I yelled at God this morning.
I feel like I'm the butt of some cosmic joke. Worse, I don't get the punch line. I even felt justified in my yelling. How much can one woman take?
Strip her of her sleep, her body, her privacy. Take away her ability to breathe through her nose. Make her wake up with a dry hacking cough even when the baby manages to sleep 30 minutes in a row. Make her eyes so dry they hurt to open them...and do it right after a plague of pinkeye so she can't be sure that she doesn't have it. And toss in a crick in the back she can only attribute to lunging for the trash full of rotten food that the baby is crawling rapidly towards.
So, you might imagine that when the baby decided he didn't want a nap after dozing off at the breast, she might feel justified in screaming at God, "I suppose you think this is FUNNY! I CAN'T TAKE THIS ANYMORE AND YOU'D BETTER CATCH ON!" And a few more key phrases such as those.
It took me nearly a full minute to repent.
I might make snide comments to my kids, husband and friends (even the cash register lady at the grocery store) about being tired. But I don't scream in the face of God. There's enough Baptist left in my to know you don't do that.
Anyway, I've spent the last hour flagellating my stiff necked self as I remember that neither I nor my children are dying from cancer or any other disease. I have a bed to sleep in even if it often goes unused. And this fussy baby is a blessing that I begged God for on many sleepless nights when I could lay down in the quiet, but my sadness over having no child at all overwhelmed me to the point I thought I might curl up in a ball and die.
I figured I would confess my sins one to another again today.
May you not be the butt of some cosmic joke today. Or maybe, may you be.