Running Away

Dear Mom,

I'm running away.

You probably feel shocked and confused at this news {mostly because I haven't lived at home for 18 years}, but you need to know WHY my sleeping bag and knapsack are missing. Hence this note. And while the timing of this note's arrival may be out of the ordinary, the reasons are standard:

I want my own room.
There's no space here! No where that my physical and emotional clutter aren't looming. Sure, my housemates are adorable and my roommate is a stud, but turns out I'm no good at sharing. My selfishness apparently has no bounds... my time, my body, my schedule, my bathroom, my energy, my money {jk I don't have any money}, my space, my sleep, my thoughts, my food, my words, my bed... I'm so weary of sharing and I wasn't even aware that I had been attempting it in my own strength. And sometimes marriage is just weird. We have a really great marriage. We love each other deeply and enjoy each other usually. But some seasons are just awkward and I don't even know why or how to proceed.

The rules are too burdensome.
Stay in bed until the light turns green. Don't feed the dog from the table. You can jump off, but not on, the couch. No screaming! Toothbrushes aren't to be suctioned to the toilet. No questions during nap times or when mom is having a meltdown. Ask before leaving the house (especially if you're nonverbal and stealthy). Don't use your brother's frustration to make yourself feel powerful. A shower only counts if your hair is wet at the end of it. Poop goes in the potty. Do not touch the coffee nut M&M's. Don't pull the dog's tail! Keep your hands to yourself during meals. "Asked and answered" means you're not allowed to keep asking. A mumbled apology is unacceptable. You don't have to enjoy a chore to do it well. Come when I call (do not yell "what" from behind a closed door across the house). Yackety yak don't talk back... on and on it goes and literally none of these can be enforced whilst sitting on the couch!!! There's really only two rules: "Love God, and love others" with a healthy dose of "honor your parents" sprinkled in the mix. But practically guiding four little lives at various stages every day has me waving the white flag...

It's not fair.
There is no cotton candy here. Ferris wheels abide somewhere else. Here i can work hard all day and no one can spot a difference. I can lead my best, but they really are miniature humans with their own choices to be made. I can over think and clearly communicate and still be misunderstood. Here I can 100% desire to understand what our littlest one is trying to communicate and it still is just an angry sounding grunt at varying decibel levels that I cannot translate. Here I'm not allowed to scream at them regardless of how much they are screaming {and how natural it comes out}. I have to ask for forgiveness even though I still feel really really really justified in my sin. Also I have to forgive when being wronged is the closest thing I feel to power... It's just not fair.

No one cares about me.
I recognize that this is a straight up lie, but my emotions continue to disregard that memo. My mind can see that there are five extremely caring people surrounding me day in and day out. But my feelings love to interpret the scenario as they only care that i can meet their needs. For if it wasn't for me, who would load the dishwasher or microwave their supper or wipe the butts or launder their clothes or buy the groceries from the store? It's not so much that no body likes me or that everybody hates me... there's no call for worm eating... it's just that maybe that's how I'm seeing myself and blaming those closest to me for my misperceptions...

But running away is easier than figuring that out...

Yet I find strength... even if it's simply strength to stay. Even if there's only strength for this moment. Even if it's simply the realization that God has made some really awesome tiny humans and my job is to just not screw them up. And caving to my deepest selfish desire to do solely what I want through running away would definitely screw them up... so I stay.

And I look around at all the other brave warriors who are also choosing to stay in their battle. And I cry. And I apologize. And I confess my unforgiveness. And I acknowledge the prick of Holy Spirit hope that whispers "struggling here is winning"...