I Hate My Life

Really, honestly, sometimes I do hate my life. I wonder how in the world I got here and what I'm supposed to be doing.

A close friend recently remarked to me that I seem weighed down and that she has been prompted to pray for joy in my life. I am so grateful for this perceptive friend, and yes, I feel constantly burdened; many people do, and anyone with an ounce of compassion and living in today's world has to be.

But yes, weighed down in my own home, by the needs and situations of my very own children. We have ten children, right now; all precious kids who need nurture and love and structure and every second of attention I can afford. And while I find joy in being a mom - to as many kids as God sees fit - I also find exhaustion, and frustration, and helplessness.

Whether having to discuss (again) with a teenager why it really IS important that you do every single homework assignment even if you can pass the class with a B if you don't, or dealing with the drama of which friend told what boy my daughter likes (this week), or figuring out how to pick up and/or drop off three kids at three places at the same time, or listening to a second grader (who reads at a first grade level) struggle through reading three pages in a social studies textbook that is written at a fourth grade level, or trying to find sixty-five hours of driving time for our sixteen year old son, or arguing with my wanna-be teenage daughter over not wearing "that" to school... yes, I am tired and moody and joyless.

Each morning before stumbling out of bed I somewhat incoherently mumble a prayer to God asking him to equip me for the day. It's a short prayer and  I repeat it many times throughout the day. And I am getting better at actually thanking him when I recognize his hand in my day.

Still, even knowing that God hears my mumbled prayer, and seeing him work and orchestrate in my life, still there are days when I just hate it. I hate that I can't heal the hurt and damage that's been done to my son. I hate that he has to relive the trauma in order to process it and move on. I hate that he dislikes me when I hold him accountable and ask hard questions and have expectations and consequences.

I hate that there are some of my kids that aren't receptive to a hug; who are uncomfortable with affection. I want to go back make what happened disappear, to wipe the slate clean.

I hate that harmful chemicals and drugs were introduced into the bodies of my kids. Chemicals that forever will change the way they process and interact with the world and society.

I hate the feeling of isolation. I hate having to explain our family, and why we do things the way we do. And I hate that if I don't explain, then we are judged on what people see, not on what they know.

And I hate that I even concern myself with these things. This is the life that I am BLESSED to live. God has given me a high calling and I should concern myself only with bringing glory to him.

And so today I was reminded of this verse:  John 12:25 "Anyone who loves their life will lose it, while anyone who hates their life in this world will keep it for eternal life."

Amen.