Have you ever looked at your kitchen floor when you're overdue for a sweeping and mopping? Little and big ugly things are swished to the corners, clinging to to the floor and walls for dear life, the grunge a sickening reminder of meals, dogs, dust, and ick.
That's how my mind feels today.
I told you I would try to ignore the censor, so here goes:
I feel God is far away, though I am talking to Him daily, and reading His words to me. Our financial situation remains dire, mixed with tenuous, although we have done many things to alleviate it.
My children have problems I can't help them with, like anxiety, nasty break-ups, and unemployment. My dog has periodic seizures which we have no money to get testing for, and I have gained about ten pounds making all my clothes tight and uncomfortable.
Despite many jobs, and a schedule that is erratic and full, Jim and I are not able to earn enough money to solve things. We are constantly draining our resources, and watching our vehicles lifespan ebb away without the ability to fix them. Since they are our primary means of transportation to work, it's scary.
I never have been a good housekeeper, and seeing my house dirty and disheveled, with old ratty furniture and carpet is disheartening. Looking at my green pool (no money for chlorine) and my dying lawn (sprinkler system is broken) hampers my struggle to be thankful I'm alive. Daily, the semi-crisis errupt, draining my energy, and seeming to require more faith than I have.
This morning, Sunday September 11, the morning we're all supposed to be focusing on remembering (I do remember, honestly I do) I woke up with a swollen neck. I think it's a swollen lymph, and I'm terrified at what that could mean.
I really have little time to even talk to friends about this, or to cultivate friendships (would love to go to a women's conference, but again, no money) so you, my blogging buddies get to hear it all.
The censor is telling me I should wrap this up with a platitude, but I'm fresh out.
If this reads like a Psalm, well, then at least I have company. This is the scariest post I've ever written.
Thanks for listening. I'm sure tomorrow will be better.
That's how my mind feels today.
I told you I would try to ignore the censor, so here goes:
I feel God is far away, though I am talking to Him daily, and reading His words to me. Our financial situation remains dire, mixed with tenuous, although we have done many things to alleviate it.
My children have problems I can't help them with, like anxiety, nasty break-ups, and unemployment. My dog has periodic seizures which we have no money to get testing for, and I have gained about ten pounds making all my clothes tight and uncomfortable.
Despite many jobs, and a schedule that is erratic and full, Jim and I are not able to earn enough money to solve things. We are constantly draining our resources, and watching our vehicles lifespan ebb away without the ability to fix them. Since they are our primary means of transportation to work, it's scary.
I never have been a good housekeeper, and seeing my house dirty and disheveled, with old ratty furniture and carpet is disheartening. Looking at my green pool (no money for chlorine) and my dying lawn (sprinkler system is broken) hampers my struggle to be thankful I'm alive. Daily, the semi-crisis errupt, draining my energy, and seeming to require more faith than I have.
This morning, Sunday September 11, the morning we're all supposed to be focusing on remembering (I do remember, honestly I do) I woke up with a swollen neck. I think it's a swollen lymph, and I'm terrified at what that could mean.
I really have little time to even talk to friends about this, or to cultivate friendships (would love to go to a women's conference, but again, no money) so you, my blogging buddies get to hear it all.
The censor is telling me I should wrap this up with a platitude, but I'm fresh out.
If this reads like a Psalm, well, then at least I have company. This is the scariest post I've ever written.
Thanks for listening. I'm sure tomorrow will be better.
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