Football and Spirituality

My team is not doing so hot this year.  In all my years of fanhood (something like 6), I have not witnessed such an awful season.  I believe I tempted fate by agreeing to cable, thinking it would be fun to watch our team trounce other teams.  Needless to say,  I am not having fun.

But I continue to watch their games each week.  I cheer them on, despite knowing there is only a -1% chance that they will win.  When they are losing, I stress their strengths, point out the improvements, and hope that next year these things will produce a winning season.

In many ways, I feel like my football team.  This year has been a hard one.  Colic, postpartum depression, miscarriage, loneliness, and another miscarriage have left me desperately dry.  So much so that I turned to Ben the other day and expressed, "I feel like a part of myself is missing.  The person I worked so hard to become--a loving and patient mother, a supportive and caring wife--has disappeared.  Anger, resentment, and depression have overridden my once happy existence.  I feel lost, alone, and confused."

My faith is still strong, but my self-worth has diminished.  Sure Heavenly Father will take care of His children, I tell myself, just not me.  Because I am unworthy.

I make countless mistakes during the day.  I pray, ask for forgiveness, and make the same mistakes again.  I ignore guidance while feeling increasingly sorry for myself.  During the hard times, I fail to recognize the blessings I have been given.

My record is a losing one.

Yet,  God has not given up on me.  He cheers me on even when He knows I might lose that game.  He reminds me of my strengths, points out my improvements, and remains on the side lines chanting my name.

He is my biggest fan.

I had to make some tough choices this week that placed people in hard positions.  Choices that were necessary, and felt right, for my health.  It was hard.  As I followed this prompting, I felt a small piece of myself return.  Ben being home more to help me is a big blessing,  yet it is much more than that.  My Spirit is transforming.  Back to the woman I was and so much more.  My mind is alive and my fingers are tingling as I reclaim my passion in writing.

I have much to improve on, of course, but the process doesn't seem so overwhelming.

See?  Football really is more than just a game.  (Wink, wink.)

The Rapids

I've been floating easily along this parenting river,  lazily dipping my hands and feet in the clear, cold water when I started to feel overheated.  My inner tube, constructed out of patience, joy, and confidence, held my lithe body as I used my hands and feet to work through the little snags that occasionally threatened to halt my progression.  I didn't anticipate the rapids that were waiting for me around the next corner.

When I reached them, I managed very well at first.  I stayed calm as I turned my inner tube this way and that, avoiding the rocks and other debris that attempted to throw me out of my vessel and into the water.  But my shortsightedness failed to see the big rock slightly covered by the raging rapids.

I hit it at full speed and fell, tumbling into the dangerous cold water.

*************

Andrew has cried for much of the day the last 2 weeks.

At first,  I did very well.  I held him in my rocking chair and softly sang his favorite lullabies.  When he would sleep, I would hurriedly clean and make dinner.

Until this week.

This week,  Andrew's naps have been sporadic.  I put him down and he begins to whimper.  His whimper turns into cries which abruptly become piercing screams if he is not picked up immediately.  It is like post-colic colic.

I hit that rock last night.

After battling his cries all day, I thought he would finally sleep when the evening came.  My hopes were dashed as he started another round.

I looked at him and told him to stop.  Not very motherly, huh?

Ben heard my tone and glanced up from his notebook.  Something in my appearance must have frightened him because he came over and took Andrew from my arms.  He sent me to bed, promising he would take care of our little guy.

*************

I catch hold of my inner tube,  clinging to it for dear life.  My legs and arms are covered with scratches and bruises.  My head hurts from the fall.  But,  I am safe.  I am safe!

The tube guides me to safety.  I land on the riverbank and begin to sob.  My heart is full of gratitude.

*************

I know Andrew will feel better soon.  It is going to be rough until he gets there.  Still,  when I see his face and hear his cries, my heart aches for my poor little guy.

*************

I am making my rounds around the net.  It will take me awhile to catch up with all of your delightful blogs,  but I am coming.

As for my 10 things list?  I will be completing it shortly.  Sometimes I must roll with the twists and turns of my life.  This is one of those times.

Please Be Mine, Dear Swing

Dear Swing,

I wasn't sure of you at first.  Your bulk seemed too much for our little living space,  your utility not yet discovered.  I thought you would be gone before the end of the week.

I was wrong.

Too soon,  Manly developed colic.  I rocked and rocked but could not console.  I passed him off to Mr. B.  His patience worn thin,  he placed Manly inside your welcoming arms.

He was asleep within seconds.

This seemed a minor fluke, so we tried again the next night.  You succeeded in proving us wrong.

From that time forward, you rocked Manly.  He slept without interruption for hours at a time.  You became our beacon of sleep.

All too soon you showed your weakness: batteries.  With your life slowly dwindling, I slept on the couch, manually pushing the swing.  The batteries needed to bring electric juices in your weary body were put at the top of our grocery list.  With life restored, you resumed your place as Manly's bed.

When Manly's colic diminished, I took over, thinking I could do better.  Now, my tired eyes look over your shiny, metallic skin.  I think pleasureful thoughts of sleep filled nights.

I know I have neglected you, but I promise to do better.  If I buy you batteries, will you be mine again?

Love,

Amber

This letter is part of Momalom's Love It Up challenge.