Saturday

Saturday.

The day after Christ died. My heart is drawn to Mary. His mother. She carried Him for nine months and was not allowed a wedding because of the circumstances. I’ve wondered how she found any joy in motherhood.

“But she understood the purpose!” you say.

Yeah. But it still makes my momma heart hurt for her.

She knew the promise of Sunday.

But did she doubt... even for one second... that she had heard wrong?

I think my reflection on Mary today has made me think maybe I’m in the Saturday season of motherhood. Don’t throw stones just yet. No, I have not buried a son. No, no one is in the hospital (thank God). But I am dealing with a massive plot twist. I thought my life would look so different at this point. And I am doubting myself and His promises. 

Yesterday I was walking up to the school building two hours later than normal because the district delayed start time due to bad weather. My schedule was wrecked. Meetings had to be rescheduled. The bad weather makes my youngest (who has autism and adhd) spin so the morning had been challenging. The doctor’s visit the day before for myself was disappointing. My own health issues keeping me from being the super-mom and super-employee I long to be.

“I can’t do this, Lord” I whispered.

“I’m not asking you to do it, Buffy,” He said, “I want You to let me do it.”

I stumbled in my brisk walk and all my bags banged against me.

“okay,” I said. 
“Thy will be done.”

Well I’ll be honest- not everything worked out like I wanted it to. But I laughed more than I have in a long time. I felt plumb giddy. We had an egg hunt and a kindergarten class let me bum some pizza and I LAUGHED OUT LOUD. 

So Sunday’s comin’.

Saturday looks kinda blah. It’s hard and I’m exhausted. And I’ve messed up more than I can count.

But Sunday’s coming.

I won’t lose hope.