Several times this week I have been at
the absolute end of my rope. I have thought to myself I can't do
this anymore. I can't get up and
make breakfast when I feel so wretched. I can't listen to another
whine when I am worn out to the absolute threads. I can't think
another thought or plan another plan when the shroud of misery is
suffocating me. Life can be so disparaging at times.
My chair is my
refuge. In it I curl up, listing all the reasons that I can't go on.
I'm alone. Brian is working late, again. My mother is busy working
and barely able to visit me. When she does, I know she is unhappy and
worried. My sister is a single mother of four, she has no time to
help. My friends are all exhausted mothers like myself. I am alone.
I don't know what I
need. That thought further annoys me. Not only am I grasping at
proverbial threads and running on fumes, but I don't know what I
need. I don't know what kind of rope could pull me out of this pit. I
don't know what to ask for even if I knew who to ask. I'm lost,
adrift in a churning sea whose dark waters will soon engulf me.
Motherhood is so
hard. Marriage is hard. Life is hard.
I'm glad I have God
with me. If I didn't have Him I know I would give up. My strength
runs out, His endures. My nature is full of pompous self worth, but
He is truth incarnate.
Whenever I am at
the end of my rope I always read Luke 17:7-10. Nothing puts me in my
place more than those few short red sentences.
“Will any one of
you who has a servant plowing or keeping sheep say to him when he has
come in from the field, 'Come at once and recline at table'? Will he
not rather say to him, 'Prepare supper for me, and dress properly,
and serve me while I eat and drink, and afterwards you will eat and
drink'? Does he thank the servant because he did what was commanded?
So you also, when you have done all that you were commanded, say 'We
are unworthy servants; we have only done what was our duty.'”
Three things stick
out to me. First, “serve me”. My goal on this earth is to serve
God. Through tantrums and marital fights. Through sleepless nights.
Though housework and drugery.
Through cancer or
blindness come my way, still my ever present thought should be...to
serve God. Even through the loss of a child, or the loss of a loved
one. Serve. God. Not complain. Not give up. Get up and do the purpose
I was created for. Serve.
Second thing that
sticks out to me is my own inflated self worth and how important my
own comfort is. I am an unworthy servant. It's so true. Nothing I did
secured me a place in heaven. I can do no good without Christ. Jesus
shed his blood and God wrote my name in the book of life. Those
things cause me to go to heaven. If my own life were of any weight it
would only condemn me to hell. Jesus paid the price for my sin and
only by that act can I be redeemed. Yet how quickly I sneer when my
comfort is jeopardized. I must don the mantle of servant and
contemplate my own unworthiness. Only then can I truly know what it
is to be the bride of Christ.
The
last thing that grabs at my heart are the last two words. “Our
duty.” What is my duty? I like to remind myself of my duty when I
get lost. Pointing myself in the right direction helps clear the mist
and re-orientate my wandering compass. My duty is to Christ and
Christ alone. My job here on earth is to glorify him. And that means
wiping poopy bottoms, making meals, disciplining my children and
loving my husband. It also might mean dying of cancer or dying in a
car wreck. It may mean loosing my sight or the use of my arms. But it
does not ever mean giving up my joy or forsaking my community with
Christ. I am here to do his duty, but my flesh is weak. God knows
what is best for my life and dishes out his will to us. But I so
often, in my humanness, think I know better than God. And that is
where the problem begins. That is the very foundation to my
frustration: I, the servant, at times, try to usurp my master's will.
And there is no peace, no joy, no fulfillment in a life run by own
measures.
Tomorrow I will
wake up, and upon my lips will not be the curse of drudgery or a sigh
of discontent. But the beat behind my steps and the melody of my head
will burst forth only one mantra: “Serve God. Do my duty. Be a
servant.”
