Sunday, June 8, 2014

I had a dream last week. One of those bad mom dreams where I yelled a lot and then a whole lot more and...

I had a dream last week.  One of those bad mom dreams where I yelled a lot and then a whole lot more and then ended up flying out of the driveway late for school and knocking down the backyard fence.  Thankfully just a dream.  Especially since I can't afford the 12 year old's orthodontic cost of a million dollars AND a new fence. 

But in the dream as I yelled and screamed and totally lost it.... I looked at my kids and they were little.  Like they used to be when they totally depended on me to get them dressed and shoes on and buckled into their car seats.  So I was a bad mom yelling at helpless sweet faced kids in cute pajamas.

And I'm not really sure what that dream was trying to tell me.... dreams are mirrors of our minds or souls or something like that, I think.  Maybe the last week of school was bringing out the unrest and stress of all the days of the year.  Or maybe I have a split personality.  

Last night we watched that old Bill Murray movie, What About Bob - where multi-phobic Bob follows his new psychiatrist on a family vacation and ends up driving the doctor crazy... And while playing video games in the next room, I heard the 10 year old saying he was doing baby step therapy through the zombie attack of  whatever game they were playing.  But funny that he quoted the movie and stuck it into his day.  Which, boom... right there.... shows that kids are just little ears and eyes, sponges sucking in all the world around them.  Especially the world of their parents.

But outside of dreams, we don't yell at our house.  Other than my husband during a Dallas Cowboys game or the natural loudness of the kids - like an all boy band beating on a thousand drums, ....we speak.  In words.  Words spoken in a way that would be worth  repeating. 

As a parent I refuse to yell to be heard.  It decreases the message and places the focus on the one doing the yelling.  Not the issue and the conversation at hand.  Which solves absolutely nothing unless you're yelling for someone to jump out of the way of a runaway train.  Or saving them from a lion attack.  Or an alligator.

And over time I've noticed that God doesn't really yell at me either.  The quiet of his voice can be heard if I really listen.  Today it was the message of rest.  A day where I needed to stay at home and take a nap and not do much else. 

But I also know from experience that the loudness of the world can drown out the quiet of God's voice.  And I become caught up in it and try to catch up and keep up and end up nowhere.  Nowhere I'm supposed to be anyway.

But I think that in our quiet times and still times and gentleness of voice and message to others in the way we live our lives, God is able to speak his loudest message to the world.

So for the upcoming week, my hope is this... that when my words are wrong or altogether absent of meaning, I have to trust that in my silence God can find an opportunity to speak.  

adorable art courtesy of Erin Leigh's sweet blog. Visit here.

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