happy happy joy joy
Isaac asked me why I was so mad this morning. And because I woke up a martyr today, I said, “Because everything I say is important, and no one seems to hear me.” I didn’t really say that, but isn’t it sad that I just wrote that?
Have you ever had one of those dreams where you’re speaking, yelling even, but no voice is coming out? I don’t think you have to be a college graduate to be able to interpret that one.
The last few days (yes, after my blog about being so happy with my Star Wars napkins) have been a many-small-circles sort of desperate. My voice disappeared, and that, my friends, after pitifully crying in the pile of toys that Jude refused to pick up, I have discovered is my greatest fear.
I have cried for days, and I won’t pretend that it has nothing to do with the girliness of being a girl, BUT now I am sitting at The Little Bread Company that beautifully came back to life, and Sufjan Stevens is playing (which I totally accept as encouragement from God Almighty), and I’ve been reading verses about my JOY and my HOPE, and I’ve been studying about reaping and sowing.
And sometimes we sow in cupcakes (three of them in one day), and we won’t talk about what we’ll reap from that. Sometimes we sow slammed doors (three of them in one minute), and we won’t talk about that either. I’ve sown worry and cares and striving and fear right up into thin air, and the reaping is everything that has to do with waste.
And sometimes we sow in tears, and sometimes we sow in spankings, and sometimes in replacing the sheets on the same bed six days in a row. Sometimes we sow in little mouth movements over the babies who pull our hair and tell us NO! and ignore us. We move our mouths, “save us all” or “have mercy have mercy have mercy”
Yesterday at bedtime I looked forward to today, “Those mercies are new in the morning, and I need some new ones,” and I hurried to sleep.
When the reaping comes, when we wake up in our real skin, and we go to those God parties and bask and bask and bask, won’t it be so funny if I can remember that time I sat in the pile of musical toys and cried, thinking I would never get up?