This day had me TIRED.
Sending the kids outside to just listen to the soothing sound of only the dishwasher hum tired.
Plan them a backyard campout that lasts several days with a sizable reward for whoever comes inside to pee the least tired.
I feel soul-weary and worn.
The noise in the rooms and the noise in my mind got to the point today where I felt like I would explode,
but instead I closed myself in my room,
just needing some peace.
Laying on my bed I remembered a time as a child that I was upset at my family,
so I sat in the field across the way,
dry grass up to my chin,
and cupped handfuls of dirt and foxtail bits over and over for hours until my mind had fully cleared.
The field around me was thick, and worked that day like an impenetrable shield hiding me until I was ready to come back out.
No one knew where I was,
but back then no one came looking for you.
I can remember the sight of my own hands letting the dust and debri slip through.
I can remember the feeling of my own thoughts,
and how good it was to feel in control,
and I can remember realizing the moment I felt ready to stand up and return;
Stronger for sitting and doing what I didn’t yet realize was resting my soul.
I went home as the sun set that day covered in welts.
I’m allergic to grass, after all.
But sometimes the emotional work that we need will make us uncomfortable.
Sometimes it takes watching the sun set on your home from the field across the way with the earth sifting through your fingers before home starts looking like a place you would want to return to.
Today I felt back in that same tall grass,
scooping up handfuls,
and letting them fall through.
Watching home from a different view.
Trying to listen to the quiet voice that is tucked inside,
when I realized that it was both poem
and prayer:
These days have hit hard
These days when rage over injustice builds up inside,
and I find myself on the verge of saying things that I shouldn’t,
while at the same time feeling convicted of all the times when speaking up is exactly what I should have done.
When I feel extra guilty
because words are my rhythm
but I simply did not beat the drum
So today I drew inward
into my quiet places and prayed
“God, let it start with me”
Let my hands be the hands to haul water to
Burning forests
Without saying
“It’s just one little tree”
Open my eyes to unseen paths of the broken
So I’ll find where their pieces lay
Hidden in tall grass and tossed into ditches
May I help gather what has been thrown away
And if there is a wrong in me that I am not seeing
Open me up wide and wipe my eyes clean
For if the greatest commandment is to love my
Own neighbor
May I never pretend to not know
Who you mean
Remind me, Oh God, that my
Hands must get dirty
And to examine the beliefs that I clutch
Because the world
It is wounded,
And I hold your LOVE as the answer
But we can’t help heal what we
Refuse to touch
This article was written by a guest blogger. The opinions expressed here are those of the writer and do not reflect the opinions of Bob Lacey, Sheri Lynch or the Bob & Sheri show.
Mom Outnumbered
Hi! My name is Kerri Green; Wife to Justin, and mother to four highly entertaining daughters -Alena, Chloe, Tessa, and Paige. I am an artist, a writer, a daycare provider, a lover of people, a believer that there is humor and beauty in all things, and the author of Mom Outnumbered; a blog about real family life, and my observations of it. My goal is to make people laugh, to be there for them when they cry, and most importantly, to let them know that they are not at all alone in this up and down world. I live with my family in Sebastopol California, and I am opening the window into our life. So welcome! Come in. Sit down. Just please don’t mind the mysterious wet spots.
