Me (in a slightly whining tone): "I am just so tired. Between my various jobs and the housework and the kids and the counselors and the legal stuff . . . I'm beat."
Drill Instructor (loudly and unsympathetically): "Stop your whining, Soldier! Who do you think you are? Do you think you're the only single mother in the country? Suck it up! You've got it easy! Your ex pays the child support, doesn't he? On time? Do you know how many women would be thankful for that? Man up, already! And give me twenty!"
Okay, so I don't really have a drill instructor. (Me in boot camp? Not in this lifetime!) But the conversation was real all the same. I had just discovered a crack on the inside of my living room window (which is a whole other story for another time) that needed to be replaced ASAP. As there is no such thing as replacing any window ASAP, I did the next best thing: I patched.
First, on my sister's suggestion, I lined the inside with cardboard and held it in place with duct tape. Then, because I am neurotic about my kids' safety, I grabbed some of the shrink insulation my ex is so fond of and began my first foray into winter-proofing my windows.
I don't know if you've ever undertaken such a task with two young children underfoot. If you haven't, DON'T. It is guaranteed to devolve into chaos. I began with the cautionary warnings: Please don't touch the plastic or the tape.
I might have saved my breath. As I was trying to cut the cardboard to size, I heard rustling. I turned to see Chinchita skating across the floor on a giant piece of plastic. Probably should have been a funny moment. Was not funny in the moment. I already had dollar signs flying around my head as I contemplated the window. I only saw more as I imagined the tears being made in the plastic. I reprimanded her and confiscated the plastic.
I finished with the cardboard and began applying the double-sided tape to the frame. I heard cutting sounds. I turned to see Ranita attempting to cut the cardboard with my scissors. (Have I mentioned I'm a little safety conscious?) I took away the scissors, warned him about the dangers of sharp objects, and returned to the window.
I got the plastic up more or less smoothly and turn on my hairdryer. I have a slightly perfectionistic tendency, so I carefully heated, starting in one corner and delighting in the ever-tauter plastic until I could not observe the faintest ripple. (I would like to say the pleasure in a job well-done superseded my irritation at having to do the job in the first place, but that would be a blatant falsehood. I was pretty miffed.)
Job done, I turned to the kids on the couch and gasped. Chinchita had unrolled the remaining length of double-sided tape and expertly created a knotted ball of epic proportions. Torn pieces of cardboard littered the floor. I banished both children to their room.
It was at this point I engaged in the internal dialogue above.
People close to me have described my drill instructor's words as "harsh." I have never really viewed them that way. Honest? Motivational? Spot on? Painful? Yes. Harsh? No. Haven't you heard that sometimes the truth hurts?
Truth is a funny thing, though. It is not always one-sided. On the one hand, my drill instructor is completely correct. Compared to many in the world, my situation is NOTHING. I'm not imprisoned or beaten for my faith. I'm not homeless. I'm not out of work. I'm not without family or church or friends. I've got it good.
There is another voice in my head, however. His is harder to hear. He doesn't yell. He whispers. He doesn't blame or condemn. He comforts. He woos. He says, "Come to me, all ye who are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Rest in the Lord. Wait patiently for Him. Be still, and know that I am God."
Not only are His words truth; He is truth.
So I wrestle with the dichotomy of work and rest. (Maybe another version of faith and works?!) I have to do. There are children to love, bills to pay, property to maintain. It is a heavy burden, yes; but it is mine. And a part of me admits to relishing the challenge . . . on the right day!
But there is also the need for rest. Emotional rest. Physical rest. Spiritual rest.
How do you get rest without forsaking responsibility?
Today I thought about some ways to incorporate rest into our daily life. I say "our" because I suspect my children are in as much need of soul-rest as I am. And let's face it . . . we spend a great deal of time together! Here are some of my ideas . . . I'd love for you to comment below with things that have worked for you:
- Reading together
- Watching a movie together
- Playing in the leaves in the backyard
- Coloring together
- Playing trumpet while the kids "accompany" on "percussion"
- Mini yoga sessions
- Blowing bubbles
- Playing Pollyanna's "glad game" (Don't think this clip reflects my views of Sundays . . . the kids and I love our church!)
- Singing silly songs . . . or praise songs . . . or just plain singing!
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