I had a meltdown this weekend. Right there in my laundry room.
I had it coming. I started a new eating plan this week: a low-carb, low-fat, change-my-body-chemistry type of eating plan. Mount Laundry erupted continually throughout the week, refusing all my efforts to tame it. We took a field trip to the Botanic Gardens with some friends, and the homeschooling activities I so meticulously planned backfired (the girls were bored).
Saturday was going downhill fast; Cami didn’t clean her room on Friday like I asked her to, so I said “no” to her inviting friends inside to play. It was too hot to be outside (although she tried, bless her heart), so all her friends went home. She harrumphed. She said, “It feels like none of my friends want to be with me.” I couldn’t make it better. Not even a little bit.
Then my husband told me he was meeting a friend at the shooting range after he spent the morning at a gun show.
I kind of lost my mind.
You know how I found it again? I was weeping, trying to (inwardly) calmly assess why I was feeling the way I was. My husband said he felt like he was doing everything wrong. I admitted that I was jealous (of his time with a friend? of his time with his hobby? of his having extra time at all?), that I was believing the lies in my head, the lies that told me what a horrible housekeeper I am, what an ineffective mother I am, what a petty wife I am, how things will never change, I’ll never be any different, it’s no use so why try.
As I began to confess the lies I was hearing, my husband uncrossed his arms and crossed the chasm of the laundry room towards me. And he hugged me. He spoke truth over me, spoke it until I heard it, until I believed it. He hugged me—told me he loved me—until I found my mind again.
Then he went to the shooting range, Cami played in her clean room with a neighbor friend, and I folded a lot of laundry.
Not such an explosive Saturday after all.
Grateful for God’s grace and Michael’s love,