I’m a yeller.
It’s not something I am proud of yet it is not something I try to hide. I am honest about my shortcomings in the hope that if I tell enough people it will no longer be an issue. Unfortunately though, I am still a yeller.
And sometimes, I lose my cool.
Sometimes my yelling reaches a level that I’m embarrassed by. A level that likely draws the attention of the neighbors. Today was one of those times.
It was lunchtime and we had a great morning. It is a day off school and I managed to get the house clean, laundry started, emails answered and a workout in before noon. I was feeling good about myself and the children were thrilled with still being in their pajamas.
The array of leftovers was spread across the table and I noticed a stray blueberry being pushed between two of my darlings. I hear the arguing ensue, neither claiming the stray blueberry, continuing to point at the other.
Had they not started arguing, I probably would have written the rolling blueberry off to my children being slobs (it’s not far from the truth), but their bickering drew my attention. So I inquire about the rolling berry and suspiciously no one knows who it belongs to.
After several chances, my voice begins to rise and I’m utterly flabbergasted at why, even though I started very casually and calmly, no one would fess up to the errant berry. The whole situation takes a turn for the worst, ending with me yelling and two children in tears.
Not my proudest mommy moment and over a blueberry nonetheless.
Now, I sit here feeling defeated, sure that I’ve scarred my children for life. I sit here wondering why God gifted me these precious children when I’m clearly not cut out for this title of mother. I sit here allowing Satan to feed me these lies, forgetting to give myself much-needed grace.
If God’s grace is sufficient for me, mine should be too.
Far too often I forget to give myself the same grace that God freely gives. I forget that my imperfections are made perfect by my Heavenly Father and that His power is made perfect in my weakness.
Far too often I second guess the plans of our perfect Father. I veer from the path He’s laid and forget that His grace covers me. Always.
I may be a yeller, but I am a yelling child of the King. I am loved, worthy and a perfect hot mess.
So are you.