Today was hard. Not hard in the “I-hate-my-life” sense but hard in the “when-is-it-bedtime?” sense. Josh was out the door before anyone was up this morning and then home for about 30 minutes for a quick dinner before heading off to a meeting. Baby is not taking good naps so more time holding her and she’s grumpy because she’s not rested. Judah…well, more about him later. Spring will.not.come.ever. And there is so much to distract even though it’s Holy Week and supposedly this week of all the year is when I’m supposed to be thankfully occupying my mind entirely with remembering all that has been done for me.
Why is it that the discipline of the mind is the hardest thing? What is it about the mind that somehow manages to be anxious about more things than I could possibly give words to? I can somehow think about 10 different worrying or frustrating or depressing things all at the same time, but I can’t think about one thing – One Person – who is willing and able to give the kind of peace my little tiny brain could never even imagine possible.
Why do I sabotage myself like that? I shove off the easy yoke because, really, it just takes too much effort to pick up that cross. I run after the heavy, the burdensome, the anxiety-ridden thinking that somehow there is rest for me if I live there instead. Lies, lies, lies.
One of the things that I am working on – rather, trying to work on – is patiently giving myself to Judah minute after tiring minute during the day. He keeps up a steady stream of conversation from the second he opens his eyes until he collapses into bed in the evening. He hates to be away from me. Being left alone in his room to play (where there are all kinds of wonderful things expressly laid out for his amusement) is tantamount to torture. No matter how often I give him room time it is always a showdown. By the end of the day my mind is so tired from interacting with him I feel like there is nothing left.
Just now I went into his room to tell him to stop calling out for me after he had been put to bed. He knew I was angry, but that didn’t stop him from saying, “hand? hand?” He wants to lie in bed holding my hand for just a few more minutes. He doesn’t care that I’m frustrated or angry. He just wants me with him. It’s the fellowship he wants – it doesn’t matter what kind of a mood I’m in or even really what I say.
I wish I was like that with Jesus. I wish my mind went to Him automatically, every free second available. I wish I worked harder for the fellowship of the Spirit, which, as I know from experience, is the sweetest thing on offer. I wish that I cared more about being with Christ in my mind and in my heart than anything else. I wish I was more like my two year old son. And the difference is Jesus will never get tired of me or bored or irritated. He will always be glad for the fellowship.