Weary

Here at the Marsden household we are officially half way through summer. In the past four weeks I have: attended high school and junior high summer camps, gone to the dentist, served jury duty, hosted a junior high BBQ, attended one rehearsal dinner and two weddings (one of which my kids were involved in), gotten my hair done, hosted a BBQ potluck with our neighbors, watched Logan’s first T-Ball game, and babysat my two adorable nieces for four days (read: 6 kids under 7yrs). So, yeah, I’m a bit worn out.

What’s been more difficult than being so exhausted that I fall asleep as I’m falling into bed, is the spiritual weariness that has accompanied the physical. A fellow Redbud, Trillia Newbell, described the soul-deep feeling of utter exhaustion in a recent article for Women of God Magazine as “a season of despondency.” My soul reacted to those words and they’ve been stuck in my head since. “Me too, sister!” cries my overworked heart.

I feel like the oscillating fan in my front room; spinning with all my might but not accomplishing much more than blowing hot air. I catch myself sighing deeply and mentally reverting to my unending struggles with pursuing purpose in the midst of the mundane. The current laundry pile is high as my apathy.

I reached the zenith of my despondency at the opening ceremonies of Logan’s T-Ball league Friday night. I drove up to the baseball field swarming with little sluggers already stressed. I had spent the last half hour trying to find one of Logan’s tennis shoes which had inconveniently vanished, never to be found, so he was wearing his uniform with flip flops. Since he wouldn’t actually be playing I was hoping this would somehow go unnoticed.

My husband, Mike, was working so I had all four kids in a crowded sports complex solo. I lug my giant (but indispensable) double stroller out and load the two littles only to discover two flat tires. I’m then left having to herd my four sweet children like a bunch of freewheeling cats across the parking lot and infield. Then I’m faced with the no less daunting task of finding my son’s team (did I mention all the teams wear the same reversible blue/white uniform shirt and I hadn’t actually been to a practice yet so I had to rely on my five year old’s ability to distinguish his coach out of the sea of faces?). His coach looks at him appraisingly and immediately comments on his lack of appropriate footwear. While wrestling my squirming 17 month old into what must have appeared to be an MMA-style submission hold, I avoid eye contact and mumble a lame excuse promising to have proper shoes for tomorrow’s game.

I got off the field and the despondency crashed down with such force I thought I might be crushed under it. And I DO NOT CRY. My eyes watered and my chest felt tight as I dug through the diaper bag to find the pacifier I was praying to be there. In my frantic near publicly losing my mind moment, just seconds away from giving into the temptation to upend the diaper bag behind the bleachers, I find myself pulling a note card with faded ink out of its recesses.

I memorize a verse a month by writing it down on a note card and keeping it in my car to typically review when I head out to pick up the big kids from school. For such a time as this, this card had fallen out and ended up in my bag. And wouldn’t you just know God chose for me to see at that moment Galatians 6:9:

And let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up.

Talking my experience over with Mike later that night I gained further clarity on my feelings. I am not in a harvesting season. I am in a stand-firm-do-not-give-up season. Which is simultaneously encouraging and a bit depressing, honestly. But, I’m promised a season is coming to reap the benefits of the sometimes wearying, despondency inducing, exhausting work of doing good.

If I do not give up.

As sorely tempted as I am to ride out the rest of the summer hiding under the covers with my Kindle (if only! haha), I’m not going to quit investing the small talents I’m given trusting it’s proving I’m capable of more later. Which is kind of a scary thought if I think about it too much.

The day after the opening night fiasco I left the house early totally prepared with everything we needed: uniform, hat, cleats (never did find that other shoe), water, and sunblock. I was back on my A-game! Until we unloaded from the car and reached the field and I realized I hadn’t even considered that Logan would need his baseball glove and there was no time for me to run home for it.

Well, fine. Even if I have to humble myself in front of the coach again and ask if there is a glove my appropriately clad son could borrow, please? I. Will. Not. Give. Up.