook. However, while I miss them indeed, I'm always trying to find the bright side. And on that side, there are many reasons to celebrate!
For starters, this is my first married year living in an apartment with only my husband, my son, and a belly getting ready to explode on January 12th, 2015 with yet another bundle of joy! I can bake when I want, leave dishes until I have time, and pretty much run the household as I see fit. I can also decorate in ways I've been previously unable to do so. And that's precisely what I've been up to.
This has been a Christmas for all new traditions. On a DIY budget I've made a Santa Claus tree topper, snowflakes made from coffee filters, hand painted Christmas cards (which might not make it out), our door is draped in wrapping paper, and I've made one goodie I'd love to make again... brownies with crumbled Christmas candies on top! We still have a week, so there may be more new traditions to come. That's it for now though, so I hope you're enjoying your holiday ad much as I am mine! :)
Wednesday, December 10, 2014
Tis the season....
...to, work on your marriage. Is it now? Apparently it is for me.
All things are actually going very well, but in my prayer time and my spare time, I'm being led to read things, such as, A Wife After God. It is a devotional by Jennifer Smith. Today was Day One.
To be honest, I wasn't very excited about beginning this devotional again. I've done it twice before and there is NOTHING wrong with it...except that it requires a certain amount of submission to God's will and a lot of self-sacrifice to our husbands and time out of our days to do the reading and the journaling and the praying and the thinking. All of these add up to the perfect reason for not starting until today, which of course was not a very good reason at all, but got me where I am. To be clear, I am sitting in a position quite comfortably because I recognize that I have finally done something good for the inside of me and that God is not mad at me for waiting, but pleased I've finally taken the opportunity to make my "load" lighter.
See, we are all capable of gathering up our own strength to get the job done. I know how to love my husband, I know the actions I could take to express that I love him daily and I definitely know the things to say to show this as true. However, I have these little (sometimes monstrous) things called feelings that get in the way of my love being expressed. And when I'm feeling down, or used, or selfish, or like I am the only one in the world who cares (cares for me, cares for the kids, cares for the house, cares for the daily duties of life)- it gets exponentially harder to express love or gratitude and it looks a little something like this.
Instead of saying what is nice, I say something horribly wrong. I say mean things. I say "You're wrong" because in my mind I haven't seen him do anything right.
I go to bed angry, because I'd rather be upset than admit that I was sad, or felt negative emotions (anger somehow escapes that ruling because I control anger-not sadness or loneliness).
I don't do things I normally have no problem doing, and in fact, typically consider my job. These could be silly and random, such as, hanging up his clothes he has tossed onto the chair, or straightening the living room before I go to bed. The point is, what I refuse to do out of indignation hardly affects my husband at all (he has NEVER mentioned me not doing it and ONLY acknowledges when the cleaning I've done looks good). Instead, it is done out of an ugliness burning in my soul that I somehow expect to share with him indiscriminately and subtly----
Which is horrible!
But, it's God honest truth.
So, you can see why I probably need to work on things. Which is why we are here. Me starting this devotional for that's right, count it, the third time around and beginning my Bible reading again daily. I started in Ezekiel today for many reasons. Ezekiel will be my son's middle name. When I had Hezekiah, I was obsessed with reading Isaiah and each Psalm rumored to be written by Hezekiah. I couldn't get enough of learning about the man who would share a name with my son. I have the same feeling now as our son, Oliver Ezekiel Cotham, is just one month away from being born. I want to know more about the story in the Bible and how Ezekiel conducted his life. I want to be able to tell my son all about it one day (or probably every million days before he is old enough to tell me "yeah, Mom, you've told me this a million times").
Anyways, imagine my delight (literally, I was delighted) to find that Ezekiel wasn't just about me wanting to know about my son, but about God wanting to help me AGAIN with my marriage. This verse, in particular, stood out to me:
Ezekiel 2:8 "But you, son of man, listen to what I say to you. Do not rebel like that rebellious people; open your mouth and eat what I give you."
Bam! You know what that is? Confirmation. In one little verse, I heard these words over and over, If everyone jumped off a bridge would you? Would you act like a total snob or forget the words of The Lord, just because everyone else was or had forgotten how to walk in it? Unfortunately, I sometimes do. But this was a reminder today that we are not always surrounded with those we feel are edifying or lifting us up (emotionally, spiritually, mentally) but it is OUR OWN responsibility to dig deep, to call on God and spend however long it take seeking Him, until that sense of value, of calm, and reassurance comes back to us and we can, quite literally, start acting more like His children- instead of just flat out, little kids.
Cheers and may your Season be merry- whatever journey you are currently walking it out with.
~Jenn
All things are actually going very well, but in my prayer time and my spare time, I'm being led to read things, such as, A Wife After God. It is a devotional by Jennifer Smith. Today was Day One.
To be honest, I wasn't very excited about beginning this devotional again. I've done it twice before and there is NOTHING wrong with it...except that it requires a certain amount of submission to God's will and a lot of self-sacrifice to our husbands and time out of our days to do the reading and the journaling and the praying and the thinking. All of these add up to the perfect reason for not starting until today, which of course was not a very good reason at all, but got me where I am. To be clear, I am sitting in a position quite comfortably because I recognize that I have finally done something good for the inside of me and that God is not mad at me for waiting, but pleased I've finally taken the opportunity to make my "load" lighter.
See, we are all capable of gathering up our own strength to get the job done. I know how to love my husband, I know the actions I could take to express that I love him daily and I definitely know the things to say to show this as true. However, I have these little (sometimes monstrous) things called feelings that get in the way of my love being expressed. And when I'm feeling down, or used, or selfish, or like I am the only one in the world who cares (cares for me, cares for the kids, cares for the house, cares for the daily duties of life)- it gets exponentially harder to express love or gratitude and it looks a little something like this.
Instead of saying what is nice, I say something horribly wrong. I say mean things. I say "You're wrong" because in my mind I haven't seen him do anything right.
I go to bed angry, because I'd rather be upset than admit that I was sad, or felt negative emotions (anger somehow escapes that ruling because I control anger-not sadness or loneliness).
I don't do things I normally have no problem doing, and in fact, typically consider my job. These could be silly and random, such as, hanging up his clothes he has tossed onto the chair, or straightening the living room before I go to bed. The point is, what I refuse to do out of indignation hardly affects my husband at all (he has NEVER mentioned me not doing it and ONLY acknowledges when the cleaning I've done looks good). Instead, it is done out of an ugliness burning in my soul that I somehow expect to share with him indiscriminately and subtly----
Which is horrible!
But, it's God honest truth.
So, you can see why I probably need to work on things. Which is why we are here. Me starting this devotional for that's right, count it, the third time around and beginning my Bible reading again daily. I started in Ezekiel today for many reasons. Ezekiel will be my son's middle name. When I had Hezekiah, I was obsessed with reading Isaiah and each Psalm rumored to be written by Hezekiah. I couldn't get enough of learning about the man who would share a name with my son. I have the same feeling now as our son, Oliver Ezekiel Cotham, is just one month away from being born. I want to know more about the story in the Bible and how Ezekiel conducted his life. I want to be able to tell my son all about it one day (or probably every million days before he is old enough to tell me "yeah, Mom, you've told me this a million times").
Anyways, imagine my delight (literally, I was delighted) to find that Ezekiel wasn't just about me wanting to know about my son, but about God wanting to help me AGAIN with my marriage. This verse, in particular, stood out to me:
Ezekiel 2:8 "But you, son of man, listen to what I say to you. Do not rebel like that rebellious people; open your mouth and eat what I give you."
Bam! You know what that is? Confirmation. In one little verse, I heard these words over and over, If everyone jumped off a bridge would you? Would you act like a total snob or forget the words of The Lord, just because everyone else was or had forgotten how to walk in it? Unfortunately, I sometimes do. But this was a reminder today that we are not always surrounded with those we feel are edifying or lifting us up (emotionally, spiritually, mentally) but it is OUR OWN responsibility to dig deep, to call on God and spend however long it take seeking Him, until that sense of value, of calm, and reassurance comes back to us and we can, quite literally, start acting more like His children- instead of just flat out, little kids.
Cheers and may your Season be merry- whatever journey you are currently walking it out with.
~Jenn
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