That is what we call it at my house, crusty. Crusty is when you are mad, sad, indifferent, and don’t want to get out of your pajamas or go to school or get out of the bed. I have been in bed for 26 hours and counting.
I liken it to half a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, crammed between the couch cushions. It is dry and brittle, altogether gross… yes, that is me. I am crusty, and I can’t muster change. The fact is, I have been between the cushions too long. Even if you picked the lint off me and stuck me in a wet paper towel and microwaved me for 9 seconds, I am too far gone.
I needed to remain in this crusty state and I didn’t want to be talked out of it. Usually, a pep talk requires me to pull it together and shower. I prefer this crusty state, for now. So, I picked a friend that would say, “Stay crusty.”
And when she was done with me I ate ice cream and didn’t shower. No, you haven’t stumbled upon a drunken mommy blogger. My laundry is not caught up, but that is the least of my concerns. We don’t need to claim solidarity or join forces to rage against Tide Pods. Although, what the heck is that all about?
When did we get so stupid?
Am I wrong? Probably. My son is a Marine, the government shut down directly impacts him, but every time I watched the news the last week the press was arguing over how much Donald Trump weighs. If a government shutdown means I don’t have to listen to banter about the obesity scale of the president… party on. Truly, I lost interest sometime right after the polls closed.
I realize I am a little late, but I can’t muster enthusiasm for these congress “people” and their plight to come to an agreement. Back in June, was I the only one that noticed that the Republican congress people were shot at playing baseball on a Wednesday? How is that our tax dollar at work? Why were they playing baseball? Is this government or day camp?
This is the part where someone can chime in, “but you are a Christian, you can’t be a Christian and be crusty???”
Yes, I can.
I love Jesus and I am crusty.
Somedays I am less crusty than others. This day, I am rocking the crusty. My flannel pajamas could be boiled to make soup. I love them. They bring out a goodness in me. It is a private goodness; I feel certain onlookers would just gag. But when I am in these jammies, I feel like I am wearing a crispy (not to be confused with crusty) cotton nightgown and I am running through a golden wheat field. They are my spirit animal clothes.
I love my special crusty stretchy pants.
It is a good day to write about being crusty. I am not on the other side; this is more of a camaraderie post than a “if you can dream it you can be it!” post. I tried to read some posts that were sure to reboot this weary believer, but they all made me want to burn my bra and embrace the two-day-old stubble on my unshaven legs. Also, I ate a block of cheese.
In the last seven days I have been yelled at, insulted, overdrawn, at a bond hearing in a police station, stuck on the side of the road, and my house flooded. No, really. And I called the enemy’s bluff and whimpered, “I won’t be silenced.” But I said it with a mouth full of Juju Fruits. I don’t think he heard me.
But I don’t want or need sympathy. I want to say this for myself more than the masses. So while I am crusty, I am also redeemed. Also, I walk in the favor of the Lord. He knows I am crusty. He died for me knowing I would have days I was crusty and He still loves me.
You cannot convince me otherwise. So, in spite of my crustiness or yours, we are still daughters. I confess – I am His girl. He didn’t bust a water pipe in my house and flood my master bedroom and office. He didn’t cause a flat tire and He isn’t mad about the cheese, or the juju fruits.
The crustiness I am experiencing today is different from the crustiness of years past because my flannel pajama pants are not laced with condemnation.
There is no condemnation in Jesus Christ. Yes, I want to be better – eventually, I want to change out of these stretchy pants. Definitely, He has more and better in hope for me. No eye has seen… no ear has heard. But today, this is where I am, crusty.
Today I rest. This day I lament my woes. I talk out loud to him and me and the universe. I don’t care how much the president weighs. And I cannot fathom trying to explain to my children not to eat a Tide pod. For one thing, they are really very expensive. Also, they are laundry detergent.
If you are going to eat non-food items, have some juju fruits or Taco Bell.
These things, things of the world and all its nonsense and crap, don’t surprise Jesus. The surprise is, He is not surprised, or mad…or full of fire and brimstone rage. He is just good, all of the time. So as I schedule this post, I will probably regret it in the morning… among other regrettable choices the last hours have afforded. But I can’t pretend to be a fresh peanut butter and jelly sandwich when I am being crushed and sat on between the cushions of the family room couch.
I am not in trouble. Jesus loves me. I add to my list of things to ask Him. Why does it matter what the president weighs? Why are people eating Tide Pods? Do you wear flannel stretchy pants and eat Apple Jacks straight out of the box?
And while I am certain this is why He created the Sabbath, I feel an overwhelming peace that I haven’t felt in a long time… maybe ever. A peaceful nudging to shower, put on pants with a zipper, and keep on, not because it’s easy, but because He will not leave or forsake me. Not one thing can separate Him from me.
Not even my crusty behaviors.
When I am ready, I will blow my nose, dry my eyes, and carry on to the next disaster or calamity. I will tend to those maladies with poise and gentle words, delicate, sometimes hilarious prose, and scripture laced promises. And that will be just as real as these crusty words.
I am not dressed for war today; my stretchy pants are hardly armor. But as I cry, recover, and ignore caloric values I am somehow preparing for the next battle and I fully believe – I will be well rested and ready.
I am a crusty Christian… this is my battle cry, “Tomorrow, I shower.”
May your floors be sticky and your calling ordained. Love, Jami
Israel, the Lord who created you says, “Do not be afraid—I will save you. I have called you by name—you are mine. Isaiah 43:1
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