So. Not. Fine.
Not fine, but in some bizarre way, content. Content because the seizures are fewer and farther between and even though they scare me to death, I’ve grown more steady in helping her through them. And because at least now we know about my daughter’s urology issues and what we can do in the meantime instead of having to face the unknown. And because as I mopped up the vomit, my sledgehammer daughter smiled at me weakly and said, “Mom, you’re the best mom in the world. I love you,” which shuttled my heart straight to “I forgive you for last week” mode.
Contentment feels like we can’t hold on a moment longer, but somehow we can hold on forever. It’s being able to stand in a difficult situation and still breathe, and maybe even sing. To get up and cook dinner after surviving another seizure with your kid. Or crumple on the ground in tears and be okay with that too. It’s looking in the mirror at my tired face and seeing the joy in my eyes. In pursuing things I love even when I don’t really have any extra energy for them, because I know it is what fills my heart with good things. It’s in being okay with my choices. And when I’m not, just doing something about it instead of wallowing in it.
Ultimately, contentment is in knowing God’s got my back. That even though He allows all the stress and frustration in my life, I am not alone in it. I have a husband who puts up with my most dysfunctional coping strategies (THANK YOU!), family who listens to me until I run out of words (or their phone battery dies…), friends who hold me as I weep like I wanted to in the middle of Becca’s seizure.
What does contentment mean to you? How do you cultivate that in your life?