This last week or so has just been “one of those weeks.” Nothing seems to go smoothly. You know what I’m talking about. All of the cookbooks fall over when you reach for one on the top of the fridge…again. The pickle jar is sealed so tight you can’t open it and you’re home alone. You play phone tag with the 15 people you are trying to talk to or make an appointment with or get information from. You realize the one thing you really want to wear is at the bottom of the hamper and no amount of perfume and Downy Wrinkle release is going to make it presentable. You have a headache…again. You are missing an ingredient for the recipe you were planning on making for dinner. You’re running late…again. You’re hair is being difficult and won’t go up the way you want it to no matter how many times you try beating it into submission. One of those weeks.
And those are just some of the things that got to me this week and those things don’t even matter. My heart was in that state these last several days. It felt knocked down, closed off, alone, all over the place, disheveled and forgotten, hurt, forgetful, always one step away from a breakthrough, and defiant . I was upset with some of my circumstances. I was disappointed in the way I had handled some things. My feelings got hurt and I was rehashing things from the past. I had dropped the ball and had not met some goals. I felt like I was going backwards. I felt like there was too much on my plate and I just wanted to have it easy…for once. I was feeling downright defeated.
Then I did the stupidest thing ever. I didn’t pray. I didn’t read my Bible. I didn’t seek His face.
And I stayed down.
Defeated.
Then Wednesday morning came and it was time to go to BSF. I was running late…because of my hair. I also had not done my lesson for the second time ever and was not excited about going to the discussion without having done my lesson. Did I mention I had a headache? So we all meet in the sanctuary to sing a few hymns and pray before we go into our discussion groups and the songs begin lifting my spirits and the state of my heart a bit even though I missed most of them. (I am sure the woman standing behind me looked upon the state of my hair, understood why I was rushing in mid-hymn, and immediately felt sorry for me.) Then we were dismissed and I go to class. And as always, the energetic passion these women have for Jesus and the way God restores things throughout history and our little lives begins to resonate in me. My heart began to open up and I felt camaraderie with them all as I sat and listened to the things they shared. My heart began to focus as verse after verse was read and I was reminded that the God who I love and who claims me as His own was not done fixing me up and that He always remembered me. And as I allowed my heart to remember and the healing to wash over me I felt like I was coming back to the place I had been just a couple of weeks ago when I was allowing God to really work on my heart and break through some tough stuff. I sat there and wondered why on earth I would ever have a defiant spirit toward a God so tender, so loving, and so wise.
Has my week gotten any better? Honestly? Not really. The pickle jar is still too tight and my hair is still defiant, but my heart is in a much better place so I can handle it a bit better. Things won’t always go my way, whether it be recipes or circumstances. But I’m learning that a hurting, seeking heart in the hands of the Father is much more pliable and resilient than a hurting, defiant heart left to itself.
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