To Pray

I hate August.

I hate it. I hate it every year. And it's not because the stupid Midwest turns into concentrated water vapor. It's because my husband and I have a nice date in July, and then bid farewell with a "see you in September." I do see him on the occasional evening during that period of time, but I've learned not to plan on it, even when we plan on it.

And, every year, it gets worse before it gets better. It goes from seeing him three evenings out of five down to two, then down to one, then not at all, and then the weekends go. The weekends, when they start to disappear, even start out easy--like, he'll only be gone over the kids' nap. Then it's 10-2. Then it's 10-2 and 5-8. Then, it's 10am until 2 am. A day like today? A Sunday? 7:30am until some unspoken hour of the night.

I do wish it happened backwards. Like, all those tough hours at the beginning of this mess. Not after I'm already exhausted from rockin it single-mom style. But this is how it is, and every year, halfway through August, I'm begging for September and slinging nonsensical accusations at my stressed-out husband and handing out time-outs to my kids like tissues and snacks. I'm a damn mess.

Every year, about at this point in the long haul, I find my subconscious trying to beg for a break. I don't let myself. I know that if I allow it, I'll yearn so hard for a break, I'll unravel because I know I can't get one. But, deep down, all I want is to go somewhere else, be alone, and have quiet. Just quiet. No "Mommy, help me!" or "William took my truck!" or "MEEEEEEEHHHHHHH!" or "Hey, hon, did you call that company about the refund yet?" Not even the visual noise, like the entire bag of cereal spilled on the living room floor, or the empty wipes box just in time for the nastiest diaper ever, or the counter full of dishes, or the pile of laundry that covers my bed. Just...quiet.

So. All that to say, this is where I was, in my mind, when me and the kids arrived at church twenty minutes late. We arrived just a bit before the Gospel reading, which was the story of Jesus walking on water. I was surprised by the context of the reading. The whole thing started out with Jesus going up on a mountain to be alone, and to pray. Then he came down, and, well, walked on water and saved his disciples from drowning.

It's interesting--I've gotten as far as the quiet and the being alone part. But it didn't really occur to me to seek out the quiet and the solitude for the purpose of prayer. I'm not saying, of course, that it's going to make my husband come home sooner or my kids to be calm and pleasant and neat as a pin. But, Lord willing, I may find a frame of mind with which to govern my household in the peace of Christ. Or, at least without making my husband feel guilty for working hard when he's expected to, or making my children feel bad for being children.

I mean, it's not their fault.

The homily went on to talk about faith, and how the minute we take our eyes off Christ, that's when we can't take our eyes off the storm. And then it's all about the storm, and we forget about faith.

It's no secret that it's one storm after another in our house. Perhaps it's time I should stop drowning and remember that the One who can set me right is right there.

No reason I can't stand up now.