This is not how my life it supposed to be. My mother is not supposed to have stage 3 pancreatic cancer. My husband is not supposed to be struggling with multiple illnesses. My 3 children are not supposed to be completely clueless to the point of non functioning, unless asked. My mother in law is not supposed to have a brain injury and dependent on us/others for assistance. My brother is not supposed to have a practically broken back at age 37. No! This is not how my life is supposed to be.
At age 9, I knew that, without a shadow of a doubt, I was going to be a legal secretary and my bestie/brother, Pete, was going to be the lawyer I worked for. It was very simple; big San Diego law firm, money, nice things, big house. It was all laid out and there were no foreseeable problems. I would go to San Diego State University for my degree. My 9 year old brain could clearly see the beautiful cherry wood furniture that sat next to a window that overlooked the ocean in my fancy law firm office. I would have gorgeous business suits and beautiful shoes and a real leather briefcase. Oh yeah, this is how my life was supposed to be and it was going to be blissfully perfect.
Fast forward to today, through a life that has had as many peaks and valleys as the Rocky Mountains. Today I am angry. I wish I could say I was doing my best to be positive and encourage others during this trial, but I'm not; I am angry. And exhausted. And disappointed in myself. I am not doing a good job of encouraging others. I was leaving work this morning and I was just seething. I'm angry at the way people treat each other at my workplace; if you feel the need to step on others to get to the top then I will stand by, out of the way, and watch while the giant boot of life comes and crushes you like a grape. I'm angry at the gossiping being done at my church; there are some major planks trying to pull out some splinters. I'm angry at my family for being able to mindlessly walk right by the basket of clean clothes in the laundry room, for 2 weeks straight, never seeing them there, causing me to have to rewash my horridly wrinkled clothes on my day off. I'm angry that my mom has days that she is so weak that she can't sit up to eat. I'm angry that one of my teenagers smeared ketchup on the other's face because he thinks it's funny and didn't care that he's wasting food that costs way more than it should. I am angry that the panic wells up in me to the point that eyeballs start bouncing, when the truth is that I should be giving God all my worries. I am I'll-kick-you-square-in-the-shin-and-not-blink angry.
I am ashamed that I am not being a better daughter, wife, mother and friend because of my anger. I'm ashamed that I am not releasing these feelings and problems to God with lightening speed, allowing Him to handle them because He's way more qualified. I am ashamed that I'm reading tabloids to escape my own head instead of reading the Bible. I am ashamed at the anger I have for people who just don't get it; I should have sympathy, but I'm having a hard time feeling that right now. I am ashamed that I just can't seem to stop snapping on people and, while it's usually warranted, it's definitely not deserved (yes, there is a difference). I am ashamed that my human mind tells me God seems so far away when the truth is, He's carrying me. I am ashamed that nothing good and wholesome seems to be able to come out of my mouth.
