There is nothing more nauseating to me than feeling like I am spinning wildly out of control. It could be as literal as being flung around by an amusement park ride and as emotional as desperately searching for joy.
The deep breaths. Inhale...exhale...finding a clear train of thought in the midst of tantrums. Surrendering to the fact that my new neighbors probably think I'm neglectful from how much my child screams a day.
The delirium of singing lullabies to my husband, thinking it's my daughter that I'm soothing for the 5th time that night.
The reality that I have talked more about bowel movements (not mine) in the last month than I ever care to in a lifetime.
The out of body experience when I allow bitterness to rule and my city walls of self control have seemed to crumble.
Unraveling. Spinning. Wildly clinging for something to hold me still, for I'm getting sick. For right when I feel like I can stand again, something else comes and spins me around. If you've ever seen the movie Gravity, I feel like I'm Sandra Bullock (an astronaut) frantically clinging to something that will keep me from aimlessly floating and drifting off.
You see, they only had about 90 minutes before that same flying projectile would take it's orbit and hit them again. For them it was destroyed space craft that flung them into the abyss. For the past 2 months, our flying projectiles have been ALL the emotions that come with teething, constipation, transition to a new house, and
Spinning, grasping, longing.
The beautiful thing about experiencing something like this as a family is that always one of us is stronger than the other. And it's in those moments we cling to. In the moments when Nora is the strong one, Dave and I lay comatose at an early 5:00 while Nora sits up between us beating her hands on our bellies. Stay happy, sweet child...as you let us rest, we are regaining our strength. Or maybe Dave is the one a little less frazzled and comes home to stand in the middle of her moodiness and my impatience.
But see that's just it. I don't want to live life just spinning wildly in between the time frames of flying projectiles. The phases that baby's journey through can surely feel like you're in a constant orbit of no sleep, tantrums and nursing strikes. When you finally recover from one round, there is more coming your way. It's either more teeth, another new environment, bigger personalities, or stronger more persevering lungs.
In the middle of all this, I can't help but think of this quote from dear Ann (seriously I feel like she's my friend, so she gets a first name reference):
In the middle of all this, I can't help but think of this quote from dear Ann (seriously I feel like she's my friend, so she gets a first name reference):
The spirit to spirit combat I endlessly wage with Satan is this ferocious thrash for joy. He sneers at all the things that seem to have gone hideously mad in this sin-drunk world, and I gasp to say God is good. The liar defiantly scrawls his graffiti across God's glory, and I heave to enjoy God...and Satan strangles, and I whiten knuckles to grasp real Truth and fix that beast to the floor.
-Ann Voskamp One Thousand Gifts
So...even though my knuckles feel white today. I will rest knowing that when I draw near to God, He draws near to me. When I allow it, He is the gravity that pulls me toward himself saying "Look, just look at my glory!"
So while every now and then I will also spin, flail, gasp, scream...and then get hit again with the same thing as I did yesterday, I will gaze at His glory. For it is bright, overwhelming, and draws me in.
