I don't, but He does

It's Wednesday evening and we have reached the midway point in the week.

I'd be lying if I didn't confess to there being a small part of me that wishes it was the end of the week.

I'm tired, you know. Not because my life is so busy or I'm so important, but just because... well... it's a physically-demanding season I'm in. (That's okay, by the way. A physically-demanding season, that is.)

Sometimes I wake up in the morning and instead of being thankful that I slept through the night (or close to it, anyway: getting up to use the bathroom hardly counts when compared to getting up to nurse an infant every few hours), I wonder if I have what it takes for another day.

This morning that thought went through my mind. Yesterday was a long-ish sort of day in the homeschooling department. As if Elliot's destruction and tantrums weren't enough to make me edgy, there was plenty of other bits of fodder for that. Small things, but things that pile up until eventually you're pretty sure the straw will break the camel's back.

Things like...

Me: What sound starts the word "sandwich"?
Her: "Ssssss."
Me: Good. What letter says "ssss"?
Her, with a quizzical look: "C"?
What I said: No, but I understand why you thought that.
What I actually thought: Breathe deeply, Brietta. Pretend you haven't had this conversation 100x on other days before now.
What I then said: It's the letter "S" that says "ssss".
She nods.

Me: Okay. What sound starts the word "sandwich"?

Her: "Ssssss."

Me: Good. What letter says "ssss"?

Her, with a quizzical look: "C"?

Repeat. Repeat again. And again. Yup... and again.

Conclude (once again) that the names of letters are stupid and who cares as long as she knows the sounds and can make words with them.

Finish what I can in terms of homeschooling and homemaking feeling pretty much defeated and worn down by the toddler and what we didn't get done and-- just before feeling certain I have absolutely nothing left in me to give to this day-- pack myself in the vehicle and leave for the 1-1/2 hour drive to my 30-week midwife appointment. I feel thankful for a husband who doesn't blink twice as I give dinner instructions and who tells me how proud he is of me as I say good-bye, but mostly I climb into the truck wearily and feeling a whole lot sorry for myself.

Sorry that I can't just stay home and enjoy my husband's evening off with him.

Sorry that better medical care isn't available to me locally.

Sorry that I'm even in a predicament that forces me beyond the medical options available locally.

Sorry that my toddler outdid me.

Sorry that I get frazzled by silly things.

Sorry, sorry, sorry.

But He, in His love, doesn't leave me there.

Ever.

And even now, when I think about that, tears fill my eyes because the truth is, I would leave myself there if I could.

Instead, He reminds me of His presence. He reminds me of this beautiful salvation He's given. He reminds me of the privilege I have of coming to Him in prayer. He reminds me of His faithfulness. He reminds me of the gifts in my life, abundant and plentiful and humbling. He reminds me of my status in His family. He reminds me of my future in Christ.

And when I wake up this morning and I wonder if I have what it takes for another day, He reminds me:

No, you don't. But I do.