It's a Battle. And I'm losing.

It's finally quiet, tonight, at the troops.  The four youngers finally gave up and stayed in bed longer than two seconds and promptly fell sound asleep.  Sister finally finished her conversation with me about hair styles and got in the shower.  Big brother went to the store to get milk for tomorrow (Thank you, Jesus, for another driver in the house!) and settled into his book.  Son (#3) tried out all of the Coach's blue ties (for homecoming next week) and than finally quieted down with his book, too.  Son (#4) isn't home from his game, yet (the end of season tournament that he won't be playing in), and the Coach is tap-tapping away on the computer on his Sunday School lesson for this week.

And I'm sick.

After a great morning at home with Little Man. . . cleaning. . . reading stories. . . baking Chocolate Chip Banana Bread. . . my head started hurting.  Really hurting.  My mental check-list began. . . (do you do this?)

Water?  Check.  Several glasses, already, today.
Vitamins?  Check.  Plus extra iron.
Breakfast?  Check.  Because sometimes I forget.
Rest?  Check.  Been to bed early all week.

But the head-ache persisted.  I first sat, watching Little Man creating his "long long car" with Legos.  Then sank to the floor.  Wheels? Sure, I can find more wheels.  Except the Legos wouldn't hold still.

Big Brother saved the day, picking up pizza on his way home from workouts.  The Coach was at a game with Son (#3), the four youngers here with me, making lots of racket then whispering to each other, "Shhhhh.  Mom's sleeping."

I did.  Some.  Here and there.  Amid settling arguments about the computer timer and what was appropriate for snacks.

Eventually everyone made it home, the homework was checked, and forms filled out and signed, and showers taken, and laundry started. . .

Why does being sick frustrate me so much?  Why do I snap at the kids when they squeeze next to me on the couch while my head pounds?  Why do I say (more than once), "Just let me do it." to the Coach when he's trying to help.

Do I really think I'm the only one that can do things right?

Do I really think without me (it's one evening forgoodnesssake) the ship will sink?

Or is it more about control?

Is it more about wanting things done MY way?  Because it's the right way, you know.

I continually fight my desire to be in control.

Why?

Maybe because it's the oldest battle there is.  That tree of the knowledge of good and evil tempting me.  That desire to be THE ONE in control.  Make the choices.  Be the "informed" one.  The one who KNOWS.

What is best.  What is right.  What is good.  What is out there.  What my options are.  What others think about it.

How to do it right.  How to find it out.  How to make it work.

Control.

It's such an illusion.

Because no matter how much I KNOW or how much I DO or what I might THINK.

I'm not the one in charge.

And in my heart of hearts?  I don't want to be.  I don't know.  I can't always do.  My thinking?  It's flawed.

But I can trust in the Sovereign, Omniscient, Loving, Omnipotent, Heavenly Father who IS in control.

I can let Him KNOW and DO and be ALL WISDOM.

I just wish the whole process hadn't brought out such ugliness in this momma.

But I'll probably get another chance, tomorrow.  A chance to be patient when I'm hurting.  A chance to show love when I'd choose solitude.  A chance to received help instead of being proud.

His mercies are new every morning.  I'm so grateful they are.