Wednesday, March 18, 2015


I feel like we have been through a fairly intense season of broken things in our home.

First, there was the dryer.

Then there was the sewer pipe back up in the downstairs bathroom.

Then there was my van door... and then the other van door...and then the timing belt.

Can you see the money literally flying out of our bank account!?

Oh wait. That would require that we actually have money. You know, to do the wing-sprouting and aforementioned flying.

I digress.

Then there were the jets in the garden tub which created a leak that flooded down into the kitchen.

Then there was the table which broke when my husband stood on a chair... on the table to cut holes in our ceiling to fix the leak from the garden tub jets.

Garden tub jets. Not a fan.

Benji was in denial that our table was gone.

Then there was the face of the garden tub that had to be removed to fix the jets.


What? You thought I was done? Nay, more breakage commenced.

Then there was the leak in the garage which we thought had been fixed four years ago before we moved in, but alas it had not.

Also in the midst of all this... we had the exterior of our house painted, wood rot repaired, a new garage door installed, and as of a few weeks ago, we got a new roof...

...Because we are made of money.

And these are only the major things... I feel like every day there's a broken plate, or lamp or toy or electronic device, etc.  Just yesterday I discovered that someone used our leather couch as a scribbling pad. And I'm pretty sure my grandfather's antique kitchen table complete with creepy feet that he graciously loaned us since our broke to pieces is not going to survive the wrath of my children.

Pedestal tables and my children do not a good combo make.

I am fairly confident that Chilli is going to break out her purple sparkle nail polish on these toe nails. I'm sure GeeGee won't mind when we return the table to him with a pedicure.

As annoying as all of these broken things are, what is far more concerning is the brokenness I feel in the relationships within our family.

My children are mean. Really mean to each other.

And I know I am really mean to them too.

I'm snarky and selfish with my time and energy - not wanting to sacrifice it or offer it to anyone. I rage at my children about their ingratitude for "all I do for them" while turning a deaf ear to my own complaining and whining. It's the same (if not worse) than theirs...mine's just a more "grown-up" version of the same heart condition.


May it not overwhelm me, but rather place in me a longing for Jesus. The only one who can fix all the brokenness.


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