I can’t eat anything delicious. My period is coming. And I’m trying to relate to my sixteen year old son. It is not going well.
Sometimes I feel that he looks at me like I am a strange
(not exotic, just strange) fish swimming inside of a tank. What?!? Huh?
Sometimes I feel that he looks at me like I am a strange (not exotic, just strange) fish swimming inside of a tank. What?!? Huh?
I don’t like it. I want to snap at him for looking at me weird, dismissing me, not responding to me with awed respect. I want to go into the pantry and eat some forbidden food by the handful. Bury my face in a pan of brownies. That’ll show him.
Instead, as those godless roads are closed to me, I escape to my bedroom and give myself a time out. Big breath. What is true? Who is the grown up here? How do I love from this out of sorts place? Jesus, please come. Help me rise above my hormones and sugar addiction and self centeredness. Fill me Holy Spirit. I breathe you in. I let go of my own agenda and complusions. Thank you.
I’m still hungry but choose to reengage.
“Ping pong?”, I offer. He says no thanks. I am still a fish.
“I turn my eyes up to the hills. From where does my help come? My help comes from the Lord, maker of Heaven and Earth.” I love you, Jesus. I know this is about me, not my son. You are the only One who can fill this hungry heart.