Good grief ya’ll. I thought things were hectic and scary trying to get ready for this upcoming surgery and time off. I thought. Then about 3 weeks ago, the people we rent our house from called and told us that their son had decided he wanted to live here so we needed to move. Now, here I am, less than 1 week pre-op (5 days to be exact) packing my house, getting ready to move, trying to get utilities changed over and, to just be completely honest, trying to get my life together. Seriously, just trying to survive. Is it next year yet? Because 2021 is hitting it out of the park in the pain in my butt department.
The newest round started about two and a half weeks ago when I was on my way to see my sister in PA. She recently had her 2nd baby and I wanted the opportunity to meet him and to see my niece one more time before having my keys taken away from me during recuperation. I was so excited that I was off work and getting to leave early because that NEVER gets to happen. Turns out, it didn’t get to happen this time, either. The morning dawned bright and early with Chuck calling and saying he needed me to bring him his jacket because it was a little cooler out than he had anticipated. No big deal, running that to him would only cost me an hour or so. I can give up an hour for the man who has dedicated his life to me, right?
As I was pulling off of our road, I heard a clang and stopped to investigate. Ya’ll, my dang mirror had fallen off of my car. Shattered. Gone. The housing was still there but the glass was no more. Great, I thought. I got back into the car starting to head toward Chuck’s jobsite again, wondering feverishly how I was going to get to Nashville safely with no side mirror, much less all the way to Pennsylvania.
Once I got his jacket dropped off, I stopped by multiple auto part stores to try and find a mirror and had ZERO luck. I started calling different chain locations everywhere in the area and still, nothing. Finally, after hearing the tears in my voice, a man told me that no one would have one in stock and that it would have to be ordered.
Ordered? ORDERED?? ORDERED?!?!?!?!? No, that’s not gonna work for me, thanks.
I would love to tell you that I didn’t lose my ever loving mind at this point. I’d love to tell you that I didn’t call my poor husband and take it out on him. I’d love to tell you that I closed my eyes and asked Jesus to intervene and calm my spirit. But I’d also love to not lie to you right now so I won’t say any of those things.
It was bad.
Things were made that much worse when I called my sister and explained the situation to her. I could hear the sadness and disappointment over me not being able to make it and all that did was heighten my already frayed and exposed nerves. With that weighing on me, I found myself on my way to Walmart to find a temporary fix.
Have ya’ll ever seen a car out somewhere and wondered what story might be behind the ridiculousness of it? Maybe they had duct tape holding their hood down, a flashlight where their headlights should be or maybe it was ropes tied to the windshield wipers pulling them from side to side so that they would work. Either way, after that trip to Walmart, ya’ll would have looked at my car the exact same way. My solution? a cosmetic mirror with the handle broken off of it, taped to the side mirror housing.
Did people see my Tennessee license plate and think about how redneck I was with my taped on cosmetic mirror? Probably. But I could see and it got me to my sister’s and back so for the most part, I really didn’t care.
From that experience on, these past few weeks have been just one thing right after another. In the middle of all the chaos, I turned 42 years old and it was at that moment I decided life was trying to make me have at least 1 breakdown for every year I’ve been on this planet. It’s been hard, trying to navigate all of the things that have been thrown at us and doing it with a grateful, faithful heart. I still have peace about the surgery and everything it involves but I’ve just reached this breaking point where it all has gotten to be too much. Instead of the grace that I wanted to see myself float through this with, I have had these moments where flesh has overruled my heavily saturated mind and kept me from thinking clearly.
I guess I mostly just wanted, with this post in particular, to say that no matter how firm you are in your faith, no matter how steadfast your consistency may be, sometimes the fall apart will happen anyway….and that’s ok. It’s ok to be weak in the middle of being strong. It’s ok to cry when you are doing everything you can to keep your brave face turned to the world. I wanted to share this journey with the people around me to help others. I wanted other people to see that no matter what you are going through, there will be moments when you soar and there will will moments when you feel like you don’t have enough strength left to keep yourself plummeting to the ground. I guess that was what I wanted to show most right now. I know I only shared 1 story in the midst of the 42 that I mentioned but that 1 story is enough to sum up the total of all the others.
In all of this, I have to learn to be ok with the bad that comes with the good. I have to remember that I won’t always win the battle. I have to try and remind myself that even the strongest people fall. My mantra has to be that the fall, the breakdown does not equal defeat, that it is only when I refuse to get back up that the war will be declared for the enemy.
In all of this, I have to remember that His burdens are easy and His yokes are light. In all of this, I have to remember to quit carrying things that aren’t mine, to lay the excess down at His feet and to trust that He really is in control. I have to repeat these words as many times as it takes.
Even if it winds up being 42.
Or more.
Ramblings Of A Southern Girl 
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