In my darkest moments, I see myself as a miserable, pathetic wife and mother. I see how selfish I've been with my intimacy. I see how lazy I've been with my time.
In my darkest moments, I hate myself for not making more of an effort to nurse each of my children longer, cook more nutritious meals ( or just to cook, period), or read all the anti-FDA and pro-all natural articles I could get my hands on. I fear that as bright, beautiful, and intelligent as they each are, there is something horrid lurking around the corner for my children after spending their most "fragile" years surrounded by clorox wipes, resolve, processed baby foods, Capri Suns, and nightly baths.
In my darkest moments, I am so mad at myself for letting my anxiety and my OCD overtake my motherhood. I am furious that I have so many lost memories; that some of the most precious days at home with them were overshadowed by the lurking fear of an imaginary "boogey man."
In my darkest moments, it kills me to think about how many times I plopped my kids in front of the T.V. or yelled at them because the enemy's voice was so loud in my head. I'm so frustrated that it took a mental breakdown and a few trips to the hospital in my little miracle's first year of life to get myself to somewhat of a place of peace after the death of his twin.
In my darkest moments, I am so upset that I didn't birth them the way I felt pressured to, I didn't "wear" them as much as I wanted to, feed them the way I should have, and done all the other quasi-trendy things that our society sometimes disguises as essential for life.
In my darkest moments, I am horrified and sickened by the pain I've put my husband through despite the patience he has shown. I feel so selfish and crazy for flippantly manipulating his emotions, even though, most of the time, I didn't even realize what I was doing.
In my darkest moments, I don't give myself grace for the fact that we've lived in 5 different states and 9 different houses in our eleven years of marriage (including homes with troubled teens). I don't think it should matter that I had a miscarriage 8 years ago that threw my hormones and brain into a tailspin I never fully recovered from as I bore 3 children.. thinking every time that I was better because the symptoms had waned for a time. No, I don't consider these things in my darkest moments.
In my darkest moments, I think about all the people I've pushed out, sent away, or left behind, simply because I felt that no one really loved me. I wonder about all the missed opportunities of growth, learning, and gaining wisdom all because I didn't want anyone to know how messed up I really was.
In my darkest moments, it grieves me to think about how the few that are truly close to me and know me are constantly, tirelessly begging me to see the amazing gifts God's given me to be a biblical gospel-breathing mother and the grace He's given me to use them. But, I can't see it, really ever.. But especially not in my darkest moments.
It's in those moments - that are not at all few and far between enough- that I wonder if I'll ever stop grieving my baby boy and if I'll ever stop blaming myself.. if I'll stop thinking that if I had only known about parabens, GMOs, and all the other things mothers are supposed to fear more than the plague, then God wouldn't have had to "open my eyes" by taking my son.
In my darkest moments , I question the very existence of God and if all my choices have simply been the result of how deeply screwed up I am.
Then.. sometimes.. every once in awhile.. the light breaks through..
And I am oddly captured by this one important truth.
There is a Sovereign God who loves me and sent His son to die in place of all my perceived and true screw-ups, mistakes, and sins.
When the light breaks through, I realize that because of the cross, my dark moment confessions are the reason I exist - to boast in my weakness- to truly bring glory to His name and not my own. To remember that I can walk in confidence that His sacrifice and victory covers the entire darkness.
When the light breaks through, I realize that ALL of it - the mistrust of grocery store shelves, breastfeeding vs. bottlefeeding, GMOs, extreme exercise, essential oils, baby-wearing, natural birth vs. epidural - it's all MEANINGLESS! None of it matters. None of it changes the predetermined number of our days and none of it is the gospel.
That's good news for me.. Because in the eyes of this fear-mongering, opinion-sharing, judgemental (on both sides) society, I have failed. Miserably. On every account.
I'm so glad the apostle Paul boasted in his weaknesses. I'm so blessed that the God of the universe chose the weak to shame the strong. I am so blessed that my God has forced me into a position of humility... because He loves me THAT much.
When the light breaks through, I see I have nothing to be proud of, nothing to boast about. I see that while much of the world may look at me and see my circumstance as sad, pitiful, and pathetic, I can praise God that He has destroyed me.. for...
When the light breaks through, He can build me up in His ways and cultivate a confidence in the nurture of my children and the love of my husband I never know was possible. He can strip me of my feelings and emotions and fill me with his will and purpose, so that my focus can be on others and no longer selfish.
I am finally usable.
I have suffered. I am suffering. Many moments are still dark, even as the light breaks through more and more..
Yet, questions still remain..
Does anyone else live here?
Is there anyone else who identifies with this struggle?
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