Broken

I woke up last Thursday with a heart full of optimism.  Billy had been in Washington, DC for work since Monday, and the kids and I were managing pretty well.  Wednesday night was easy, because the kids didn't have any activities.  So, we relaxed at home and enjoyed a movie together. I also got the best night of sleep I'd had in a few days. I was in the home stretch and holding a steady pace.  I sat Fletcher in the dog bed to play so I could actually get myself ready.  He is sitting up on his own pretty well, but just to be safe, the dog bed is soft and cushioned in case he tumbles over.  When Barrett and Audrey woke up, they joined Fletcher in the dog bed and played quietly for a while. All signs seemed to indicate that it would be a good day.

 By the time I went to bed on Thursday night, however, I was so exhausted I was hardly functioning.

So what happened that brought me to my breaking point in less than 12 hours?  I am not sure exactly.  I guess it was just a bunch of little stuff. Frustrating day at work, baby sneezing on me with a mouth full of green beans, tired and fussy preschooler after a long week with no naps, not having gotten more than 4 hours of sleep 3 nights in a row earlier in the week, and Fletcher screaming the entire drive home from Audrey's dance class...the list goes on and on.  There was nothing really terrible that happened, but I could list a myriad little things that just piled up high enough that I broke.  The stress manifested itself when I yelled at Audrey for messing around instead of getting ready for bed.  Then, Billy called me right after I got Audrey and Barrett to bed when I was sitting down to feed Fletcher. The poor guy was excited that he had some time to talk to his wife after a busy day at work, and all I did was complain. 

After weeks like that, it is often hard for me to let go and move on.  I have a hard time forgiving myself for letting all of that silly stuff stress me out so badly, and that just makes it all worse.  So, I am really trying to "give myself grace" as I have come to say.  God gives us grace every day when he forgives our sins.  But I find that I often turn a blind eye to his grace and make myself miserable.  I try to punish myself instead of forgiving myself and accepting his grace with open arms.  Why?  Frankly, I don't know.  Maybe it's my perfectionist nature or my desire to not let my loved ones down or because I care to much what other people think of me.  What I do know for sure is that I need to give myself grace, because when I don't give myself grace, it is much more difficult to give grace to those around me.  And it's in those moments that I break. 

Jesus had to die on the cross because no one else is perfect enough to serve as the ultimate sacrifice.  And because of that, he couldn't be broken.  So he broke death.  I am only human, so I will be broken, and I need Jesus to make me whole.  It is only then that I can give myself enough grace to accept the grace he has given me.