Over the last few weeks, I have been learning how to be content from my almost three-year old son. Over the last couple years I have been trying to drill into my brain the biblical concept that my joy and peace does not come from circumstances but from the Lord. I know this and I believe it. Yet, I was still struggling and after Emily was born, I had a very pitiful pity party. I pretty much felt constantly sorry for myself. The world would say I was justified. People are constantly telling me, "I could never do what you do." Or asking me, "how are you holding up?" Which was only adding fuel to my self-pity fire. You know what brought my pity party train to an abrupt halt? Carson coming up and telling me "I love my house mommy." My response was a questioning "you do...did you forget we share it with five old people?" He then went into three-year old blabber about exactly how much he loves our home and why. I was flabbergasted and for the first time, I saw our living situation from the eyes of a toddler. It made me think, why can't I love our house?
This new revelation wasn't an instant cure, but it did get me thinking. Why does this not feel like home? What can I do to make our living situation not so chaotic?
I thought about what really needed to change and I changed it. I stopped crying and decided to take some action. I found someone to watch Carson one day a week so I could get the administration part of our business done from start to finish. Now when I'm home with the kids, I don't have unfinished work tasks hanging over my head. I even had time to charge my Kindle! Second, I decided to focus on being grateful. When I started only thinking about the positive, I actually became overwhelmed by how blessed we are. I even brought our decorations out of storage and started nesting. Maybe the time of year is helping, but our home is starting to feel cozy and warm to me. I feel bad for wasting so much time feeling sorry for myself but I am thankful that for now I am moving forward.
It's amazing that all it took was a simple sentence from a 21/2 year old. Thank you my dear son for getting me out of my funk.