This morning was not my all-time best morning. It was a Thursday morning. And Thursday mornings are typically not my all-time best.
I have been part of Bible Study Fellowship (BSF) for a few years and in the last few months I have been serving as a children’s leader (in training). One of the BEST experiences in serving-ministry I have ever had. I absolutely love it, and feel humbled to be part of it. The one and only aspect of it that I don’t enjoy, is the process of actually getting there on Thursday mornings. Seriously, I think every single Thursday morning my kids are more argumentative, I’m less tolerant, I never allow enough time to get all of us ready, the house looks like a bomb went off and everyone really should just go back to bed. And this is just a usual Thursday morning around here.
Maybe you read my previous blog on what mornings look like for me now that George has been diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes. It is time consuming, frequently stressful and emotional, and the hardest part for me: Unpredictable. No telling what Georgie’s blood sugar numbers will be, or how he will feel upon waking, or what his little emotions are going through. So I now add this element to my already ridiculous Thursday mornings.
This morning, all of the above was in play…except I need to add that my daughter found a bag of dried lavender (my fav scent on earth), and spilled it. All.Over.The.Entire.House. One of the first times I’ve been thankful that we have such a small house. We were very late to BSF, but at least we smelled good.
So I finally loaded the kids in the car. I sat behind the wheel and looked in the mirror at myself with crazy hair, food stained clothes, and tear stained face and I thought to myself, “I’m going to crack. I’m going to completely lose it.” I have been feeling stretched to my limit on so many levels…absolutely emotionally messed up, physically exhausted and seeing the effects of stress and trauma, spiritually confused and wrestling with God (more blogs on that to come, I’m sure). It’s been almost a month of being in Type 1 Diabetes survival mode and I’m honestly considering pulling back on everything in our lives. Every single component of our lives seems overwhelming and insurmountable. And honestly, at times I’d like to give in to the depression, discouragement and hopelessness. Because once you give in, the fighting ceases.
Then I hear Georgie’s sweet voice behind me say, “Mommy, can we bring some food to that poor man that we see on our way to Bible Study?”
I know who he is referring to. Every week we pass an elderly gentleman who stands at a certain intersection and begs for help. We have passed by him for 3 years. We have talked about bringing him breakfast. We have talked about praying for him. We have talked about how helping those in need brings great pleasure to Jesus. But we have not done it.
And now my little boy is noticing him again. Maybe Georgie feels this man’s pain now that he also experiences pain with Type 1 Diabetes. Maybe Georgie understands this man’s helplessness now that he has felt that as well. My son is tuned in to the lonely, hurting, unnoticed ones. And it is beautiful.
What really struck me is that when we pulled into Starbucks to get a bagel and cream cheese for the elderly man, George didn’t complain that he couldn’t have his usual cake pop or cheese square. He didn’t bat an eye when I said I couldn’t get a treat for him since I wouldn’t be able to dose him for it before Bible Study. My five year old son was focused on feeding the poor regardless of what it cost him personally.
I gave George the bag of food, and when we passed by the elderly gentleman, George rolled down his window and handed it to him. The man gave thanks, and my darling boy said, “God bless you.”
This particular Thursday morning was hard, yes. But it was also holy.
And I took a deep breath. And I decided to keep fighting. On all fronts.