So. Wednesday. The day I prayed for love, peace, and patience.
We were doing OK. It was a busy day, but I had a plan and prayed over my day. I felt good about it. I cleaned up the house a bit, and took Gabriel to have his staples removed. It went incredibly well, he only had one short protest at the very end, but he is staple free, and I’m so happy that he is healing nicely. I got home and got the kids settled so I could start the next part of my to do list for the afternoon.
It started about ten minutes later. I found Michael in the playroom, half naked, legs covered in poop and feces wiped on the floor and furniture. Not tons (I’ve seen worse), but enough to put a dark cloud on my day. We’ve done this before. Michael’s slowly regressing again, and one of the demons I have to deal with during this time is fecal smearing. I can deal with lots of stuff, but this one really sucks the life out of me. I get angry and frustrated, and it puts me in a dark mood. It’s also depressing because I keep thinking this is something we’ve overcome and don’t have to deal with anymore, but it keeps popping up its ugly head periodically.
I felt myself slipping. I was getting mad at Michael because even though he can’t help it, he’s impossible to deal with when he gets like this. He always laughs, spreads the mess further, and runs away when I try to wash him. I was getting frustrated with the situation because it’s just so much fun keeping the kids out of their playroom while I’m trying to clean it up (Gabriel was quite persistent in the call to be let out from his crib). I phoned Nate, because I wanted to whine and complain. I truly, truly hate it when this happens.
Then all your and my prayers kicked in, and I saw what was happening. God showed me how I was reacting before I got full blown crazy. This was my time to do battle. I turned on some worship music and started to pray. I prayed for myself and recited the Scriptures God has been giving me on love and patience. I prayed for Michael while I cleaned up his mess. I encouraged myself while listening to the music. And even though the situation was still the same, it was better because this time I knew I was winning. I didn’t instantly become this super calm saint. I still wasn’t loving the moment I was in. The kids were a little too interested in what I was doing for my comfort. But there was definitely a small bit of patience and peace there that normally wouldn’t have been in me. God was taking me out of my point of view and showing me the eternal value of that ordeal.
It was a small victory, but I’ll take it. It’s been one of the first times I’ve realized what was happening during the situation instead of afterwards. It’s a start. I know I’m going to need lots of practice at this, but God is good, and He’s answering my prayers to make me into the woman He wants me to be. I’m willing to tough it out and keep doing battle because He is willing to do the same for me.
Keep standing. Keep fighting. May your day hold victory for you.