Sunday, October 9, 2016

When Home is Hard, Part 1 - Coming Home, Day #8

If you don't want a kitchen counter explorer, I recommend you highly reconsider
getting a dog who starts like the left and grows into the right.
(But come on, isn't she the most beautiful?!?
I'm such a sucker.
)


I screamed at my dog a few nights ago.
Not very Christian-like PLUS...am I the only one who sees the irony that her name is Faith?
And when I say scream, believe me when I tell you that I chose my word carefully.
I don't mean "yell" - like the kind when your kids are little and fighting and you've had enough.
Or "holler" - the Southern version of raising your voice to be heard by your kids when it's time for dinner.
Or "shout" - the kind where your 5 year old is about to run in the street and you're struggling to get his attention before a catastrophe happens.

I mean scream in its' literal sense.
"to utter a loud, sharp, piercing cry..."
Why?
Because once again, she hoisted herself onto the kitchen island and licked my son's pizza.
I. Can't. Take. It. 
The germs, the disobedience, and, probably most of all, the family rolling their eyes at me for thinking this is a big deal.

(As Social Services and the SPCA simultaneously show up at my door.  Thanks alot you guys.)

Now, in my defense, this island-licking, counter-sniffing, bacon-stealing is an ongoing issue.
And further in my defense, when I screamed, she took a shocked "hey, that scared me!" chomp in my direction then ran away.
Never underestimate the power of a woman losing it. 
(Yeah, take that "calm voice and re-direction dog parenting advocates!")

But in reality, the pizza-tasting wasn't the last straw.
In fact, it had little to do with it.
As my son stared at me and asked, "Mom, are you ok?," I didn't even take stock, as I usually do, before responding.
I blurted out, "I was made for more than this.  I'm just a glorified janitor."
You see, I never imagined, at 48 years old, my entire life would involve little more than being stuck at home day and night, taking care of a dog, driving folks around and cleaning the house.
"How," I asked myself, "is it God's work when I'm not 'using my gifts'?"
Then I began re-evaluating home for me to process the "why" of being here.
Faith just got caught in the crosshairs...


Read tomorrow's, "When Home Is Hard, Part 2," blog post to reach my conclusion alongside me.





{Ever have one of those days?
The dog-peeing, kid crying, husband travelling, 
laundry-pervasive kind?
The one where you feel your IQ lowering by double digits 
as you sit there, staring at the wall covered in slobber and tears?
The one you feel will never end?
Praying for you to see your purpose in all of it.
Thanks for reading...and not reporting me to the SPCA!}


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