I’m kind of responsible for making sure there’s a blog post each week by a different member of City Pres. I send reminders. I create user accounts. More often than not I take content straight from email or Word documents and flow it in here myself. I hunt down photos and try to make them match. Sometimes I do better than others. Many of us are deadline pushers. Most of us have something to say when our turn circles back around.
Except this week. This week it was my turn. I did not send myself a reminder and I did not remember it was my turn. Thursday came and went. Friday came and almost went. It’s late and I’m sitting here trying to come up with something semi-profound to add to the collective thought here on the City Pres blog.
In truth: I got nothing. I could talk about how we went to court yesterday for our foster boys and how nervous I was about that leading up to it, only to find out that the entire docket was rescheduled to February. I could talk about how our 5yo got in trouble at school this week for telling his teacher to “leave him the **** alone” (use your imagination there). I could talk about how I lent my one good black dress to my 13-year-old this week and discovered it looks much, much, MUCH better on her than it does on me. I could talk about how we thought one of our dogs, Boomer, was going to die on Wednesday, but after taking him to the vet we found out he was just fat. I could talk about how every Christmas card of a picture perfect family I open this season perpetuates my self-doubt that I’m even fit to be a human being because not only do we not have a card, we never even managed to take one decent family photo this year. I could talk about how I struggle with the #believeableandbeautiful hashtag every single time I see it because just about everything around me screams the opposite right now. I could talk about any number of things that have taken up precious space in my heart and mind this week only to turn into nothing. But I’m not going to talk about any of those things because I’m in a funk and in the end would not serve anybody.
So. On a night like tonight, after a week like this week, about the only thing “believable and beautiful” I’ve got comes from Psalms. Psalms 42:5 to be exact:
Why are you cast down, O my soul,
and why are you in turmoil within me?
Hope in God; for I shall again praise him,
And also this: Lamentations 3:22-23
The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases;
his mercies never come to an end;
they are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.
And so I pray this prayer. I sound my barbaric yawp. I go to bed. And I’ll try it all again tomorrow.
Megan Dunham is a wife, mama, foster mom, freelance writer, occasional crafter, hybrid homeschooler, and Mary Poppins wannabe. She collects most of her brain drivel here at the Half-Pint House.