Tuesday afternoon.
A friend of mine has picked up some hours helping me with housework. Her car was already parked out front when I pulled in to the driveway. There was a baby pool in the front yard. Odd. I peer in and see it full of shattered glass. I look a bit more carefully and see a fuzzy purple rug....oh, man, my shower door shattered.
I walked in. "What happened?"
"Your shower door just shattered. I was closing it and it just fell off and shattered into a million little pieces."
That one, last thing that takes life from manageable to overwhelming.
I'm diligently working to stay on top of things. I get up early. I've been pouring my soul into the work at the office, pouring my heart into raising the boys and using every ounce of mid-western work ethic to stay on top of all the responsibilities that clamor for my attention every day.
I sank into bed last night completely defeated. I just can't do it.
Ulrich walked in. "Going for your Lenten run?"
My response was anger. I got mad. I refused. "No, dammit, I'm not going."
He stood there looking at me. I dug in my heels. My heart screamed out at God. I don't have the energy. I can't do it. Why are you adding something to my list?
Eventually I yielded and grudgingly got up and ran out the door. There weren't any amazing insights. No sudden change of heart. Nothing. Just a run around the block in the dark when I was exhausted. This moment always comes. Self-reliance feels good. It is easy to pursue spiritual growth when I have my shit together.
This brokenness stuff always sucks. But God is present and usually after I'm all done throwing my self-righteous tantrum a soft, still whisper calls me to let go and find new life.
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