, , , ,

Yes. I’m going to be one of those moms. The ones who post stories about their kids that will probably most definitely embarrass them when they’re older. Let’s face it. I’ve been that mom for a while. It will be a freaking miracle if my kids aren’t in therapy later on. Good thing I know one. I can at least get a discount.


Jud has had problems off and on with his bowel system forever. He has the occasional constipation. I’ve had to give him suppositories. I’ve had to dig poop out with a q-tip. I really didn’t think it could get any worse. Until it did. I really thought I had experienced all possible poop related drama. Until I hadn’t.


Recently, Jud has decided that it would be super fun to physically hold his poop in. You’ve probably done this yourself. You know. The urge hits and there’s not a bathroom nearby. The difference is, he holds it in for days at a time. [side bar: this is not an invitation for you to give me advice. I have already talked to people who I’m pretty sure we would both agree are more experienced than you on this matter. If I get desperate, I’ll call you.] We’ve been dealing with this for a while. And then we went out of town for 3 weeks and the proverbial crap hit the fan. I wish that were actually reality. I would so take having to clean poop off my ceiling fans right now. While in Philadelphia, I had to start physically holding him on the toilet until he pooped. With him kicking and screaming like he is being water boarded the entire time. And I really thought it absolutely could not get any worse than this.


And then it did.


Imagine above scenario except in an airport. Where I’m by myself with 2 kiddies for a several hour layover. Uh-huh. I swear the entire Nashville airport thought I was either beating my child or helping birth a baby. I’m screaming, “Push, baby (while rubbing his back). It’s almost out. Come on. You can do it. Push!” And he’s kicking and screaming, “Mommy, will you please let me go? You’re making me mad!” Oh and Caleb has decided to join in Scream Fest 2013, as well. And just when I thought my day absolutely couldn’t get any worse. I hear a knock on the bathroom stall and then, “Ma’am? Ma’am?” I just knew it was airport security coming to haul my bum to airport jail. I crack the door and there’s a college-ish age girl standing there wide-eyed and she says, “I work with children’s theatre and I happen to have a puppet with me.” I wish I were creative enough to make crap like that up. And at that point, I would have agreed to let a priest perform an exorcism if they told me it would make my child poop. So said sure, what the H. And then I swear anyone who entered that bathroom after I agreed to let the puppet master do her thang thought we both were just one step away from the looney bin. So she pulled out her zebra puppet and started talking to my son about poop. I really must have been a terrible, awful, no good, very bad person in a previous life or something.


For about 4 weeks now, we’ve been dealing with this. It is awful. Every time. Kicking. Screaming. Jud saying, “Will you please let me go? You’re making me mad. I’m afraid to poop. It’s going to hurt.” Oh and he’s recently declared that he just won’t eat anymore so then he won’t have to poop. Rinse. Repeat. Every. Flippin. Day.


Somewhere in all this madness, God reminded me that we’re just like this. We need to be cleaned out, purified. And sometimes it hurts. Sometimes it is excruciating. Sometimes it is terrifying. Sometimes it makes us angry. So we force it away. We’re scared of how bad it will hurt. We’ve been hurt before in the quest to be more like Jesus and we’re done. It’s overrated. All our Christian friends tell us to just pray and have more faith and trust God and He works everything out for good. But we’re just not so sure anymore. We’ve been hurt too many times. We’ve been hurting for too long and we’re just tired. We’re afraid. We don’t believe God when He says that it will hurt less later on. Later on is just too far away.


And this is where I’ve been camped out off and on since about September. My family has been beat up. We have been walking through the fire. We are bruised. We have been hurting for so long and just aren’t sure if it’s for our good anymore. We are sad. We are angry. We are confused. We aren’t sure why we’ve had to go through so much. We want to believe God when He tells us He is working this out for our good, that we’ll hurt less in the end. But we’re afraid. Of course we know in our heads that we’ll be so much better off in the end. But sometimes our fear wins out. Sometimes we just aren’t strong enough. Sometimes we have to ask others to fight for us because we’re just too tired.


Have y’all ever been there? Who fought for you when you just weren’t strong enough to fight for yourself anymore? Let me hear your stories of refinement and hope.