Most days, this is what I look like. All day.
I had two sweet friends the other day who said they thought my life was perfect. "You're happy all the time." "You have a perfect kid and a perfect husband and a perfect house." And they think I'm pretty and a good person, or whatever.
And I take these as really kind compliments. And I said "thank you," and it meant a lot to me that they said such sweet things. But I walked away from the conversation feeling like an imposter. If they lived one day at Bakertown, they'd be running for the hills from the piece of egg they'd find stuck in the highchair--green and decaying and smelling like fish, not eggs. If they heard the words that came out of my mouth when I dropped a batch of scones on the ground, their second cousin twice removed would blush. And when they heard my 15-month-old repeat those exclamations, it wouldn't be too long before they called CPS. My child eats hot dogs for lunch almost every day. And for that matter, so do I. They're organic. It's fine, right?
They'd hear the types of things that N. and I honest-to-God fight about: the fan in the kitchen, using the copper or non-stick pans for eggs, how long to keep sponges before you throw them away. Real fights, people.
We pick our noses and clog our toilets and wear the same outfit multiple days in a row if no one has seen us in it.
If I could go back to that conversation, I'd lovingly correct my sweet friends. I'd tell them how blessed I am: I have a healthy, cute and sometimes bratty kid. I have a faithful husband who sticks with me when I'm annoying. We have a loyal dog and a house that we could afford, because it was a foreclosure in a bad economy. I'm really, unbelievably blessed. The "happy" you see isn't so much happiness as it is the JOY of the Lord given to me by His Spirit, because I pray over and over again for it, and ask for forgiveness for my chronically imperfect life, mouth, attitude, parenting choices, etc. I have joy, because I have Christ, and I have Christ because I believe. It's really that simple.
I don't have joy because of my lifestyle or my marriage or my child. I have joy, because I have Jesus. So really, he should be getting the props, ya dig?
And those are my thoughts on this drizzly, cold, blessed Friday.
Simon just stole the toilet brush from the bathroom, and now he's carrying it as is drip, drip, drips on the hardwood floor. Turk is behind him licking it all up.