Yesterday evening I came home from my kickboxing class at 1945, ran to the kitchen to get dinner warming up and then rushed upstairs to the shower. The last few sermons at church have been about building and maintaining your own personal altar. I’m still in the phase of locking down an “altar,” a place I can go and just be with God. I joke about the shower being the place where all serious conversion begins and ends, but the truth of the matter is . . . it’s no laughing matter. It’s my altar . . . for now.
The day was brutal, one of those days when I woke up and just knew life was going to hand me funky, moldy lemons–but I was prepared to make the best of it anyway. You see, it seems that life has handed me said funky lemons for the past few months. One knock after another, the hits keep coming. If I weren’t into kickboxing I fear I would have been beaten and bloody, lying helpless without a clue with how to mend things. Spiritual warfare is what I’m calling this time in my life. Instead of straining myself to the core, God gave me gloves to fight back. My altar. My relationship with him. These are my gloves.
In the midst of all the turmoil surrounding my family life right now, I’ve occasionally found myself feeling sorry for myself. You know the story . . . it’s similar to a deployment story with the added twist of having my spouse actually home. Being home doesn’t always mean being present, though. With everything in his life falling apart around him, The Husband has been in a different world. His world is one where pain and grief consume the soul and there’s no room for a happy wife to jump in and fix things. There isn’t a fix.
Life has a funny way of continuing all around those who are absorbed in their own world. I still have to get up and go to work, I still have to pay the bills, I still have to cook, clean, do laundry. Life doesn’t pause because we’re going through a difficult time, especially when that difficult time lasts three months and will continue for another three (at least). Going through the motions of everyday life can become monotonous. Work can be demanding.
I threw a pity party for myself last night when I was in the shower. After a rough day at work, one that was so disappointing I actually shed tears, I had, quite simply, had enough. I fought with all my heart at kickboxing, then came home to start another round of ordinary life, go through the motions . . . get through. I stood in the shower to drown out the tears as I reflected on what it meant to be loved. Was I good wife, was I a good friend, was I a good employee? If I were a good everything, then why did I feel like I was so unappreciated? Why did I feel so alone? Why does it feel like no one remembers me?
As the hot water became cooler and cooler, I continued to cry and feel sorry for myself. Then it hit me. The missing question: was I a faithful servant to God? God has a funny way of stopping me in my tracks and reminding me that it doesn’t matter what is happening around me . . . He knows me. He gets it. He knows how hard I work to keep things going, He knows how stressed I am about the little things and how much time I spend worrying about the big things. He knows that I don’t like chocolate, He knows that my day begins at 0600 and the first time I sit back to relax is no sooner that 2030. He knows that I’m easily offended when someone forgets something important to me, but reminds me that it’s my job to remember Him always. Standing there as the tears muddled with the shower water, I was reminded that in this ordinary life, I’m never alone. He’s always there. Always.
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Delta Whiskey is an Air Force wife and blogs at www.deltawhiskey.us.
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