We Are People of Walmart

I needed to make a quick (and disciplined) trip to Walmart.  I needed a vacuum.  I had to take the girls.  Ugh.  It's definitely more exciting with them than without them, but sometimes I feel like we're a pink hurricane going places.  It can be painful.  My oldest says, "Mommy, you need a cart."  I say, "No way.  I buy more with a cart."  It's true.

Well, I had to ask the Walmart lady where the vacuum I wanted was.  (At this point my little was twirling and singing, "Bibbity bobbity boo!" and my oldest was intent on helping me so we could finish and peruse the arts and crafts section.)  She motioned it was on an end cap, and my oldest went a runnin' to it.  The lady said, "Well, honey, let me get you a cart."  And I said, "Naw, I got it."  ("Naw??"  Well, there are times the Dirty D comes out.  I code switch.)  She looked at me in disbelief and insisted on getting me a cart.  About that time, my oldest comes over holding this huge, heavy vacuum box saying, "Mom, is this the one?"  The lady says, "Like mother like daughter."  I beam.  (Because wouldn't you?  I mean, don't you?  I'll answer for you...yes!)

All pride aside, I do like to lift heavy things.  I do this because I come from a line of strong women.  It's in my genes.  And when we're not lifting heavy things, we are emotionally strong.  Because life isn't easy.  My mom called me a month ago and said, "Carla, I told your dad we are going to hire a painter this time.  The height on the steps might be a bit much at our age."  You see, they have painted their entire house themselves and are a do it yourself team.  (I will not mention their ages, because ladies don't do that sort of thing, but they order off the senior citizen menu.)  Last fall she got tired waiting for dad to get home to help her, and that little, petite, zumba-four-times-a-week lady flipped the flippin' king sized mattress all by her dang self.  Straight up she did.

And I don't like to accept help that often.  (Wow this feels like a confessional.)  Recently a friend made me hire someone.  Or else she was calling them for me.  I am so appreciative for the help, but it's not a normal feeling.  If I can do it (and let's face it, you can learn anything off YouTube), I will do it myself.

Am I worried about something?  "I got this.  It's ok."

Ugh. I am so frustrated with my kids!  Bedtime's almost here.  I can relax then.

"Wow, I have no idea what to say or do in this situation with (fill in the blank).  It's just too hard to face."  I go to someone else, or a book, or a yummy snack, or the TV, or whatever else will deaden the feeling of uncomfortable, I am out of control, and I don't know what to do with myself.  What we really want is someone to tell us, "It's going to be ok."  Right?

And Jesus's presence says, "Come to me.  I will give you rest.  I will fight for you."

My God is not a pull yourself up by your bootstraps kinda God.  And sometimes I forget that I am not responsible for carrying as much as I do.  He sent his Son to cover me.  Sustain me.  Fight for me.  Love me.  Guide me.  Forgive me.  Redeem me.

I like to pray the Gospel prayer.  Lord, In Christ, you don't love me more or less depending on what I do, you are all I need for everlasting joy, as you have been to me, may I be to others, and I'll measure your compassion by the cross, and your power by the resurrection.

I'm done spinning my wheels.  At least for today.  Tomorrow is a different battle.  But I think I will continue to go to Walmart without a cart.  Because that's how I roll.