God's Grace in the Midst of My "Crazy"

The last few days have been unbearable for me. I am still here only by the neverending grace of God.

I can't begin to explain the heartache that has brought me to these depths of despair. Even my husband, who knows almost as much about me as God does, hasn't been able to comprehend why I've reached this point. Of course he has endless amounts of self-esteem, and what little I had accumulated has been stomped into bits. And he handles life with kids much more nonchalantly than me; I believe in setting rules and enforcing them, not so much for the rules themselves but for the discipline I'm teaching the children, and he more often bends the rules (or outright overrides them). Needless to say, I'm not popular around here, and the kids know my weaknesses and how to use them to beat down what's left of me.

I was recently called "crazy" again, not for my usual angry outbursts due to frustration, but for simply telling a child she couldn't start watching a movie at nearly 11 p.m.  I even used my calm "inside" voice, but she expected a reason---one that "made sense" to her--- and she wasn't giving up until she got one. That was never going to happen, so I walked outside to avoid further conflict. Then I heard her pull out the weapon that always hits the target---call the tired old lady "crazy".

But that wasn't the most painful part of the story. What hurt most was not hearing my husband defend me. Or if he couldn't in good-conscience argue that I'm not actually crazy, at least demand the children not speak so disrespectfully of their insane grandma.

But he didn't do any of that. And to my knowledge he never has. And that hurts more than anything.

I gave up my life to raise these girls, and every day I make sacrifices for them. I love them and would gladly do whatever necessary to give them the best life possible. But I can't deal with thoughtless, hurtful comments that dig into the scars I already have. And I'm finding it increasingly difficult to live in a house where I'm treated as the enemy by the other inhabitants. The best I can hope for are the "good" days when they want something from me and elevate me to servant status.

God is my only friend right now. I'm learning to be okay with that. He might not always give me what I want or tell me what I want to hear, but I also know He only wants what's best for me. And He's always available when I need to talk (which is almost every waking moment of every day).

Thanks for reading the ramblings of a crazy old lady. Gotta go now. My Friend is waiting to hear from me.

The Finish Line

The Apostle Paul often referred to running a race as a metaphor for the work he was doing, and since he is a favorite of mine, I'll do the same.

I've been running a marathon for most of my life with no cheering fans on the sidelines to encourage me, and no opportunities to rest.. I should be nearing the finish line, but I don't think I can go any further. I've been kicked and trampled so many times along the way, but I've always picked myself up and moved forward.

Until now. All I want to do now is close my eyes, drown out the noise all around me, and give in to exhaustion. Life as I know it isn't allowing me the peace and renewal I so desperately need.

I've been hanging on to the hope that I must be nearing the end of the race, and sweet relief is right around the next corner. But I'm beginning to doubt that there really is a finish line. Maybe I've been running in circles, or trapped on a hamster wheel.  I just know I can't possibly keep going with the weight of the world on my shoulders and no one waiting to congratulate me at the end. If there even is one.