In Sunday school this week, I made a reference to how much I (really, really, really) like to be right. It's a flaw of mine, something I try to work on. The lady sitting next to me thanked me for my admission, told me I was brave, being so honest.
I am sometimes brave. I am usually honest. But my immediate reaction to her words was to think, "I haven't written a blog post in weeks."
That may seem like a strange reaction in that setting, but it isn't, and here's why: Any time this blog goes silent, I am not being honest.
I've written here before about how, for me, writing is praying. Some writers say that writing is their therapy, their release. There is truth in that for me as well. And usually, when I stop posting, it isn't because I'm too busy, but because I'm hiding.
Like lots of other folks, I like to appear Together. I'm a mom, and a Christian, and a minister's wife to boot! I'm supposed to have it together.
But the truth is that I struggle. I wrestle. I doubt.
We struggle financially, and sometimes that worries the hell out of me. We both feel like what we are doing with our family is important, but our financial struggles would be far more insignificant if I went back to work full time, and so sometimes, I feel responsible for the car repairs we can't have made, the new suit that Greg needs that I can't buy him, the McDonald's lunch that Sophie asks for but I have to answer with a PB&J at home.
I have questions, and also Questions. (Theodicy, anyone?) Being married to a minister makes Christianity not only a part of my life, but also a part of my vocation. I am interested in theology and in the health and happenings in the Church, but fast-and-easy answers and systematic theologies don't gel with me. So, Questions.
I love my kids, and I love being their mom, but I am not a great mom. I am sometimes patient, gentle and kind. More often, I am impatient, crabby, and sometimes I yell. I'm doing my best, but sometimes my best is pretty shitty.
This is me, being honest.