I keep telling myself that life will settle down.  Or, that I will spontaneously develop a remarkable skill set that will allow me to manage life better.  And that my house will stay clean.  And since we're throwing out total pipe dreams, in all these scenarios, my hair will be long and flowing.

As it stands, life is full of tragedy and my hair is refusing to budge past my shoulders.  I just want to swish it back and forth like Marsha Brady, that witch.

Where was I?  Oh yes, all my shortcomings.  So, I am just not the superstar I want to be.  I want to be one of those wives that says things like "Oh honey, don't be ridiculous, I've already bathed all the children!  Aaaaaand I've made cobbler."  Or maybe even something like "Who wants some cobbler that I just made?"  Or, let's say that this has nothing to do with cobbler, and that maybe I just have a hankerin'.  Either way, I want to be the kind of wife who has all the laundry put away and has things to say about cobbler.

I realize that I am at it again.  Comparing myself to others.  Or to the idea I have of others.  It was just over a year ago when I wrote this post about the comparison trap.  Here I am a whole year later, and I have made almost zero progress.  It comes in waves, and it is particularly worse when I am overwhelmed with everything on my plate.  Perhaps that is why these were both August posts... as fall looms before me, I realize with great clarity that apart from God, I am helpless to successfully accomplish even the most basic task, let alone do everything required to run a household, small business and family of six (almost seven!)  I become so aware of my limitations that I shut down a little.  (so much more than a little.)  I shut down because this life is hard and painful.

I spent last night in the emergency room with Harper because he couldn't breathe properly.  Pneumonia and asthma combined caused his oxygen levels to plummet.  I laid with him on the stretcher watching his little chest retract as his body tried in vain to suck in as much air as possible and his belly moving in and out so fast and his heart pounding from the steroids and he just laid there with these big, brown eyes that pleaded, "Mama fix it."

 I couldn't fix it.  I couldn't do anything.

 I do not have what it takes to navigate this life and this world, not without Jesus. I really do not understand how people do not have faith.  Don't get me wrong, it is not a judgmental thing at all... I mean I get WHY people don't believe in God.  I just don't get HOW they can survive.  I just know that I need Him.  I can't get the laundry done, I can't do an at-home dance party without crampin' up a good amount, I can't stop comparing myself to others, and I can't fix broken lungs.  I can't give my friends the babies they want but can't have, and I can't give back the babies that my friends had, but lost.  I want to fix all the lungs, and the brains and the hearts that are broken in my life... but, I can't do Anything. At. All.

Apart from Jesus, my hope would only be in this world, and I would be in for some serious disappointment.  So, I choose to believe.  Even when it makes me look stupid, and even when I am totally alone in that belief, I choose to believe.  So, I am kicking the habit again.  I quit comparing.  I am all done beating myself up for what goes undone and I am done expecting more from myself than I am even capable of giving.  I am clinging with total desperation to my capable God, the God who sees.  And if He sees, I am banking on the fact the He probably also cares...about lungs and lost babies, and maybe even laundry.

But, probably not about swishy hair and cobbler.  That might be pushin' it.