Sunday’s are for Coffee, Jesus, & Family

Church should be a lot less hard to get to, but when you have 4 children and a husband; it’s kind of like wanting to climb Mount Everest. I’m not exaggerating.

Brett tends to do his own thing in the morning after he makes breakfast, leaving me to dress the three small ones while they fight me tooth and nail because they just want to binge cartoons, and no matter how nicely I ask, Averi refuses to dress like we’re going to church. We buy that child a full wardrobe for our house, and you’d never know it. She wears the same 3 things every time we have her, without fail. I love her dearly, but I think it’s time I help her at least dress for church.

I desperately needed a shower before church, because even with masks I didn’t want to take any chances and have any of our old folk guessing when the last time I showered was. We’ll just say that by the time we needed to walk out the door, I was wound tighter than -insert the perfect reference I don’t have- and I just wanted to stay home. We went anyway, and I got the best message I could from the sermon while Alvi colored in books and tossed crayons all over the floor, Jax sat at the end of our family pew singing a random song playing with his stickers, and Brett did his best to try and help me keep them quiet.

Our church is made up of older people, and we are by far some of the youngest. It makes it difficult because we don’t have a nursery option, but they are talking about trying to do Sunday school again which would be fantastic. It tears at my insides, but the church I just adore and love more than anything is located a good hour and twenty minutes from us, and the one we attend is Brett’s family church. We’re currently trying to make the difficult decision of choosing which church to attend long term. Oof.

My beautiful, lovely aunt, Tanner’s mama, came to visit us today with her two girly‘s, and aside from Alvi having a meltdown or a few today, it was absolutely wonderful. The chickens even got to play in the yard for awhile while the kids burned energy, Brett mowed, and the ladies got to catch up after going most likely a year without seeing each other.

Before we introduced the kiddo’s to The Little Rascals tonight, we played Go Fish and it was an absolute blast. It didn’t take long to discover Luci takes losing quite a bit like her dad does; not well. Not well, at all. Not that it was about winning or losing, but we did attempt to teach them all the parts of the game. Poor, sweet Luci. I’m not sure we’ll ever get her to play with us again, but she’s stubborn and I’m sure her drive to win will overcome her frustration with losing.

I don’t remember the last time I was able to sit with my kids and actually play with them without feeling edgy and like I needed to go clean something or be productive. I didn’t get irritated and snappy when they couldn’t play perfectly, and to hear their little giggles warmed my heart more than I can possibly express in words. How I have missed this, and even though the healing process hasn’t actually started, it has been so much easier to let go of things and be more focused on the here and now knowing that I’m going in the right direction, and I’m doing the right things to heal myself.

Alvi’s second opinion is tomorrow, and come hell or high waters, we are going. It is time to help heal this baby and whatever is causing her pain and discomfort, anger and frustration. Regardless of the outcome, we have much much better days ahead of us. Because God said so, and so it will be. All and any prayers are appreciated as we take this journey to find answers for sweet, stubborn baby sugar.

I lay here in bed, desperate for sleep, but my anxiety is rather high. Alvi is, believe it or not, sleeping soundly and my melatonin is failing me. Prayer doesn’t seem to conquer it all right now, but that doesn’t mean God has left me or things aren’t going to get better. My physical body and my soul are two very different things, and the biggest issue of the two is my physical being. There are so many things in life that make me feel like I have no control, and try as I might, I just cannot put them to rest. I’ve handed them to God hundreds of times at this point, and I can’t seem to stop picking them back up. Now that I’ve relieved some of my anxiety by forcing myself to finish this entry, it’s time to take myself to the feet of God. Weary and burdened, I take my broken self to Him for His power to heal and calm my heart with the promise of a better day tomorrow.

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