As a child my grandmother created an art exhibit at church. I went to a Presbyterian church with hardly any kids. I made a decision to leave and when I did I thought I wasn't missed or cared about (decades later I found out that wasn't true). She had several drawings of pots. It was entitled He is the potter, we are the clay. I remember walking around the various pictures and stopping at one that was broken witha broken lid. It wasn't a pretty color or nice looking even. I somehow identified with it. I felt unimportant, ugly and broken. I felt useless and I remember thinking... God can't use that. However.... now I know, He is the potter and He can fix anything.
While driving to work this morning a song on the radio brought me back to the moment I was wheeled into the NICU. I sobbed all the way to work. I have been very sleep deprived lately. I've also had some major projects at home and work, so I am a little overwhelmed. Usually those two things makes an emotional me anyway. I cleaned myself up and got right to work as soon as I walked in. I was ripping open boxes and saw a book with a pot on it. I again remembered that art exhibit. I really am a broken pot.
I am imperfect and sometimes downright ugly. I had to ask for forgiveness this week multiple times. I wont lie I am having trouble moving on from the trauma of Katie's birth. It is crazy to me I nearly lost my daughter who i thought was a boy. The exhaustion of such an emotional low mixed with having a baby was so hard. Sometimes I still cry about it as I remember the coversation with our dr, the or lights, the feeling of unknown and the shock of instantly becoming a parent of a special needs child. The phone calls to drs, orthotists, insurance this and that are also daily reminders my boy is actually a girl with a split spine. Dont get me wrong I'm not super depressed thinking our situation is so bad but I cant seem to shake off the trauma of the beginning.
I am a tired mommy. I'm not afraid to admit that while I attempt to do it all I just can't. However, I can make it through the day and do everything I can to do my best at every task and be as present as possible in every moment. Even broken pots can hold drops of water. I don't need to be overflowing every day, a drop is all you really need. A drop of joy, peace, patient, righteousness, goodness and self control. Maybe certain drops dry up in certain moments. In that moment I ask God to rain His holy spirit because I can't do it alone. I think this may be my broken pot season. I can'y hold as much, I can'y help as much. I'm not the most beautiful or the best accesory but I know the potter is throwing the clay again, lighting the kiln and ready to remold me.
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