I just had a moment that almost brought me to my knees. I've been in a funk lately. I'm too tired, too lethargic, too stressed, too unmotivated, procrastinating everything and generally feeling crappy. I've been feeling like there's just too much to do, my house is always a mess, I'm always behind, etc. etc.
I was walking through my room, making the pile of unfolded laundry a slightly more organized pile, and looking around at the army men, pencils and markers, books, and hand-sewn pillows that are currently cluttering my floor. My first thought was to be annoyed - why do they have to leave their crap all over MY floor too? It's bad enough that their rooms are messy, the upstairs is messy, the kitchen is messy. Why here too? This is my room, damnit.
And then it hit me and it brought me to tears. I have kids making a mess.
I have kids.
I didn't always know I'd have kids because for several years, we couldn't seem to manage it. Have I forgotten those days, when I prayed for them? Has it been so long that I don't remember? How can I forget those morning drives to work, my heart full of prayers for a baby? How can I lose the sense of despair I felt, not knowing if I would ever be a mother? How can I forget what it was like to want something so desperately that I would have done anything, paid anything, to have it?
I have it now. And damn, but I've been taking it for granted lately.
My life is not so hard that I need to walk around in a cloud of meloncholy. I mean, really. Yes, my life is sometimes chaotic, and almost always messy. But really, would I give up the mess? Would I trade in those precious, precious little people for more order, for less responsibility, for more time? Oh hell no.
God hit me over the head with that one, and what's funny is, I've been asking Him to do it. I've been asking Him to remind me, to help me find my joy.
I found it in some little green army men.