A Bad Weekend

We contemplated the horrible time we'd been having

Apologies for the late blog post. I intended to write a piece about journaling this weekend but, I’m afraid, my weekend fast turned into a nightmare. Without going into the details, our family had a dreadful time plagued by strife, arguments, shouting, screaming – I don’t plan to live through it again.

Last night, having made it alive through the weekend, I sat on my son’s bed and we contemplated the horrible time we’d been having.

“Why doesn’t God care about us?” my son asked.

I replied without thought, “Of course He cares about us.”

“Well, it doesn’t feel like it.”

As usual, I turned to pen and paper

At this point, I was frowning, musing over my son’s words. I know in my heart God cares about us so much. He loves us far more than we can imagine. So, as I often do in these circumstances, I turned to my pen and paper. Determined to set my son’s mind at rest, I suggested we write down every blessing we had just for that Sunday. We took it in turns and before long, I couldn’t scribble down my son’s words quickly enough. We learned that despite the traumas we’d experienced, there was still much to be thankful for. 

“I saw a ‘zonkey’ for the first time,” my son exclaimed. (That’s a donkey crossed with a zebra for those of you that don’t know.)

“I really enjoyed a croissant and fresh coffee this morning,” I said.

A zonkey

“I saw a fox running through the farmer’s field.” And the list went on.

We could have gone on for longer than we did but bedtime beckoned and school loomed the next morning. We prayed and thanked God for all the things we'd identified and I kissed my eleven-year-old goodnight.

“Mum,’ he said still agitated. “God has given us lots of blessings and maybe it wasn’t His fault but it was still horrible today. Why? I don’t want it to be the same tomorrow. I don’t want to go to sleep.”

Have you ever been stumped for a moment, realising that a child’s words are wiser than they know? Staring at the long list of blessings on the page, I whispered, “You know what? I think I need to say sorry to God. I think I’ve been trying to sort out all these horrid things by myself and instead of helping it all went terribly wrong.”

Why do I forget to make God the centre of my life? Why do I forget to go to Him first when things start to go pear-shaped? Why do I think I can do it all by myself?

I prayed, right there and my little boy joined in too also saying sorry for his behaviour. Before long, having declared earlier there was no way he would sleep that night, my son slept peacefully.

I hope you don’t mind me sharing this with you. I feel this horrible weekend should somehow be used for good and that perhaps by sharing, it might help someone else before things get too bad for them.

And just in case you’re worrying, we are all fine. Things could have been much worse but just remembering that God is there for us has already started to make things feel a lot better.