Sometimes It’s Like That


It ate our lunch today.  We made it until about 9:15 pm and then it all came crashing down.

Too many sights.  Too many sounds.  Too much travel.  Even too much good.

Because too much is just too much.  No matter what category we place it in or what pretty name we place on top of it.

Most days we can handle a little extra.  We’ve grown in so many ways.

Tonight was not that night, though.  Tonight the extra was just... well, “extra.”

I’m no rookie.  I should have seen it coming.  In retrospect, the signs and signals all lined up.

But, it’s been different for so long ...

I just thought we could squeak by one more time off the spectrum’s radar.  

Nope.  Not tonight.

So, the speech I’ve prayed for went south.  The little eyes that usually look at me with such love glared in misunderstanding.  The heartbreak saturated every moment for about an hour.

Sometimes it’s like that.  It comes along when things are fine and it sucks the wind right out of your sails when you’ve finally rallied enough courage to sail again.

You pull out every trick.  Soft voices.  Cold water.  Cozy blanket.  Clear directives.  Fewer words. More words.  Bath time.  

Bath time.  That’s tonight’s ticket.  Bath time. 

The angry words still come, but they are wrapped in apologies. The clear speech starts returning. Coherent thoughts make a return.  “Will you help me?” is said... and actually meant. 

Then a fuzzy bathrobe. 

A comfy blanket. 

A prayer that invites the Holy Spirit, reminds the devil of his place, and says, “No more meltdowns, Jesus, please.”

A hug and kiss. 

Fingers run through wet curls. 

And we’re back to making plans to be a pro soccer player... and reiterating the need for a break... and wondering why the devil couldn’t just be a nice angel so he could’ve just stayed in heaven ... and citing the injustice of a friend who was accused of something they didn’t do. 

It’s like that.

It comes. It goes.

It’s life.

It’s a spectrum.

So every day of the week we refuse to bow to the name of anything other than the One who calls us beautiful in the middle of the mess.    No matter how much distractions shout for our attention.  Not one single ouch spot on this side of heaven will steal the glory for which we were made.

Fearfully and wonderfully made.  Every. Single. Moment.

Singing the most beautiful songs to sleep, all while reminding me “I’m not singing.”

Sometimes it’s like that.

Copyright © 2018 by Christie Aitken. All rights reserved. 


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