Christ is our cure......

"I am a broken momma of broken children" Ann V

I do not do well on small amounts of sleep. I know that. Yet I am often up late....for many reasons.....and not often for the best reason.

Tonight, 9 minutes until midnight, with a workday knocking tomorrow, surely with a headache from little sleep....I scour my bookshelves....my yet to be unpacked boxes for that book.

That book that I have bought twice, started to read twice, and lost twice....sure that once again, tonight, it must be the key the answer to the problem, the ache in my soul, the fix it book that will fix it. Yet, twice before....it did not fix it. It might help, but why didn't I finish it, why didn't I do it, why didn't it fix it, why didn't I cling on to it so strongly that I would not lose it again? What about it makes me think it is the answer?

I give up. Unfound again.

My soul aches. I want to be a soak it up momma, I do I do.. I forget how much I do, numbing myself with fake soul-quenchers, because the magnitude of the need and the inadequacy of me is just to overwhelming to face.... {see, because I truly am a broken momma of broken children.. I KNOW THAT!}. They need better than me. They cannot wait for me to be fixed.

So I escape in silly pretend soul-quenchers for a week or two, month or two, ache or two....until the distance from God is too sad, and the brokenness is too obvious and the soul-ache is too full to ignore, to fake out.

Then I look for the book. As if, tonight, at almost midnight, I could read something (that I have tried to read before) that would make me do something that would make it all different.

I KNOW ITS ABSURD.

Christ is our cure.... and Christ is slow. And quiet. and simple and profound and wise and patient and constant.

and I am NONE of those things. I am fast and loud and complex and dumb and clueless and impatient and as inconsistent as they come.

And I am the broken momma, of broken children who is suppose to be pointing them to the cure, when I am in dire need of the ER myself.

Oh, but for the grace and mercy and hope of God, I would give up. I have given up, I guess. Not in a good way. Not in a surrender it to God way. But in an escape and ignore it away.

But then it won't be ignored. It squawks and squabbles all the way to school. And it wrestles and fights and spits angry words. It ridicules and taunts and hissing sarcasm and criticism. It cries and revels in God presence one minute and rails against another the next. It quickens and jumps at a discussion of God's word, ways and then misses applying it in the next word spat at a family member.

So it won't be ignored. The condition of our hearts, our brokenness, it won't be ignored. We swim in it. Occasionally a stroke toward God, more often flailing against each other in our attempt not to drown in it.

Tonight I am so aware, no longer trying to escape, or ignore, and not even trying to find the book that will not solve it all, to make myself feel like I am doing something.

Tonight I am at the feet and heart of Jesus saying...I am inadequate! You are my cure. Cure me, please! So I can help them. Cure them too...together...cure us. Maybe even just a little tonight, at midnight, while they sleep and while I cry....cure us just a little tonight.... that tomorrow this broken momma can have some hope of soaking it up, even a little bit.

I need you. We are lost without you. Help us, for we are yours.