the prayer.

Life is a funny thing.  Especially when you have kids.  And a marriage.  And a dog.  And Things To Do.  And PLANS.  Gotta love those plans.

The other morning, I was woken up by screaming.  Always a good way to start the day, amiright? I am very lucky and have a husband that does most of the Getting Up At The Buttcrack of Dawn thing with the kids, letting me catch up on rest that I missed the night before, either reading or having vivid enough dreams that have me snapping my eyes open at least 3 times a night to make sure that I did not actually get swept up in the illegal transporting of pokemon.  So this particular morning was such a morning, and at around 8 AM, I was pulled from my dreams into reality by my husband’s frustrated growl being answered by one son (the Tiny Human) yelling about being sorry for pulling the dog’s tail for the umpteenth time and the other son’s yelling about life Not Being Fair for a reason that I had not been made aware of yet.  I rolled out of bed, feeling like I should try and diffuse the situation, whatever the situation was.  I made a stop in the bathroom, and then advanced down the upstairs hallway, headed for the stairs.  I said a quick prayer under my breath on my way, asking God to give me the words to help break the tension, anything that would help my family see the bigger picture… you know… that big picture where AT LEAST WE HAVE OUR HEALTH that is so easy to forget when you are in the thick of things.  I forget that picture a lot.  Especially when it’s just me and Tiny Human.  Tiny Human often chases the Big Picture away with his incessant Mom, mom, mom, mom, mom, mom, mom, mom, mom, mom, moming and leaves me thinking, YOU KNOW, A COMA WOULDN’T BE SO TERRIBLE AT THIS MOMENT.

Anyway.  Praying.  That’s where we were.  PLEASE JESUS HELP ME DIFFUSE.  I turned the corner, hearing that my oldest son was now upstairs in his room, angrily crawling up into his bed, muttering under his breath.  I thought of staying up there and talking to him first, but ended up wanting to hear the Adult’s version of the Going-Ons first.  I took another step, and suddenly my feet were no longer on the ground.  I fell hard about three stairs down, landing with a loud THUNK and a loud NO! tumbling out of my mouth.  I grabbed for the railing, but momentum had already carried me down, in the air, another three steps.  THUNK I went on that step, hitting it square across my butt, the same place as the first landing.  And on I continued, at the same pace, NO! THUNK. NO! THUNK. NO! THUNKTHUNKTHUNK.  Thankfully (that is said loosely here), I somehow managed to stay upright and contain most of the blows to my butt and one small point on my elbow.  I landed on the last step just as my husband came around the corner, spatula in hand and eyes as big as the eggs he was frying.  He asked if I was ok, and I started laughing.  It was that crazy laugh that those of us who don’t know how to drum up proper emotions in sad or confusing times that present themselves suddenly.  I laughed so hard I was snorting with every pull of breath, and tears started running down my cheeks.  I was on the very brink of dissolving into a weeping mess, but was surrounded by all three kids, my son having vaulted off of his bed when he heard me fall, my other two having run in from the living room, and to make it more fun, our great beast of a dog trying to crawl on my lap, wondering what kind of game his hoomans had come up with this time.  I yanked myself back to laughing, thinking it the safer option.  I assured everyone I was ok, doing mental checks of my body, making sure that I was in fact OK.  I stood up, wincing as I felt a pull in my very sore butt (which has an AMAZING bruise on it, which I am very sad that I cannot show off… at least not without getting arrested).  Everyone slowly went back to Saturday Morning Life, including me, as I beelined for the coffee.  As I sat on the couch a few minutes later, sipping my coffee and avoiding the line of pain on my butt, I couldn’t help but see that everyone was getting along very well indeed.

So I said to myself, Amen StinkyPants (as my daughter would end her prayers when she was younger).  You Asketh.  God Provideth.  Though sometimes not in the way you were expecting.

And that’s how it goes sometimes.  I feel like most people have heard that you should never ever pray for patience… because what you end up getting is a whole lot of opportunities to practice said patience.  Well… I think that may be just how things work.  Answered prayers don’t often look like a piece of cake that just appears in your lap.  Sometimes they look like a flailing, overweight, yelping woman, bouncing on her butt down the stairs.  And sometimes the best we can do is laugh, and thank God for his humor and wisdom, and carry on.


2 thoughts on “the prayer.

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