Anyone who has gone through a long season with a crying child knows it’s hard to keep your sanity. So here’s my processing of sanity during these many days, weeks, months.
I’ve spent several hours today trying to get one child to have a normal bowel movement, through red-faced tears and screams. And several hours on three pages of math, just because we lost our rhythm with school when life was demanding more than math from me (and certain little girls don’t like math). There were routine shrieks of hurt from my girl who got the short end of the stick with connection with Momma these past two years. It comes out in loud play and the quiet alike and those five minutes my hands are free. “Why are you crying?” “Because I love you, Momma.”
Weeks and weeks of crying and hurting insides from one and a hurting heart from another, like a wheel night and day that won’t stop. I search and reach for something to hold me steady.
So I watch the robins peck the ground from the kitchen window and grasp for sanity. And I look in that snot-covered, teary eyed face and set my face hard to be held down sturdy.
Love keeps me up in the night, always. And I nurse my boy whose body allows him so few comforts. I’m sure he smells like me from so much cuddling. Loving always in the night when there’s no other way means love in the day is a dull tool in my hand. I’m harsh and I’m lost in brain fog and ticking off the task before me. I settle in for sanity in my prayer book and the icon of the Shepherd with his one sheep over his shoulders. I always see that sheep as my son who can’t use his legs yet. But today, Christ reminds me that it’s me being carried, too.
It weighs on me, as I syringe in the water for his belly and pull his heavy wheel chair outside for beauty and air. It weighs on me, as I hear my own critical tone towards my girls. It weighs on me, what I want to give my children of myself and what actually comes out of me with thick frustration and exhaustion that suffocates those good fruits. I’m not all of what I want it to be- but this is mine, and it’s my gift. Life.
Thank You, my God, for beauty; I long for it, I look for it. Thank you for existence.
Chipmunks in the morning, scurrying on the patio that delight every single face. The very green grass and flowers that pushed up and surprised us all. Nighttime snuggles when the day is over and squabbles are put to rest.
Today I sing my loudest, over his painful screams, to bring my being its true sanity:
“Bless the Lord, o my soul! And all that is within me, bless His holy name.”