a list of good things for the "throw in the towel" days

It's hard.

Being a mom is hard.
{Homeschooling is hard. Life is hard.}
Being a mom is hard.

Finding joy in those "throw in the towel" days is simply hard.

I know. I've had those days. And you, you all know it to. You've emailed me, tweeted, commented and more asking me how I get through the day. Especially those stinkin' hard - kids are crying - dishes aren't done - there's milk on the floor - and you haven't showered - there are bills to pay - and you feel sick -- days.

You are not alone.

You are not alone.

You are not alone in having those hard days.

We all have them. I have them. And they take work. They are the days when I count the hours till bedtime and pack up the kids in the truck and go through the drive-thru at Caribou. But, no matter what, that day, the throw in the towel day doesn't need to stay that way.

Do not throw in the towel yet. Instead, and this is my true heart felt advice, advice that I would tell you over a cup of coffee, it is to stop. Break the pattern of the day and do something different. Out of the ordinary. New.

Like this:

Take a walk.
Eat ice cream.
Watch a movie.
Read a book.
Make pinwheels.
Surf the net.
Organize the junk drawer.
Run outside with your kids.
Draw.
Pray.
Write a letter.
Clean a drawer.
Sit in a chair.
Be quiet.
Do a craft.
Call a friend.
Play the piano.
Go to the store.
Watch tv.
Watch Pride and Prejudice.
Run to the mailbox and back.
Laugh.
Do some origami.
Play the wii.
Wash the dishes.
Brew {and drink} some coffee.
Blow some bubbles.
Cuddle with the toddler.
Fold towels.
Drive to the park.
Swing.
Do mapping work.
Go on pinterest.
Plant some flowers.
Count your blessings.
Plan your garden.
Fill your birdfeeder.
Sweep the walk.
Have a good cry.
Sort the toys.
Look at baby books.
Take a nap.
Knit.
Get groceries.
Build with legos.
Plan your menu.
Do laundry.
Don't do laundry.
Tweet a friend.
Go to the movies.
Paint your nails.
Paint your walls.
Paint on paper.
Watch the clouds.
Play a game with your kids.
Color in a coloring book.
Read the Bible.
Find some chocolate.
Find when the sun sets.
Call a friend {again}.
Breathe. Breathe deep.

The day is a day. One day.

The day can be reclaimed. You can find joy.

Pick up your towel, dry your hands, and start again.

Choose one thing. Only one. And do that one thing well.

What would you chose? Or what is your solution for those "throw in the towel" days?
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those raw places

{i wrote this late wednesday afternoon}

The tears just keep falling.

I should be happy.
At least I think I should be.

My surgery was a success.
My surgeon is happy.
And my chronic pain is significantly less.

And yet, here I am
sitting in my room.
Weeping.

Part of it feels selfish.
I'm crying because my arm might look different?
I feel like I should suck it up, pull it together, and be grateful.
Yet, I mourn that in order to get rid of pain
I had to change my arm.

Todd tells me it's a fallen world.
And that instead of looking at the four scars
that will dot my shoulder with contempt
that I should look at them as something to hold my head high for.

He tells me that it doesn't matter if my bicep looks different.
That instead of being ashamed of it
that I look at it as sign of victory.

I keep praying that.

But, friends, it's hard.

I mourn being able to do simple things.
Like lifting my arm.
Or carrying my babies.
Buttoning my jacket.
Typing with two hands.
Washing dishes.

Oh, I'll relearn all of this.
But, it will take time.

So I sit up here.
In this mixed up place of relief and sadness and thankfulness and pain.
Missing what I once had
But thankful for new things.

These earthly bodies, these temporary homes,
I'm so glad that one day I'll be made new.

But until then, until that day,
I will look at the string of scars and silly looking muscle
with joy and gratitude and thanksgiving.

And I will not look back.
I simply cannot.

I can only look forward
grateful for new things.

I will press on.

{just wanted to add that today, saturday, i can button my coat. baby steps, yes, but still encouraging and motivating steps.}

keep up your courage.

I'm going to Relevant11.

This all came together so fast -- it was through the generosity of others and the prayers of many. But, I'm going. And honestly, truth is -- I'm a bit scared. Last night I went to bed {after this all got put together} and sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. I'm not even sure where the tears originated, but they kept on coming.

This is out of my comfort zone. I know I've written about it before, but I keep hearing the words keep up your courage from the book The Courage of Sarah Noble run through my head. If she can do it, that ten year old girl, then certainly I can push myself and be bold.

Truth is -- I know I'm to go. I know that the Lord needs to stretch some things in me, and that there are some things that I need to let go of. I've been holding onto these hurts and sadness for so long -- celiac disease, financial issues, health -- and all they've done is fester. I knew it last night when I went to bed. It was fear, but it was also acknowledgement of the need to surrender to God. To not cling so tightly to my earthly agenda and to begin to once again live in stronger faith and trust. To step out of the boat, not look back, and live courageously.

Keep up your courage.

I keep telling myself that -- as I think about switching planes {twice} to get there. Or arriving late {it was the only flight that I could afford and the only times that would work for our family.} Or walking into that room feeling vulnerable. It's of letting go of my selfish part  -- the part of me that would love to get some new nice things to wear, or have extra cash to spend, or come all polished and put-together. But, I can't. And I know I'm to just come. As I am. Just me.

So today, I have a very grateful and thankful heart mixed with a very nervous  and overwhelmed and blessed and excited and hopeful heart.

Keep up your courage.

2:54 am

{I wrote this last night, and never hit publish till this morning. Debated with not publishing, but then decided to share those middle of night thoughts with you all.}

I'm down in the living room awake.

I was going to blame it on the constant thunder outside -- and Caleb crying out because he was nervous -- but I realized that I was awake prior to that. My pain pill wore off and has left me in this foggy (and slight ill feeling) state. With returned pain.  Which makes me wonder if I might just try to plow through these next 8 days with just ibuprofen....

But, the house is fairly quiet.

Oh, there are those little noises. The air conditioner running. The old computer. Faint thunder in the distance. Brennan sniffling (I think he needs allergy meds). And my fingers hitting the keys.

I had written two blog posts earlier tonight -- posts about my journey right now and how I am going to have to surrender those schedules of mine. They talked about faith and fear and trust. From being able to get all the homeschool curriculum we need (since I'm probably not going to be up to selling all mine now) to realizing that this is just a season. A season that I've been trying to run away from. Avoid. Because, after all it is almost August and there is so much to be done in August to prep for the fall. Being forced to do a fraction of what one normally likes to do typically isn't my choice of seasons to hang out in.

It's not really convenient.

And then, as I was typing up an email response to my friend Amy @ Raising Arrows, it hit me so profoundly that this season is teaching me things. About me. And my tendency to create control in my life -- from homeschooling to cleaning to organizing to perfectionism -- and how really, I need to lessen my grip. Which is a hard thing to do.  Especially, like I've written about, when that clenched fist of control is sometimes there as a way to hide from dealing with deeper issues.

Like fear. Or not measuring up. Worry.

When it's 3:08 in the morning it's so easy to slip into sadness and worry. I know I'll be tired in the morning. I see the pile of laundry to take down. There's this mental checklist of things to get done. And, emotionally, well emotionally part of me just wants to worry. And get frustrated.

So I've let myself feel frustrated. Just for a moment. And then I've made myself let it go -- praying that the Lord will take those feelings and replace them. Frustration to hope. Fear to faith. Of not measuring up to seeing myself as His daughter. And worry to peace.

The lightening is impressive outside. The sky is lit -- even in the darkness of night. It reminds me of joy. And the goodness of God. Sometimes it's there in the middle of the night, but you just need to be looking for it.

It's 3:13 am.

And I'm going to try to sleep.

At peace.

{thanks for all the prayers for my shoulder. Like I stated in the post, I am scheduled for an mri this week. I just needed to wait until they have a doctor available as they need to use the mri contrast dye to look for tears deep within and this requires a special doctor. All the doctors have moved me to the category of "pain management" until I see the surgeon. I'm prepping myself now for what feels inevitable....and still seeking joy.}

reflections on strength

i sit in the chair
my head resting
my body tired
unable to sleep

my eyes are heavy
so so weary
and yet the pain
the pain keeps me awake.

i hear the laughter around
grace in the backyard
elijah bounding down the stairs
little samuel
so joyful

and i am determined

determined to look at them
see the world with their eyes
the beauty
and joy
and good

even in the midst of pain
because life, well life, is short
and i don't want to lose these days
even though it's harder
than days before

so I cling to those words of Paul
those words in Philippians
about being brought low and
abounding
and in all he could do it
because Christ gave him strength.

that is my prayer
praying for healing
but also for strength from our Savior
and in that strength patience
and laughter
and joy.

it's a season
there's a lesson
keep my eyes open to the good, Jesus.

even when it's hard

thank you for today
and my family
and life

thank you, Jesus, thank you.