Because it means I have to swallow my pride and put my imperfections out there, front and center.
I'd prefer to maintain the image that I have it all together, and that I don't make mistakes that bring me to my knees and make me hate myself.
But I just got done crying on the phone to my husband, asking him over and over again:
"What's wrong with me? What kind of mother does this?"
Chris didn't tell me that it was okay to do what I had done. But he did remind me that I'm not the only one who screws up like this, and that the problem is that we, as a body of Christ, don't talk about it. And so we feel alone in our struggles, because we forget that every other human is just that: human.
And now that the smoke has cleared, I feel like God wants me to share the story.
Here we go...
The circumstances leading up to this incident are irrelevant. As much as I want to share what the past week has looked like for me, and what this day has looked like, I realize that the only reason I want to share those details is to excuse my behavior.
But the reality of it is, there is no excuse for my behavior.
Less than an hour ago, I flipped out and went on a rampage. I was yelling. I was crying.
I was out. of. control.
I saw a side of me that I thought I had conquered.
I got the girls settled in for their naps (if you can call the means by which I did it, "settled"), and as I walked from their disheveled room, through the disheveled toy room, and into the boys' disheveled room, the mess sent me over the edge.
Rephrase: I shoved God out of the way and put the god of cleanliness in His place. Then I worshiped that false god, and leaped over the edge.
And I picked a fight with Pierce's K'Nex roller coaster, sending pieces of it flying across their room.
I continued my rampage for just a few seconds longer, until the looks on my boys' faces made me realize what I had just done.
I looked at them, then at the roller coast lying on its side, and I cried, "I just broke your rollercoaster! What kind of mother does that?"
And I left the room crying.
After I cried over the phone to my husband for a few minutes and heard his words (spoken from a place much closer to the ground than where I was), I trodded back up the stairs to apologize.
I hugged and cried and apologized and reassured them that no matter what they do wrong, it is never ever ever okay for me to act that way.
My apologies were met with immediate forgiveness and lots of hugs, but it didn't heal the pain I felt for what I had done. I was feeling hopeless. Unforgivable.
I sobbed some more and whimpered, "I just wish I could go back and take away all the times I've ever hurt you or made you sad."
Then Pierce delivered words that were like a salve to my wounded soul.
"But Mommy, in a way you can. When you say you're sorry, it's kind of like starting over again. It's like a new start."
My first thought was that he's just a boy...he just doesn't get it. He doesn't understand the gravity of this all. But as the words sank into my soul, I remembered.
I remembered that yes, with God there is a fresh start with each apology. Every time I repent, my sins are erased, and God places before me an opportunity to do it right the next time.
Almost like a do-over.
I am staring at the "Publish Post" button. I don't want to click that button. I'd prefer to hold onto this story until I can sit down and start the story with, "Once upon a time...long long ago...". But I can't get Chris's words out of my head - that we as the Body of Christ just don't talk about the REAL struggles enough. And I'm not okay with that.
So I'm going to publish it, with the hopes that maybe it will have a purpose.
Maybe you needed to be encouraged today? Maybe you needed to remember that you're not the only one who messes up?
Wherever you are, you're not alone.