As I sit here to write again with a chocolate chip cookie in my hand, I’m kinda bummed. Did anyone even care there was no post last week? My mother and the hubby were probably the only ones who noticed. Not that this is the reason for my downed attitude. Writing is fun, but I have allowed myself time off before. It’s just been a difficult few days. It’s no ones fault but my own. I am sure it’s perimenopausal mood swings, and a poor diet, and my stubborn attitude, and a hardened heart, and lack of sleep. Yeah. Yeah. I’m going with one of those. Hold on while I grab another cookie. No excuses. In true Taylor Swift form, I take all the blame…. “I am the problem, it’s me.”

However, this self pity party must be looked at further. So, sorry, you’re about to get a journaling session to assist my attitude. Maybe it will help you, too. In addition to all the above factors (which I really do attribute to many of these days), I think the base of my “funk” is frustration. Frustration at the fact that I am not where I want to be. Oh… I want to be HERE, believe me… this is the dream that has been perpetuating in my head for years now. I have it. There are chickens in my living room as we speak. Bucket list check. My kids are relatively healthy and content. I am happy with my relationships, and at a good place with friends and family. God has blessed me with much, and I am thankful. But the world is an evil place.

You see, us middle aged moms have an ugly side that creeps up beside us and whispers that this is not the right place. Those cute Southern mothers with their summer dresses and flowery front porches have it better. Those enterprising working moms with the great ideas and smart business plans have it under control and got all the lucky breaks. They are going to make it big. Those fit cowboy mommas out West who have the perfect veggie gardens and can still look good in tight jeans are seeing the Northern lights when all you get are cloudy nights filled with mosquitoes. They still wake up early enough to make perfect sour dough, too. That creepy voice tells us that despite where we are… it’s not where we need to be. Social media drives us to want it all. My head tells me it’s not true. Our hearts wish for bigger and better though, don’t they? Even if our motivations are good… we easily get sucked into the void of comparison and contrast. This church has better programs. These mission groups are seeing more growth. This couple have great Bible studies in their home. Now that guy can sing. How patient is that mom?

So what is one to do? I’m sure a few of you are going to say get off Social Media and avoid the temptation and FOMO it brings. Realistically, we are bombarded with it everywhere… even my grocery store tells me I need this or that. Shall I hide here in my little country home and simply hang out with my chickens more? As much as I wish that would work, I know my family would disapprove. The extroverts in my life tell me I need to be more social. Perhaps a deep colon cleanse and less cookies. And don’t start with the fresh air. The windows are open. No, I think what I need is more tools in my toolbox. Let me explain with a little story:

We have had a lot of rain in recent weeks. The rain makes the grass grow. We have a lot of grass. We have a riding lawn mower. The riding lawn mower died. Bless his heart, the hubby watched hours of YouTube, ordered the part, spent many brain cells pondering and configuring, dirtied a complete outfit in the (again) rain to repair said broken riding lawnmower. Hooray! Until another part on the lawnmower died. This time we are sending it out to be fixed. Our grass has grown again. You see, if you don’t have the tools to deal, then life gets overgrown and frankly, a little messy. I’m seeking the tools I need to keep my attitude cut short.

“Each one should test their own actions. Then they can take pride in themselves alone, without comparing themselves to someone else, for each one should carry their own load.” Galations 6:4,5

“There are different kinds of gifts, but the same Spirit. There are different kinds of service, but the same Lord. There are different kinds of working, but the same God works in all of them. ” 1 Corinthians 12:4-7

God’s kingdom is so much bigger than my tiny toolbox of gifts. I have tools. I am good at using the tools God has given me. Still, I easily get frustrated when I don’t have the tool I need “fix” where I am at. And that’s where other people come in. I need encouragement. I need to hear good words and challenging motivation. I need compassion. I can take pride in the things that I am good at… and seek help when I need it. I need to communicate those things clearly to the ones who can give me the help I need… when I need it. Sometimes a whisk is useless in the garage… but it is perfectly useful in the kitchen. Time and place also play a roll here. “Tools” are used most where they are needed, and when they are needed. Heaven forbid you misplace one of those tools! Make sure you take care of them and keep them safe! (ever lose a pair of good scissors… then you know what I mean!)

We are learning that taking care of a big property is like living … it takes the right tools to keep it from getting too much to handle. The vines creep in, the pool gets green, the laundry piles up. Sometimes you don’t have the right tool to do the job. You need to borrow one or develop it enough in yourself to get the job done right. It needs to be ready, with battery charged, for when you need it most. That means you gotta take care of it, and put it back when you are done. Allow that battery some time to recharge. Then it will be back at it and ready to do the job, and do it well.

Be proud of your toolbox. Seek to borrow one if you must. Don’t forget to return the favour when you need to, and be sure to take care of all the rusty ones who require a little love. Above all, take lessons from the most valued Repairman, who could post a billion YouTube instruction videos on how to keep life free from all those breakdowns. He’s got the ultimate toolbox. Feel better? Yeah, me too. See you next week, my beloveds.