It just felt like a small pop, but I knew what I'd done.  I'd run over Hayden's basketball; the one he uses for practice, the basketball he picks up every day routine-like on the way to the car and lets sail through the air toward the goal in our driveway.

I got out and knew the damage was irreparable.

"That's just about right" I thought to myself as I got out of the car yesterday with a dehydrated, flu infested Hallie.  On the back of a another week of chore juggling, with me having been to the doctor only the day before with bronchitis and sinus infection here we were getting out of the car exhausted and slightly miserable.

With the vision of Hayden's busted basketball I came up with a few more words.

deflated

broken

purposeless

popped

damaged beyond repair

flat

I could keep going.....

In an instant I likened myself to that basketball.  I whined on Facebook last night about the price of steroid shots, antibiotics and other medicines including five prescriptions for Tamiflu, one which was vomited violently by Rylie who had an allergic reaction.

Using humor I complained that Rylie now had the flu too.  And I can tell you now that as of this morning, another one has bit the dust.  Hayden is sick too.

But thank goodness for brighter notes. I received so many encouraging comments and even some texts and phone calls.  One comment, a dear expression often used "this too shall pass" stuck in my mind.  Darn it, she's right.  Pity party over again.

My life and circumstances in no way resemble that destroyed basketball that found its place under my tire. That basketball's purpose has been terminated. for. ever.  It can't be patched up.

The basketball is more like the hundreds of smashed acorns that have left a crumbly mess in my driveway. My life is not comparable.  Your life isn't either.

You may be going through much worse than I'm going through, but your life is not beyond repair either.  Your life isn't over. No matter what's happened, your life isn't without purpose.  Our sole purpose is bringing glory to God.  There may be days that we bring him glory without stepping outside our house or with unkempt hair. 

I have a verse that I quoted every morning for around a year.  I don't know its reference but don't judge me, nearly my entire family is sick and I don't have time to find it now (I'm using the excuse while I can).  Here's the verse.

Wake me in the morning that I might sing for joy

and be glad all my days.

Wake me.

Though it sounds like it, is isn't just a morning verse. Sometimes in the middle of the day or especially in our nights it's as if our spiritual eyes are closed tight, maybe from exhaustion, sorrow or maybe from stubbornness.  I believe "wake me" is the necessary coming to the realization that "I'm not waking up well on my own, a little help please..."

I'm finding in my slump that it's a "snap out of it" verse.  It's an "Open your eyes" verse.  I think the writer is saying I know there is joy around me.  Help me to wake up.  Help me to see it and sing for joy.

This sickness, exhaustion, frustration "will pass".

 It's in my wakeful state that I realize I have every reason to be glad.

 I have more things to be thankful about in any given moment than there are acorn bits in my driveway.

Just to let you know, I have pictures on my phone; ones of medicine lined up along the cabinet, and pictures of garbage sacks, Germ x, and Lysol.  I have more, but I'll stop.  I planned to use them on this post (shameless, I know).

Though deflated, I'm going to rise above my flattened mood.  I'm going to "wake up" asking the Lord to put a new "morning" song of joy in my heart.  I'm going to try to get back into that habit of reciting, and living this verse not just in the morning, but in

 "all of my days".

Praying you'll find yourself singing the same song.

Email me!  kristiburden@gmail.com