January 11. Sunday.

When I started this whole “real” thing I was prepared to be able to share all the beautiful things about my world.

Things like a messy lived in house, which to me is beautiful chaos. Beautiful moments in life and parenting. Beautiful imperfect relationships. Beautifully real people.

What I wasn’t prepared for was being asked to share the real that exposes the unhealthy parts of my life, the still-in-progress, and the ugly. Some days, though, those are the real places that occupy my mind. My heart.

But in order to be real, I kind of need to. In order to start a revolution you have to know your own weaknesses.

Sunday is my hardest day of the week. It has been for a while. The weakest spot of my week.

I don’t know if it’s because its the day the week catches up to me. Or the day I have to look at another week staring at me, full of schedules and commitments.

I should love Sunday.

We go to Church on Sunday. I love Church.

It’s the day “Downton Abbey” is on. I love “Downton Abbey.”

I get to take a nap every Sunday. I love naps.

I get to lead my Youth Group on Sunday. I love my youth group kids.

But for some reason Sunday is…hard. Once in a while I will have a Sunday that is amazing, and it gives me hope that the following week it will be easier. But most Sunday’s are hard. As the afternoon folds into evening it gets easier and by Youth Group, I breathe a sigh of relief because I got through another Sunday.

I heard recently that Sunday has the highest rate of death than any other day of the week…So maybe Sunday is like that for others. Maybe it’s not just me.

Needless to say, today wasn’t an easy day. I had a hard time seeing any beauty, especially in my own faults. And it was a Sunday where I felt like I was watching the world around me, but not quite a part of it. Like I didn’t quite belong.

I knew my love could feel that. He kissed multiple times and hugged me tight to calm my insecurities. To ease my mind. And I felt a tiny squeeze in my heart as I watched my kids, and even in my own struggle know and see a beauty in them that offsets the grey on my heart. Because they are so good. But the grey was there.

The grey that says…

You don’t fit. Anymore.

You aren’t good enough.

You need to forgive.

You need to be.

Better.

More. Together.

Thicker Skinned.

Less. You.

And I do. Need to forgive more. I do need to be more open to change. But I also need to let go of this insecurity that if only I was just a little bit more I would fit better.

In my own skin. In my friendships. In life.

But as I was praying and pondering, and writing this post, I also thought about the powerful way that God loves me. How even on His day, the Lord’s Day, which happens to be my hardest day, that he gave me the safety net of my spouse- who loves me fiercely, and the comfort of my children.

Love is powerful.

As I began to write this post, our Grace laid on our bed and swung her legs.

Back and Forth. Constant motion. Joyously.

And it brought me joy. Because she was happy.

And it came to me…It makes my God happy when I can find an ounce of joy. Even if it’s a tiny tug of Grace, because one little joyful thing, leads to another and another, and suddenly I am looking into my joy filled daughters eyes.

Nose to nose. As she swings her legs.

On a Sunday. At home where I fit. And the grey begins to lift, and I know that being real can be a powerful amazing thing. Especially when it contains the most important part of this revolution. One of Love.

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