I recently was criticized about a topic I blogged about.  It hurt becuase of the source it came from.  In the friend’s defense, she was hurt by my stance on a particular topic.  It left a wound on me that is still fresh. My blog is stories about my life, my thoughts, my highs, my lows, my emotions….. etc.  Sefishly about me.  My life from my point of view.  I can’t and don’t look at life from anyone else’s eyes.  All of our journeys are uniquely different. No two of us have the same life experiences.   I blog for several reasons…. I feel God wants me to share my journey and give HIS hope to whoever he aligns to read it.   I try to be brutally honest in my blogs.  I think as women, we are  groomed and taught to make our masks all pretty and glowing and give all appearances that we have our crap together.  Well, I croaked under my mask.  The weight of it about killed me.  I blog to relieve the pressure valve that lives within me.

With this fresh wound, I’ve wanted to shut this blog down.  I’ve felt like a fraud because I don’t always share the ugly side of my life.  It’s not becuase I have anything to hide…. it’s becuase I choose not to dwell on the bad stuff.  Tonight, the Lord put someone in my path that shared how they have been encouraged by the blogs.  I love how the Lord knows what we need when we need it.

Tonight, I’ll share an ugly side of my life with you.  In the last few weeks, the Lord has really opened some doors. And closed some.  Overall, life has been better than it has been in a long time.

Preston and I have a daily routine.  He is usually awake when I leave for work in the mornings.  I’ll text and check in with him mid-morning, lunch and mid-afternoon.  If I leave him sleeping, he knows to text me when he’s gotten up and taken his medication.  Tuesdays are the only “off” day for me, because Katie comes and spends the day with her dad.

This past weekend was quite busy for Preston, so Monday morning, I left him sleeping.  I had not heard from him by 9:30. I texted. And texted. And called. And called. Nothing.  I kept trying to tell myself he was still sleeping…. tired from all the excitement of the weekend.  Satan talked louder.  I texted. Nothing.  Satan gave me an image of Preston having fallen.  I texted. Nothing.  Satan gave me an image that I had forgotten to close the gate when I left and that the people that broken into my grandma’a house in broad daylight had broken in and hurt Preston. I texted. Nothing.  Satan reminded me that Preston is a diabetic.  He had me questioning whether Preston had taken his insulin shot.   Was he  in a diabetic coma ?  I called.  Nothing.

It’s now 11ish and I grab my keys and head out my office door.  Then Satan reminded me about the copperhead Chase found a few weeks earlier…. right at the front door. Had Preston been bitten?   I remembered Preston forgetting to cut the stove off. And the grill. What if he tripped over the dog? Satan had me in a tizzy. I gripped that steering wheel and cried the whole way home.  I guarantee you The Mistress saw 90 on the highway headed to my home. By this point, I’m in full anxiety mode.

I’ve already lost so much.  Lord, I can’t take any more!

As I turn in the drive, Satan is showing me the open gate.  I wonder if I’m going to walk in on the burglars or if they have left Preston for dead.

Fear is a liar!

Flying up the driveway, there’s Preston.  He’s on his mower, oblivious to any of the dust that came flying in with me.  All I could do was just cry. And throw up.  And be upset with him for scaring me.   I finally got calmed down.  And realized that my anger at Preston was unjustified.  Satan deserve my wrath.  He’s the one that put those thoughts and fear in me.

But I allowed him. Instead of keeping my eyes fixed on God, I let Satan open the door and walk in.  It’s something I’ve done quiet often. I’ve let fear and anxiety get the best of me.

More times than I care to admit.

The one absolute thing I hate about being Preston’s caretaker is when I allow the devil to come visit.  He always leaves me in a state of fear.

I hope tonight’s blog is a reminder that I most certainly DO NOT have my junk together.

Broken, but loved.

The Beancounter