On the heels of posting about being a refuge, I've felt so inadequate as a wife this week. I wrote this the other night at a particularly low point....
We women are Fixers.
We are always kissing boo-boos, resolving arguments, combing out tangles, and feeding our hungry little people. We run forgotten lunches up to school, and help glue things onto posterboard for projects that should have been started much sooner than the night before it was due. We know how to smooth over hurt feelings, and sing away bad dreams.
Somehow, over the years I've gone from not knowing how to fix a warm bottle for a crying infant, to knowing how to fix almost any situation.
But there are things, hard things, that I can't fix. There are the plumbing, electrical and mechanical problems that I should never, ever touch. And there are deeper things of the heart that are beyond my capabilities.
Today was one of those days. I couldn't fix my husband's cold. I couldn't fix his exhaustion from trying to do too much with not enough time or money. I couldn't pull the boat out of the pond. I couldn't fix the Explorer when it broke down on him on the side of the road. I couldn't take over his hockey practice for him. There were so many things that went wrong for my man today, and there was a good chance that my actions (or inactions) even played into making it a very, very bad day. I couldn't fix it.
It's so much easier when you can go right on in and make everything better. But we are boot-strapping and money is tight. We can't just whip out the plastic and get new stuff when it breaks. We drive an old car. We live in an old house. Even maintaining what we have sometimes takes more than we are able to give. Just once, I would like Tom to be able to enjoy a weekend (or weekday, for that matter) without something falling apart. I can't fix that, either.
And then there are the matters of the heart. Oh, how I wish I could simply make my man's heart feel better with a wave of a magic wand. But my encouraging words sound hollow, even to my own ears. Maybe the Benadryl/Tylenol/Advil cocktail will help his body lose some of the aches, but what about the ache of discouragement and defeat I know he has? It's so deep tonight, I know I can't fix it.
The only thing I know to do is to pray. It's what I've been doing all day.
God, YOU fix this. Please.
It's when things are beyond my control and when I get to the end of what I can do that I finally reach out to the Creator of the Universe. Surely, He knows what to do. He can pick up broken pieces, mend troubled hearts, and heal wounded bodies. He can provide food in the wilderness and water in the desert. He's good at fixing things, restoring things.
It's what He does best.
Isaiah 51:3 says, "The LORD will surely comfort Zion and will look with compassion on all her ruins; he will make her deserts like Eden, her wastelands like the garden of the LORD. Joy and gladness will be found in her, thanksgiving and the sound of singing."
Maybe this is where God wants me today. In the place where things are just beyond my ability to fix. I can make us a nice meal, help with the night time chores and rub some sore shoulders. I can be a listening ear if my man even feels like talking about this awful day. And beyond that, it's out of my hands.
And into His.
