No, I’m not making reference to that Western movie staring Clint Eastwood, but rather the happenings and my reactions over the past few days.
As I sit here in my all too familiar place at the hospital beside a sleeping Morphie, I am thinking back over the past three days. For me, they are days I would do-over. You see…things were good, then they got bad, and then I got ugly.
*Dear Reader, this is a difficult post to write as it means allowing you to see a side of me I’m not proud of. I have struggled whether or not to even write this. I would much rather you view me as someone who has it all together and can live out perfectly everything I encourage you to do or lessons I have learned. However, if I hid this from you, I would be lying. So the following is a look at the real me – someone who fails, becomes discouraged, is not ‘battle ready’ and is ever needing and thankful for grace.*
Stephen and I left Ontario Saturday afternoon to begin our journey back to Maine where we were to meet up with some friends for a week at camp. (I should mention, Steve had come down with a bladder infection earlier in the week, but was on antibiotics and feeling better.) As we travelled through New York we laughed and reminisced over our time with family. We had no plan for our trip home so accommodations were not booked. Normally this would not be an issue, but after driving 1 1/2 – 2 hours through and around Albany with extreme fatigue setting in…let’s just say the excitement had long worn off. Hotel after hotel was booked solid and we were turned away to find another. Finally we located a hotel that gave us one of their last rooms. By the time we settled in, it was after midnight and my moodiness had begun to show.
The next day I awoke early as sleeping in is a foreign concept to my brain. I proceeded to get ready for the day trying not to waken my sleeping husband. The hotel had a continental breakfast, but very little seating, so I thought I would go over (the hotel was three separate buildings) and get breakfast after which I would bring it back to the room. (Now I can laugh at this next part, but at the time…) Room key in hand, I proceeded out the door only to discover it was raining pretty good out. Okay, I would drive over and then the food wouldn’t get wet. After filling two trays up with our sustenance for the morning, I made my way back to the van. Wouldn’t you know?! It was raining cats and dogs now!! So, even though I moved quick, the food did get a little wet. The side door was opened so I jumped in there and placed one tray on the powerchair and the other on the floor. I drove slowly so not to upset the juice. When I arrived back at our building, I opened the side door so I could get our with both trays and this would allow for limited wettnes on the food. I’m still not sure what happened, but as I lifted the tray off the powerchair to start into the hotel, both cups of juice flew off the tray. The wheelchair cushion was wet, the tent case was wet, the juice puddle on the floor seemed to grow, and I was getting soaked in the rain! My mood changed drastically! I carried the food into the room, huffed and puffed, cried and grabbed towels to go clean up the mess. It is humourous now when I replay it, but at that time I was mad. I had a pity party and no one else was invited (I know, very selfish of me). Yes, I was overtired too (shouldn’t be an excuse). “Why can’t things go right? I try so hard – I am only one person. Isn’t my life hard enough? Why does he get to sleep while I take care of everything?”
The day continued and spirits lifted, but only to crash again later in the day when we couldn’t find our toll ticket and I bashed my foot in the process of locating it. By this time I was so frustrated that I was shaking. Again, we were late getting to our hotel due to traffic and I missed out on doing something I wanted to do. There were many other things that I could add that took place, but I think you get the picture. Cue Pity Party again!! This was a very, very ugly day! My emotions can be quite volatile at times, especially when triggered by certain stresses (Scottish, Irish, French and Norwegian blood doesn’t help either). Sometimes I can control them, but other times… Satan knows my weaknesses and how to attack. My thoughts were so negative and he kept feeding the lies. Steve reminded me to think on things that were good, kind, true, etc., but I couldn’t. There was war waging – I knew what I had to do, but it seemed easier to give up. I let all the silly little things add up to a great big thing and completely consume my day and thinking. What was wrong with me?
To add to all of this, Monday morning Steve woke up felling quite ill – we knew the infection was not gone. So rather than heading to Living Waters, we raced back home from Augusta, ME to confirm he has a kidney infection. “Pity Party you’re needed on stage!” And the thoughts go again, “Can’t we get through one holiday without illness? Why does everyone else get Steve when he’s well and I get what is left?” How can a person think such things?! I think it was Steve’s words last night before I went home that changed my attitude. He remarked how he was sorry i had to go through this again and how i could have done better for myself. Ummmmm…
My reply was along the lines of this is part of our life, this is the part of the path we have been given to walk down. (This is nothing compared to what others go through.) Also, NO! I could not have done better. As discouraged as I get sometimes, I really wouldn’t trade any of it for something better – what is better and what would I have to write about?! I told him he could have done better than me – someone who didn’t get upset at life taking a different turn or going through a type of depression to view the world as only gloom and doom, flying off the handle at little things. However, his reply was likeminded. So after that sobering conversation and a good-night’s sleep (along with time spent in prayer), I have a clearer mind and calmer spirit.
Ideal situation? No, not particularly. This is where/when we rest – no distractions. This is time spent reevaluating – spending quality time together (when not doped up). A time to heal and reapply the “armour”. This is when I sense grace. Grace that looks beyond what I have done, thought, or acted like and sees a child – a helpless child unable to do anything on her own. Who fails and messes up continually. BUT because of salvation (what Jesus has done for me), my Father is the King and He holds me in His hand – I am kept in in the shadow of His wing. His thoughts do not always make sense now, but I have a hope in the future – a future filled with PERFECTION! Until that time, I know I will mess up again. There will be times that the wild beast of female hormones will rear its ugly head, but there is also forgiveness and each time I will be stronger with my Saviour. When we can recognize our areas of weakness we can work harder on strengthening them (just like weight lifting). Sometimes it is just as simple as counting to 10 before you speak. Sometimes having a punching bag close by doesn’t hurt either.