Have you ever lost it? Like full-on, psycho, crazed, insane woman “lost it”? Like the kind when you’ve been yelled at just ONE too many times and the world comes crashing down around you as you yell, no, scream at your child/children/husband/anyone who is within earshot (which is a LOT of people if you are actually screaming)
If you haven’t, then you can stop reading now. This post is not for you. Go on with your calm wonderful life and have a great day.

For the rest of you who have dared to keep reading (and live in the real world)…yes, I have. I have lost it. BAD. It was, in fact, just the other day.

I’m sure there was good reason- my four year old is on this whole “if I don’t get exactly the response I want in the allotted amount of time I have pre-determined (usually 3.2 seconds) but have failed to inform you of, I will then whine- in the ever so ‘most annoying sound ever’ voice until you succumb to my desires” kick. This so happens to coincide with the 18 month olds ear infections. In opposite ears. A week apart. Which require differing (and more expensive) medicine. That causes refusal to sleep. Unless on my chest. While I am sitting up. Preferably all night long. Or she will wail like someone is gnawing off her arm. Which is also the week of my 7 year olds JBQ tournament. The tournament she absolutely loves and can’t wait to compete in. However, competing requires practice. 7-year-olds don’t LIKE to practice. Some 7-year-olds just cry almost the entire time they are practicing with their mother who is usually doing four other things at the same time as quizzing said 7-year-old. Oh, did I mention it’s the week of consignment where I wash, dry, tag and hang any and all things my kids are no longer using to make money to buy new things my kids “need” like clothes and shoes. (Why must they wear clothes EVERY day?!?!)
See, obviously, I had good reason (in my mind).

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And…I lost it. In the car. On the way home. I’m pretty sure the words “I will pull this car over” were in there.

I made everyone play the quiet game the rest of the way home. Even the toddler complied (I told you it was bad) Once home, all the kiddos found somewhere to be while I retreated to the kitchen to do the dishes. I stood at the sink moping and crying and just generally feeling bad for myself. I started “praying” (aka. Telling God how I had it so hard and how life isn’t fair and how so-and-so I’m sure doesn’t have these issues.) I questioned my current predicament and told the Lord how he could easily fix all of my “problems” in such an easy way.

Finally, I just ran out of things to say (complaints). So I simply stood sulking as the pan I was scrubbing received the brunt of my anger. And in the stillness, I began to hear the sound of His voice.

I heard him in the song my daughter sang sweetly to her doll. I heard Him in the giggle of my son as he and his brother played quietly together. I heard Him in the quiet snore of my toddler as she napped away in her crib without a care in the world. I heard Him whisper to me in my moment of self-pity and pure selfishness. He reminded me of not just my frustrations, but of the smallness of them. He reminded me that every good and perfect gift is from Him. He reminded me that in the midst of my Blessings, I had simply chosen to see the problems. Instead of choosing to see Him in the weaknesses, I was choosing to let the weakness determine my attitude. He reminded me of those I know who WISH their problems were as petty as mine.

And most days, I need that reminder. My eyes are so quick to see me and my “needs” without acknowledging the source of my life. The fact is, every day is a chance to see less of me. Every situation is a chance for Him to strip away the selfishness and pride and replace it with love and hope. What better way to do that than in motherhood. What better way to lose ourselves in service to others. What better way to focus our hearts on Kingdom Living than when you’re elbow deep in others needs and issues. Jesus said “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will find it. What good will it be for someone to gain the whole world, yet forfeit their soul? Or what can anyone give in exchange for their soul? (‭Matthew‬ ‭16‬:‭24-26‬ NIV)

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I had a friend share with me a new experience in motherhood for her this week. One of the words she used hit me hard. She said over and over that it was a “humbling experience”. The weight of those words left me impacted. When was the last time you were humbled? The last time you were in awe of who He is in contrast to who we are? Sometimes it’s GOOD to be humbled. To be reminded that we are but dust. (‭Psalms‬ ‭103‬:‭14‬ NASB)

There are nights that I lay down to sleep and I have yet to do a single thing for “me” all day. Anyone with small children can sympathize with that statement. Most days are full of “Mommy, I need…” and “But I want…” and sometimes even “please may I…”. The days are long and exhausting and devastatingly beautiful. Because for a while, I am where I was meant to be. I was created to serve, to worship, to bow down. Not to my children, but to my God. What better way to practice that servant hood than in my every day life.

My Pastor has a quote “The debt you owe Christ is payable to fellow man”. In other words, we are indebted to this world. We can never sacrifice enough, love enough, give enough and serve enough to compare to the gift we have received through Jesus Christ. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try! “But whoever loses their life for me will find it.”

In that moment, when I stood in front of my sink up to my elbows in dirty dishes, I was humbled. I was reminded of my role. I was honored to be able to give my life away. And as tears streamed down my cheek, He reminded me that in spite of my short comings, His mercies are new every morning.

I can’t promise I won’t lose it again. I’m pretty sure I’m way to eccentric to never have a blow up. But I do know that my focus has, once again, been reset. I am reminded of not only who I am, but whose I am. And that, my friends, is precious.

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