I woke up the other morning just like almost every other morning of my life – late. I had to be out the door in an hour with all 4 kids, dressed, fed, and ready to go.
After spending way too much time making breakfast, I had about 15 minutes left to shoo the kids around the house into shoes and out the door. After 30 minutes everyone was buckled in the car while I sprinted around the house packing snacks, diapers, water, teething gel, wallet, and trying not to forget my phone.
I wish I could blame my lateness on kids…4 of them…but that just wouldn’t be fair.
I’ve been late since I can remember. I scarfed down breakfast on the way to 5th grade, walked in late to 80% of my high school career, and barely skated into college classes on time.
If I were any Disney character, I’d be this tardy rabbit!
And every time I’m late I feel great anxiety. You’d think after a lifetime of tardiness I’d be numb to feeling guilty and worried about being late. Continue reading
That’s what I kept thinking the other night. As I reflected on my day of homeschooling 3 tornadoes I cringed at my serious, harsh, controlling tone that ruled the day. I snapped at my oldest, scowled at my boy, and talked impatiently with my 3-year-old.
I used to be fun.
When I was a camp counselor, I was the most carefree mentor around. I was goofy, playful, warm, and I smiled more. I was a relaxed Sunday school teacher and I could work the room at any social gathering.
I thought for sure I would have this whole mom thing locked up. I thought I would have more fun with my kids. Why wouldn’t I when I had so much fun with everyone else?! What I didn’t account for was the effect of worry on my ability to relax.
Worry steals my fun. I stiffen up when I feel the need to control things. I get serious and tighten up mentally and emotionally. I have expectations of the mom and person I want to be. When I don’t live up to them, I worry that I’m letting everyone down, especially my kids. And that’s when I’m no fun. Continue reading
I’ve been sick for about a month now. I’ve had a myriad of symptoms assail my body, the latest of which is loss of smell. This means a loss of taste. This means awfulness! I love to cook and eat, and it’s becoming depressing not being able to smell or taste. I’m praying my bronchitis and sinusitis clears soon; but I realize I’m been battling more than just poor health.
She’s imitating me!
I’m fighting this looming feeling that something greater is wrong with me. That old worry feeling of “The-bronchitis-isn’t-going-away-so-it-must-be-cancer” has resurfaced. I’ve had it before with horrible headaches…”Something worse must be wrong with me!”
I’ve been writing this blog for about 2 years now, and I’m embarrassed to admit that I still have these kinds of worries. I’m a little ashamed that I haven’t kicked the old habit yet. Continue reading
Discipline is not a strength of mine. I have started at least 9 journals in my lifetime, and maybe gotten to page 3 in each. I build grandiose plans in my head for a house cleaning schedule, and then barely do the dishes each day.
And my whole life I’ve struggled to consistently read the Bible. I even got a cool app with a Bible reading plan! Let’s just say I’ve had to catch up my reading plan at least 10 times now.
Despite my lack of self-discipline, I have made it to Leviticus in my reading plan. Hooray!
Some describe Leviticus as the obstacle for all earnest efforts to read through the Bible.
I’ve known a couple of folks who read Genesis and Exodus without an issue, but stop cold in Leviticus because:
It has too many rules.
It has nothing to do with my life today.
I have to admit that I had these thoughts each time I opened my Bible app to listen to another chapter. But as I traveled through Leviticus, I kept asking the question, “What can I learn about God?”
And you know what? I actually realized a couple of things: Continue reading