The things that are said in my home should probably stay within the confines of these walls. Alas, I love to share. The myriad of misunderstood, misspoken, and misinterpreted is immense.
To-later means tomorrow.
Charwglie means Charlie.
Lasterday is yesterday.
Street-creds is out, so are phone books, Facebook, and The Office.
If you read last week’s blog post Results not typical, you read of my frustration trying to figure out what Sam meant when he said he wanted to watch, “Nobodys gots no hands or feets.” And no, it wasn’t Veggie tales… Believe me, I tried that one.
Our youngest son says everything backwards. When he needs help he says, “I help you.” When he wants to be picked up he says, “down,” and when he wants down he says, “up.” When putting on his shoes he says “shoes off,” and when taking them off he says, “shoes on!”
And when a teen gets in at one o’clock in the morning, they could have sworn that’s what I agreed to. And, no, they didn’t hear me say to clean off the table, or load the dishwasher. Suspicious, but still, it is a word against a word, and hardly the hill on which I wish to die.
And the words I hear myself speak are hardly sane.
Stop licking your brother.
We don’t eat chapstick.
We don’t eat diaper rash cream.
Please put your pants back on.
Where did that cat come from?
Is that poop?
CRAP! CPS is here!
You’ll eat off the green Thomas the Train plate, or you won’t eat!
Who started the couch on fire?
Is that two cans of formula in the ball pit????
And I type these things and chuckle, but honestly, when I say them, I mean them – and they aren’t a joke, which is alarming.
But the more I write and the more that people read, the more I hope that a valid word is formed here and there. Granted, if I can stop the stomach bug from spreading, I will have lived a full life.
Most recently, I am obsessed with words. I love to read what others are writing and encourage others to write more. But I also find myself discerning words, especially in what I pray.
When I speak to God, I don’t want to sound like a whiny four-year-old. I don’t want to speak in some weird code, especially since I can’t fool Him. I want to pray with bold faith, and I want to believe. I want to really believe He hears me – I want to let go of my jaded heart and believe He not only hears me, He is eager to help me.
And I grapple with an Americanized Jesus, the prayers I pray that seem less than holy: “Please let the line at Starbucks be short…” or “Oh Jesus, I hope they have my size in that!” And I struggle to understand how He might answer the frivolous when there are starving children, oppressed and sexually abused women, the sick, the suffering, the dying. Why? Why hear my silly words?
Last week I was feeling the burdens of first world living: money stresses, work, writing, challenging kid stuff, no sleep, lost iPhones, teacher conferences, a broken stove top. And I hesitate to pray for the trivial, when I think of the unbearable. So I just didn’t.
I was discouraged and downcast, and that is all I could muster.
“Lord, I am discouraged and downcast. Help me rejoice in HOPE, be patient in TRIBULATION, and constant in PRAYER.”
And if I said it once I said it 100 times. Which unfortunately is exactly like a four-year-old. But, it was a prayer of surrender, and one I hoped He would understand and answer.
And He did.
And in my frumpy sweat pants, with a mangled top knot in my hair, spit up on my shirt, yesterday’s make-up half clinging to my tired face, He answered me.
In four consecutive emails, He lifted me out of the muck and mire. He patted me on the back; He asked me to carry on, to keep up with what He has asked of me. He prompted me to fix my hair and brush my teeth. He urged me to keep the faith, and not be a butthead. He reminded me He was in charge, not only of first world living, but He has His hand on all.
And above all, He opened my eyes to two critical things:
1. There is no better way to pray in accordance with God’s will than to pray HIS WORD.
2. AND “Nobodys gots no hands or feets.” is… the show “Larva” on Netflix.
He is faithful and wise.
May your floors be sticky and your calling ordained. Love, Jami
REJOICE in HOPE, be patient in TRIBULATION, constant in PRAYER. Romans 12:12
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