I've been planning on telling you about my stint on the jury of a murder trial two summers ago. I don't know if it's because it's summer again and I have every big, bad, ugly day ahead of me to entertain four kids by myself and I feel intimidated by the enormity of this job I fondly call 'motherhood.' Or if I'm just looking far and wide for entertaining tidbits of my life to share with you, my CyberWorld. Who knows. But I've been recalling that summer, when I was at sort of a low-point of self-worth for a mom, I was called to jury duty. And for one whole week, I was given the honor, privilege, and responsibility to dress up and drive downtown to listen to and decide the fate of one young man who had made some bad choices in his life. Some veeerrrry bad choices. And I was one fab-u-lous juror. I even cut my bangs half-way through the week (hmmm. perhaps there's a theme there) to make myself look a bit more professional-y. I brought donuts and bagels every day and asked probing and friendly questions of my fellow jurors at each break and meal so much so that they actually thought I was witty and charming and brilliant. And they voted me Foreperson. Which I speedily declined. Because, and this is a post in and of itself, truly. I am painfully shy. You might not know that. Even if you know me, I don't think you probably know that. But, I have a daughter who vomited daily the first week of kindergarten over the enormity of the change she was being asked to endure. And she comes by those nerves naturally. So I passed my post (which I smiled inwardly at having been given) to a man who had forepersoned a jury before. Although, not a murder trial. But, the Fonze and George Hamilton rolled into one midwestern businessman seemed a more appropriate foreperson to a jury for a murder trial than caffeine-induced-high-strung-jumps-off-the-handle-cuts-her-own-bangs-and-wants-to-string-up-the-murderer little ol' SAHM me.
The sweet young girl who befriended me most that week wanted to snap a photo of our group for her scrapbook. That was awkward. Um. No offense. But no thanks. I don't need to stand on record as having been the one to - you know. Decide that dude's guilt.
Anyway. There's a story I don't share often. But, it was (weirdly enough) one of the best weeks of my life. Isn't it ironic that I know I have worth here in my home. That I have the toughtest, most rewarding job known to mankind and I forget. Every day. And I screw up. Every day. And make bad choices. I choose fast, angry responses when I should choose tempered patience. I pray my kids would remember me for being a good mom when I should see that I am a good mom. And, too, I should see to it that I do make better choices. Because we can't take it back. The Bible tells us to be quick to listen and slow to anger.
You'll notice that a lot of my songs on my playlist are about how these years just fly by. Truly, my all-time favorite song is on Billy Ray Cyrus' latest CD and it's called that - Flying By. (But, sadly, Playlist doesn't have it. Or I'd have it at the top of my list every day.) And that's what this post is about. A reminder to myself that I don't need fancy clothes or highrise parking garages and bad guys to remind me that I am blessed. But, maybe a reminder that bad choices have consequences and I can choose to be better than those choices. Summer is the time my kids and I can kick back and relax. Without the stress of eating fast enough and dressing fast enough to get to the bus fast enough to get to our lessons fast enough to bathe fast enough to get to bed fast enough to wake up fast enough to eat fast enough...to instead. Be. Just Be. God wants me to Breathe in. And Breathe out Prayer. He listens. He respects. He encourages. He supports. The very values I wish to instill in my family. He already does.
Oh! How Great is Our God?
~The Mess. The Masterpiece. The Roost'er.
