Yep, that’s right, 32. I guess I’m older and wiser. Probably mostly just older after the year I’ve had. The wiser part is definitely in question. All in all I would say that I would never ever ever ever want to do the year of 31 again. Some years are good and some are not. And 31 was not.
I even refused to buy a Thirty-One bag because it was my own way of rebelling against 31. It was the year of the crazy. I went off the pill, we tried to get pregnant, diagnosed with PCOS, back on like 4 different pills, and I was full on crazy. Although my doctor has given me permission to tell anyone I want that my hormones are quite literally all jacked up. That’s bad news for me and for you, I’m afraid. I’m certainly functioning and moving forward, but man, I would never ever wish PCOS on anyone because it has done a number on me. That and the sleep disorder (which may or may not be linked). Even if it’s not linked, the PCOS sure doesn’t help any. I’ll spare you the crazy story behind that because if I told you, you might actually lock me up somewhere.
I feel like 31 was a year of change. Not necessarily big change, but change none-the-less and change seems to take a toll on me. Now granted it might not take the same toll if I’d release my grip on my plan a bit, but I’ve got plenty more years to work on that.
And, by the way, now that I’m 32, not only am I going to buy a Thirty-One bag, but I’m going to have a party! Take that year of 31.
I guess I’m a hot freaking mess doing the best I can. Some days are good. Some days are not. And strangely I’m finding grace in between. And sometimes I don’t even like that.
Let me tell you a story about my little Banana. And I’m going to remind you up front that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree in this house.
My little Banana was doing something she wasn’t supposed to be doing. I can’t remember exactly what, but I think it involved her little sister. I told her a couple times to stop and we talked about things and I handled them like a good mom would. Well, she kept getting more and more frustrated and therefore more and more disobedient. I told her that she deserved a spanking, but I was going to give her grace and not spank her. Instead I had planned to just try to talk things over with her. Well, she spun around on her heels and yelled across the room, “I DON’T WANT YOUR GRACE!”.
I think that’s where I am. I want my good days to be my own doing and my own earning. And I want to punish myself for my bad days. That way, when I have a good day I feel even better about it and when I have a bad day I feel even worse for it. I’m basically giving the Cross the middle finger while screaming (only the inside, because I wouldn’t anyone to think that I was actually crazy), “I DON’T WANT YOUR GRACE!”
Maybe now that I’m 32 I won’t do that anymore…at least not as much. You see it’s absolutely crazy to me that every morning is new. How can I get out of bed each morning and not get to claim the goodness of yesterday or not deserve to punish myself again for yesterday?!? What would it look like to live in the grace that is there waiting? For me to give Jesus all the credit when I have a “good day”? You know when I don’t yell at anyone, and I actually read books with my children, and I engage with people, and I serve my husband, and I cook dinner AND do the dishes…Jesus gets the credit (just nevermind the fact that there might have been some sin in there somewhere). And for me to crawl in Jesus lap when I have a “bad day”? That He already had a way worse day than any of mine and He literally held the punishment for every sin ever committed and ever to-be-committed by me and everyone else?? What the what? Now that’s freaking crazy. Sure I don’t really want that kind of punishment on myself for my bad day yesterday. Maybe that grace wouldn’t be such a bad idea.