The Laundster

In our house, due to my boys' fascination with all things "bad" (i.e. Scary this, bad that, not-a-good-show), we speak a different vernacular. I'm not saying my way is right or wrong, I'm just saying it's different. We don't say:

-stupid
-dumb
-butt
-monster
The. list. goes. on....

Mark and I's reasoning for this, is not because we want to push submission down their throats, it's that we don't want them speaking death. See, when we say something is stupid, when is that ever in a positive light? I want their little warrior hearts to still have the sensitivity to words they should, or shouldn't, say. The world will teach them things I don't want them to learn. It's my job to train them in the right direction, so they don't cuss, end up in jail, or be the abuser in a relationship. I teach them that if they punch now, they'll punch later. If they scream now, they'll scream later, and so on. 

So! Small soapbox moment, to lead to this: 

We don't say monster...

So I'd never say this word around my kiddos. But there is something that makes me want to curl up in the fetal position, in a corner, and cry 'til it's gone. 

It's called: The Laundster. Here's what it looks like:

I do not like laundry. With 6 of us (including 3 active, messy boys), laundry is CONSTANT. Like the sound of an annoying cricket outside your window at 3 in the morning, it NEVER LEAVES.

And since I can't burn it, and start over (though I can ASSURE you, I've contemplated this multiple times), I had to get proactive. 

Enter: Timer. 

My kiddos are active. Doing laundry when they sleep rarely happens, because I sit, and eat, or go to the bathroom, or do something else that I haven't done for hours.

So, I had an idea. 

I don't like using the T.V. as a babysitter. In fact, we rarely watch it, unless at my parents house. BUT! A show that they love lasts 30 minutes! 

So, as a naturally competitive person, I compete with those 30 minutes!

"I bet you can't get this load of laundry done, before Daniel Tiger sings his Goodbye song!"

And then it's on!

Race against a cartoon tiger, to defeat the Laundster, and make my OCD heart beat a little happier beat!

My prayer, dear Momma's is that you wouldn't be defeated by the Laundster. I battle this WEEKLY! I have yet to be consistent in defeating it, but I try. And that's all God asks us to do. 

I used to pile clean clothes in a sculpture resembling the Himalayas, ALL OVER my HUGE sectional couch. I'd sit on the clothes, cry when I finally started to chisel away at them, and tell my husband it's TOO HARD. 

Then, I started purging. I got the kiddos down to a handful of outfits a piece. I purged that skirt that I LOVED because it was $2 at Goodwill, but never wore. I purged all the jeans from my hubby's glory days, that were holy, and I don't mean spiritual. 


Suddenly, my load piles went from 7, to 3. Still a lot, and trust me, they're a HEFTY 3 (shout out to industrial washers and dryers), but I could start to breathe...


So hang in there, women of this world! We are too mighty, and too favored to be defeated by The Laundster. Because The Laundster starts those inner voices screaming:

"You're failing at this ."
"Your husband is going to be disappointed."
"Good grief, you can't even provide clean underwear for your family???"

And you know what? Those are words of death.

They're not allowed in my heart, and they're not allowed in yours. 

"You are an incredible woman."
"Your husband and children are blessed, to call you their's."
"You. Are. Enough."

This laundry escapade has been a battle of mine for 6 years. When all else failed, I started praying. I begged God to give me strength. I prayed He would train me to speak life, even when I felt like I was drowning.



...and He did...



You, who are reading this:

YOU. are. enough.









Now, if you'll excuse me, my three year old missed the toilet, and my 2 year old decided to "help", and pick up the brown pieces. 

Mom life. 

Wouldn't have it any other way! 

Here we go again...

Wake up.

Sierra, wake up.

Everything is very bright, and fuzzy. I squint against the bright blue hues. 

Sky.

My eyes start to clear, and I can see clouds. My head is pounding.

Wet.

I can feel my ears filling with water, as my eyes pour hot tears. 

Move.

I can’t. I feel sharp pains in the back of my ribs. I’m having a hard time breathing. 

Sierra, move.

I try and lift my head.

“Grab the reins! Grab the reins!!! Check on Sierra!”

Momma. 

I hear the panic in her voice.

The bright blue skies are cut open by a dark figure now.

“Sis?! Sis? Wake up, honey!”

Daddy. 

I wince as he grabs me, behind the neck, and attempts to lift my limp body. 

Everything goes black.

I’ve heard it said that if you get bucked off the horse, always, ALWAYS get back on. Otherwise, the fear that your mind has built up, will cause you to never go near a horse ever again. I never took that analogy seriously, until I literally got bucked off a horse. Her name was Lady. She was quite pregnant, and I was giving her a gentle workout. We never could figure out what spooked her, but she immediately sprinted across that Missouri field. I knew it was going to end badly. She bucked really hard, and really fast. She bucked me into a small 2-3 foot dip in the middle of the field. A couple feet from where I finally landed, my Daddy had just dumped a load of broken concrete. I scraped my back up pretty good, but praise God, nothing worse happened. 

“When’s your birthday, Sierra?”

I could still hear the panic in my Mom’s shaking voice.

“September 10th.”

My throat was dry. I tried swallowing, but it was pointless. I felt like I drank a cup of hot sand. 

“What year?”

“I’m pretty sure if she gets the month and day right, we can assume that there’s no memory loss, can’t we?”

Daddy, for the comedic, sarcasm win. It’s his defense mechanism. When he’s completely freaked out, he’ll let out a stifling laugh, and crack a cheesy joke. I could hear Mom make a loud “Huff.”, as she rolled her eyes, and returned with more sarcasm.

“Are you helping?” she asked.

“Momma, Daddy, I’m fine. No memory loss.” 

I finally could sit up.

“I’m just really…tired.”

“It’s a concussion. I knew it. You will NOT be going to sleep, missy! You’re not getting brain damage on my watch!” 

“Okay, Mom. I won’t sleep.”

“There! She seems to be doing just fine!” 

A joyfully, forced sentence from my Dad, who loved playing it cool. Little did he know, I caught him running his fingers through his hair at least four times since I woke up. The most obvious sign you’ll get, if you want to know when Daddy is nervous, or mad. 

Then Mom hugged me and told me how grateful she was that I was alive. Then she grabbed me by the shoulders, and had me meet her eyes. I knew she was preparing to tell me something bad. I could tell, because she always furrows her brows, when she has to deliver a hard sentence. I braced myself. 

“Sierra…I’m glad you're okay and all, but you know you have to get back on Lady, don’t you?”

What? Get back on the crazy, pregnant horse?!? I think NOT!

My throat closed, face flushed, and eyes became hot, as tears streamed down my dirt covered face. I kept shaking my head “No.”

“Sierra, you have no option. If you don’t get back on her, you’ll be afraid for the rest of your life. You can’t do that. I won’t let you.”

I looked down at my lap, and as hot tears fell, and made a futile attempt at wiping them off. I’m pretty sure I was simply smearing the dirt streaks across my face. 

“I’m really scared of her, Momma,” I choked.

“I know you are, honey. But you have to get back on. I love you too much to let you quit.”

Her voice was soothing, but firm.

I nodded my head in agreement, as I continued to cry.

“Alright, lets do it.”

“Right now?”

“Yep. Come on. You’ll put it off, until it’s dark. Let’s get it over with.”

“Can I have a drink of water first?”

“I suppose we could arrange that. Make it quick, I’ve got Lady tied up, waiting for you.”

Oh joy. 

I wanted to crawl in a hole, and not come out. I caught her image out of the corner of my eye. She wasn’t looking at me, but I watched her breathe. I saw all 1200 pounds of her heaving in, and breathing out. 

This horse could kill me.

I shook that thought from my head, and ran inside to get a glass of ice water. 

       ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Getting back on a literal horse, after being bucked off, is the best comparison I have to the past year of my life. I quit blogging, due to the recommendation of deacon’s wife. My previous blog offended some people in the church that we were working at. So, I took it down. It hurt a lot. I love writing, and decided to take a year hiatus. Then, it happened. In the course of 3 weeks 9 people told me to put it back up. So here I am. Getting back on the horse of blogging, that I was so quickly bucked off of. And to be completely honest, I’m nervous. Not nervous about what to write, I pray before I do so. But nervous about putting myself out there again. Getting back on the horse, and remembering that I do this for Him, and for no one else. Not for myself, not for my friends, but for Him. So I just pray “God, what do You want me to write about?” My prayer literally is “So whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God.” 1 Corinthians 10:31

It’s hard to describe the last year of my life, so I’ll do the best I can. Mark and I accepted a position at a church, and dove head first, into the ministry life. I can, without a doubt say that I learned more in this past year about my personal relationship with God, than I have my entire life. I grew closer with my husband than I ever have, and I also gained life-long friendships from unlikely circumstances. I’m incredibly grateful for all that we went through. I feel as though Mark and I learned 12 years worth of ministry experience, in one year. About 3 months ago, we resigned from the position, however. We are taking the good from the situation, and clinging to it with a grateful heart. The rest of it, has been laid at His feet. So now, we’re on an adventure. An adventure of healing, of heartache, of new friends, and of finding out where God will call us next. We are open to getting back in the ministry, and open to Mark working full time. Openness can be a scary thing, if your faith is in yourself. I, however, choose to place my faith in God. I’m so excited to see what He has planned for us…