A Little Help, Please!

This morning I had a classic pregnancy meltdown which I thought should be captured for posterity.

Before describing it, let’s just say that coming to this morning I’ve been a raving nester over the past few days, which led me to gut the office for 3 hours each of the last two nights after the kids were in bed. I revamped our filing system, hauled away 16 Henry’s bags of old magazines and papers, and donated a large pile together to the Salvation Army from our stash of electronics that have been gathering dust for a few years. I was exhausted last night, and was looking forward to a restful day to myself with the girls all stowed happily at their away-from-mommy activities until 3 p.m.

Then Becca threw up all over me at breakfast. As I cleaned it up, I took a deep breath and tried to be okay with taking care of my little sickie instead of having the break I’d been looking forward to.

After that, the kids ended up sitting in the car for 30 minutes (fighting and screaming at each other, of course) while I scoured the house trying to find the keys I SWEAR I put on the counter in the kitchen where they always go. At that point we were 15 minutes late for Angel’s school, to which I decided to walk her anyway. Then I was going to have to walk Neveah 2.5 miles down the road from there to deliver her, very late, to her summer school program.

I threw a handful of water bottles in the stroller, left the house in a whirlwind, unwittingly leaving Neveah’s towel at home (which is OH so helpful on a swim day…), and nearly dragging the kids and my 6-month pregnant body the mile to Angel’s school in the already-eighty-degree heat. Not a good start to the day. And what was it we were reading moments before at our breakfast devotional? Something from 2 Samuel about the Lord being my rock, my help and my deliverer?? I was definitely NOT feeling it. Neither were the kids based on mommy’s little tantrum, I was certain.

By the time we got to Angel’s school, sweating, tired and over-heated, I was somewhere between crying and throwing the sign in clipboard across the hallway. Enter fellow mom, Stacy, with a smile, as she delivered her two apparent cherubs to class. She asked how I was and I mumbled something about the day being a complete disaster because I lost my keys and still had the longer leg of the morning walk left in the blistering heat… She smiled, squeezed my arm and said, “hang on a minute,” as she finished with her own girls. Still wiping the sweat from my face when she returned, she said, “Can I drive you to Neveah’s school and drop you back home afterward? You look really worn-out from the morning and I have some time on my hands.” I took her up on the offer immediately, thanking her over and over again for being the bright spot in my otherwise total flop of a morning.

I’d like to say that with that beautiful example of friendship, I calmed down right away and felt better, but my morning with a barfing toddler still loomed before me, as did the daunting task of turning my house upside down to find the blasted keys so I wasn’t in a lurch again for the afternoon pick up routine. So, I fumed on, trying to be a pleasant passenger with my very kind friend and not seem extremely ungrateful. I kept thinking, as we talked, that of all the verses we could have read this morning, what I needed most was to FEEL like God was my help, my shelter and my rock of stability against my pregnant moody blues.

For two hours once I got home, I alternated between crying and cursing my kitchen trash as I waded through it over and over just to be sure the keys weren’t going to the dump when the trash man came later today. And I asked God during it all, “Why don’t you help me and why do I feel so very bad inside right now when you promised to be my help and deliverer? Deliverance would be me finding my keys so I don’t face another day of trying to figure out how to get my kids all over town on two swollen pregnant feet!” But as I finished searching the trash and washed the peanut butter, hamburger sauce, yogurt and banana mush off my hands and arms, I realized that He totally HAD been my help and deliverer. I only had to walk the first fourth of the morning walk this morning – Stacy helped with the longest leg, just out of the blue. Becca didn’t throw up any more once we got home so the morning was nowhere near as full of illness as I anticipated – already an answer to this morning’s prayer for her to feel better. Stacy called later to say she would be back to Neveah’s campus to pick up her own daughter’s uniforms for the upcoming school year and would be happy to bring Neveah home for me – taking, once again, the longest part of the afternoon pick-up off my plate and relieving this tired pregnant lady of miles of walking in the heat.

It was a smellier, sweatier, barfier version of the day I envisioned full of God’s help and deliverance, but the promises were fulfilled nevertheless. It’s 5 hours later now, and I am starting to feel peace pour over me for the first time today. I still don’t have my keys. But if God can cut miles off my walk and heal my little one’s tummy in the first half of today, I know the keys will be taken care of at some point. I just hope it doesn’t include anymore trash surfing….

Twenty minutes after writing this: What was the final outcome? My sweet husband IM’d me to let me know he’d accidentally taken the keys with him this morning and that they were safe and sound and would most certainly be there tomorrow…

Now that’s deliverance!! Thank you, God!

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