Big Enough God, And How!

So as briefly alluded to in my last desperate post, my husband was out of town this past week. He left around two on Sunday afternoon and returned at nine o’clock last night. The anticipation of this trip was part of what sent me off the deep end on Sunday. I am so not that mother.  You know, the one who does everything around the house, all the cooking, everything to take care of the kids, is the only one whose sleep is disturbed by children that go bump in the night.  I am so not that mother.

I am the mother whose husband picks up food from the grocery store on his way home from work, walks in the door and gets to cooking.  Except on the evenings I throw the children to him and take on the task of cooking the food before I cook the children.  And except for the evenings I throw the children and the dinner prep at him and hide away somewhere.  I’m that mother.

So, when the Daddy leaves town, things change around here.  The whole system changes.  And it scares me.

But you know what?  This week was amazing.  Starting with the eye-opening encounter with God on a beautiful country road on Sunday and continuing on through to Thursday:  miraculous intervention.  Miraculous patience, miraculous drive.  All week long I kept my eyes on the two feet right in front of me, paying no attention to the days-without-husband that stretched before me.  In fact, the hardest day was yesterday when I knew it was almost over and I kept looking past the task at hand and toward the top of the knoll.  It was then that I began tripping, losing momentum.

Until that point, I simply did what was right before me.  Change this diaper, not “Urgh, all these diapers!!!“  Toddler decides to awaken 3 1/2 hours before I go to sleep?  OK.  Get up and love on sleepless toddler.  Don’t think about how tired you’re going to feel all day long.

Maybe some of you are saying, “Well, of course!”  But this is not my way.  This is one of my biggest struggles, to get so lost in the scope of the entire task (whatever it is) that I’m left paralyzed and unable to take a single step toward accomplishing it.  Not so this week.  This week I took things one thing, one moment at a time.  I did set some longterm goals, however.  1.  My husband will come home to a house neater and cleaner than the one he left and 2.  I will get all of these clean clothes folded and put away.  And I surpassed these goals by a mile.  One pile of toys at a time.  One basket of clothes at a time.  When I looked in my room full of clean clothes yesterday (and I do mean full) I didn’t succumb to paralysis, I picked one pile and got to work.

I can’t count the number of times this week I raised words of gratitude to the One I know was responsible for this transformation.  I really had been in a dark spot these last few weeks, going through a cycle of questioning all of my faith.  The whole thing, the whole God story, seemed so distant, so unreal to me.  And then I yelled at God on Sunday.  I did.  I yelled and argued and essentially told him I wasn’t buying what he was selling.

And how did he respond?  With a swift smite?  No.  With grace.  With grace sufficient and abundant.  With more grace than I knew I needed or could imagine available.  Without a doubt I know that God met me this week.  Met me on the pretty road to nowhere, with windmills off in the distance and brown hay on either side.  Met me in each gross never-ending-this-kid-eats-entirely-too-much-fiber diaper.  In every solo bedtime with crazed toddler and tired olders.  In every minute of each and every day.  His grace was sufficient.

His grace is sufficient.  For yesterday, today, and tomorrow.  Praise be to God!