The day I lost my crap at church; Running on Empty
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How far can you drive on an empty tank?
To many of you, this question seems like a crazy question.
You can’t drive on empty. Right?
Then there are those of you who had an exact figure drop into your mind. I’m talking to you today sister. You are my people. Racing through errands, trying to get one more stop in with that little yellow blinking beacon lighting up your dashboard. Do I stop? Nope. Instead I am thinking through the rest of the week to find the ideal time to get gas. A time that is not, right now.
I have 26 miles. This is what I know that I can safely on empty. Knowing that has not helped me solve the madness.
My husband still sends me texts like this one, with like, a thousand question marks.
Why?? What is your aversion to getting gas? Why I must play dashboard bingo with the warning lights. (I’ve had four lit up at once, but they weren’t totally vital) What will I win when they are all lit up? Probably a $60 tow.
In reality it is not the empty tank that is the problem
At least I am not convinced it is really bad for the car or anything. (I am no expert, but I did listen the “The Car Guys” on NPR and they are on my side on this one) The problem arrises when I get up in the morning and get a call that a kid needs a ride in 10 minutes to be 20 minutes away, or life as we know it will end. I grab coffee and gather my things, hop in the car and BOOM! That little yellow light is staring me in the face. Now, I have to go too far to make it on empty, and I don’t have time to fill up. Have you been there?
FUN FACT: I have a Suburban which takes regular gas, and a Sprinter which takes diesel. The Sprinter has a 22 gallon tank and uses the diesel pumps, which are designed to fill enormous tanks rapidly. It takes no more than 3 minutes to add 21.6 gallons.
The Suburban has a 44 gallon gas tank. I could hand wash the car, knit a sweater, and still have time to go inside and pick out my snack before the gas would be done pumping into that beast. I tweeted about it the last time I had to get gas.
At the #BP, The real reason no one goes back to regular from #diesel #slowgaspumps
— 200fingersandtoes (@kingspie) October 8, 2016
“>Read My Tweets Here
In life I am not very different in the care of my soul-tank.
I let my soul run on fumes, all the warning lights are blinking, but I have places to be. I’ll catch a quarter or a half-tank when I can. A few hours on my own, a quick visit with a friend, a few pages of reading. Just enough to fool myself into thinking I am taking care of me. Then like a few weeks back, I run out of gas completely. Um, it is not pretty…
Let me tell you about the day I totally lost my crap at church
Wednesdays are rough, the tank is at low, we blaze through the yelling get-ready routine and the shoe scramble, while I throw granola bars at children and yell science quiz questions. We drive and hour away for science classes where I occupy little ones as we both half heartedly do school neither if us want to do.
I was hungry, we are always chaotic, but when I am hungry we are a mad stampede of obnoxious. After a few hours of corralling littles, I head off to take one of my girls to ballet. It should be a peaceful hour long reprieve, but I brought the 5 year old. He heard there were dinosaur toys, and who am I to squelch his enthusiasm for paleontology. Have you seen the kid? He is so sweet…but chatty. I was not in the mood for chatty. Instead of a planned quiet time, I named 10,000 dinosaurs and listened to them battle. (fairly quietly)
Because I was running on fumes, thinking about the next thing, I was not really engaged in his conversation. I was thinking about what a bad idea this was and regretting losing my window of quiet. After all I was prepping for tonight’s Sunday School class. (Do you feel this going south fast)
To get to church, I race from ballet, pick up all of the kids, 9 of them, and all of their school work, which can NOT be left behind and drive an hour home. There we have a glorious 15 minute pit stop before we head out to evening services.
After a quiet dinner at church with my kids and about 100 church friends, we head off to our respective classes. As always, teaching was great. I love the kids. We laughed and wrapped up our lessons by playing a game. That is when there was a knock on the door. “Could you guys please play more quietly, we can not hear in the class below you.”
If I were a sane and rational person like I usually am (insert maniacal laughter) I would have said, “so sorry for the trouble” and moved on. But I was not. I was neither sane nor rational. I was a frazzled nerve, exposed-wire,kind of raw. What I heard was more like, “Why can’t you control those kids, who let you teach, I bet this is how you parent, you kids are always so loud this must be why you would let your class get so out of control…”
I heard a thousand things that were not said. I heard the echoes of an empty tank. The toxic fumes you should never breathe. They entered my nose and intoxicated me with offense. Still, I was ok. I held my crap together. I smiled and had the kids finish their game at the table.
Listen up, the enemy of our soul does not play fair.
He does not stop at enough. He is a trouble making Diva, and he was about to get in one more round. Class wrapped up and I gathered my three littlest ones in the noisy hall where all of the kids were being released. Hungry, tired and a lot worn out from the day, I had one last message to pass to another Mom. Her little one came raging down the long hall singing at the top of his lungs, just as the woman who had popped into class came “shushing” up the stairs.
To be fair, the kids were crazy loud, and I don’t know what kind of important moment was happening in the class just down and around the corner. I will never know because I grabbed my three little ones by the wrists and I bolted.
I left them all in the dust as some primeval flight instinct kicked in. The kids were crying about their hands, I was shushing and muttering about the yelling lady, (who was not actually yelling – hello, empty tank interpretation) my heart was racing, as I dragged all three kids out the door, down the stairs and across the street. I wanted to run away. If I could have, I would have gotten in my car and driven away; a scene the enemy of our beautiful church would have loved, but I had kids in class, so I waited. I waited and I sang.
Worship is like honey to my soul
In my wrecked turmoil. In my agitation and anxiety, I sang. In my emptiness, when I brought nothing to God but a broken down soul to church, God cradled it. Where I brought emptiness and a flurry of the unimportant, God quieted me. He did not leave me alone. Because God, the God who created the heavens and the earth, sent His own Spirit to dwell in me. He knows me intimately and worship is our love language. I sang to myself while the youth group played volley ball. I sang and got full.
Offense comes, often with a purpose we don’t expect; to reveal our own deficits.
I carry many hurts and wounds. They leave tender places, or worse still healthy places that I protect as though they are wounded. Protecting a phantom pain. Keeping people at a distance. Making appearances more important than hearts and souls. God want to fill up those empty place and fully heal those old wounds and scars.
All of this is exactly what we are covering in our Women’s group with Lysa TerKeurst’s Uninvited. A book I need more than I thought I did. Instead of bring Christ with me to church, I brought my past hurts and allowed them to speak louder than the truth of the word of God. I am thankful that He speaks to me Thankful that God did not call me to live feeling less than, left out and lonely, but instead calls me to live LOVED. He is offering the same gift to you today. Don’t lose it. Don’t pass up your chance to get your tank filled up.
As women it is extremely hard for us to make time for ourselves. Mental and physical demands keep us running. What are the best methods and practices you have employed to keep your self from running out of gas?
