We do not always get along–actually, when we do, it is a rare moment of peace that I long to cage forever. These past three months have been full of tears: I have never experience such swollen eyes, sleepless nights, fears of future, frontal acceptance of past–and I have never felt the walls of my heart come crashing down as I have these past three months.
I have never experienced more failure and disappointment in myself, as I let myself down everyday in my own daily disciplines, in learning to discipline three boys, such different ages, and as I feel my ugly humanness erode in those weak moments.
And I have never felt so much death to myself, as I literally find myself telling a three year old "you are not the boss of me.“ Yet, the luxury of a bubble bath, a coffee date, a bible study, a good workout..has vanished before my eyes. My life is not my own. And it is when I fight this hard reality that I experience the true frustration.
I do not share these things to look like a hero or saint. No–I am far from either. I just said yes because I knew there was no other road to walk on.
So here we are: me and my boys. Our laughter is genuine (Floyd told Clark to "Shu-up, Clarn" in one of the pictures), and we survived and recovered (semi-quickly) a tantrum in the woods (I hurt Clark’s feelings because I explained the difference between a fake and real smile…trust me, if you saw it, you would understand…)–
and we are family. Inseparable by a God who holds all things together, who makes all things new, and creates beautiful things in his time…
and, although I have lost my life, I wouldn’t trade anything to get it back,
in this death,
I think I am beginning to find my life
in the shape of
who will forever hold my heart.