Days when everything feels fragile. When I feel bruised and vulnerable.
Days when things between Husband and I feel tenuous.
And the big and small events swirling around us overwhelm.
Days when the yelling Mama makes an appearance far more frequently then the calm instructive Mama.
Days when the overwhelming longing to call my own Mama to talk over all of it, and my crippling inability to do so is just the icing on the cake.
I hate days like this.
My hope in days like this is that God is working.
That he is sifting through my hubris.
That the bruised feeling might be indicative of healing happening in the depths of me.
That he would mother me in Mom’s stead.
As I continue to grapple with the mess that is me.
I find that the new strength and steadiness that I have been finding equips me to deal with the bruised spots.
And I find comfort in the heat of the woodstove on these first cold days of autumn
In the blue-eyed stare of our new kitten
And in the knowing that days like this don’t last.