I just got this email.
“Is your bladder controlling your life?”
And, the answer is no. It’s not. I have had to pee since 9:47 this morning and it is 10:40 pm now. My kidneys are begging for mercy. Obviously, my bladder has minuscule power. It dictates nothing in my life… well, other than some discomfort and my ability to avoid sneezing. Which I am a master of! My ability to not go to the bathroom for hours at a time and not sneezing have more control in my life than my bladder.
The things that do control my life dictate authority to my bladder.
Actually, I did laugh out loud when I saw this email, nearly wet my pants, and thought, “Geez, I should really take the time to go to the bathroom.” But then, the baby started to cry and a kid texted needing a ride, and now it is 10:49 pm and I still haven’t made time to go to the bathroom. Instead, I am writing a blog post about how little authority my bladder has over my life.
No one is really winning in this battle for who or what has control over my life.
There are a number of things in control of my life. Children, writing, groceries, my husband, friends, family, phone calls, text messages, Facebook… ugh, the list goes on and on.
*Intermission…. I gotta go.
And especially women, our priorities are so cattywampus. Everyone and everything comes before our basic needs. And our society encourages us, “take time for yourself…” Which is complete… Well, you know.
But, I am in the throes of a chapter about the devil. I hesitate to use his name or give him credit, or kudos or accolades. But he’s messing with me. And I refuse, in Jesus Christ Name to let him control my life.
At the same time, Praise God! Praise Him that the adversary doesn’t want women to look at the floor beneath them… Sticky, Lego cluttered, stained, worn and “Oh my! What did I just step in?!?” sacred ground.
There’s a precious baby girl in our care for a season. She’s beautiful. She’s sweet and smiley. She coos and giggles. She is darling. She’s also on pre-digested formula. I don’t know exactly what this means. But I equate it with the most wicked smelling poop in the world. It’s like nuclear waste. I have a hazmat suit and oxygen tank for when she needs changing.
We had to all go outside for an hour today after she moved her little bowels so the house could be fumigated. In some ways, her bowel habits are in control of our lives.
But it’s easily cleaned up… There’s Febreze and we have rented an ozone machine.
And we would not change our adoration for her or ask that she be moved to another home because of this. And I imagine this is what dictates true love. Letting the forces of grossness over rule the forces of self.
The same force held Jesus to the cross.
And it is the same force that drives me to keep writing about that cross in the midst of poop, strep throat, flat tires, missing pay checks, canceled insurance, science fairs, and rebellious teens.
And the enemy will do what he does: crawl on his belly, instigating fights, spreading rumors, breeding wasps, cultivating cancer, and adding stink to poop.
But he will not control my life in the way he might plan. For his abilities are limited only to that which I believe God cannot restore.
And I believe God can restore anything. Even the worst smells and the stickiest spills.
And that is what is control of my life.
May your floors be sticky and your calling ordained. Love, Jami
Submit yourselves, then, to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you. James 4:7