I racked my brain hard for his name. What is happening? Why isn’t my brain working? I had just seen him a couple weeks prior, and yet when I was trying to, I could not conjure up his name. I have been friends with this person for years and yet the simplest detail about him escaped my memory like a slippery little fiend. I felt a little scared, wondering if my mind had begun its physical decay, but figured the lack of sleep was wrecking my ability to function. His name would come to me eventually, I assured myself. A couple of days later, like a weary traveller who traversed the desert of my mind, his name arrived at the tip of my tongue and I whispered it like a Eureka! moment. I am falling apart, was all I could say to myself.

I thought that once my husband was done with treatment, once he goes back to work and the kids go back to school, that my life would pick up right where it left off. I had a whole plan — 4 hours in the morning dedicated to prayer and meditation, writing and editing, and if I’m really productive, maybe watch an episode of something? Then I’d pick my kids up from school, spend time with them, do homework, be a great mom and an overall great person with a great simple life and everything will be just as it was meant to be.

But you know what it is they say about best laid plans and how they go awry – and awry it did go. Typhoons, school cancellations, kids getting sick one after the other, getting sick myself, no sleep, no time alone, not an iota of creative output. Zip, zilch, nada. My dream of peaceful hours were nowhere to be seen, no new pages to the book I’ve been trying to write, and even my nights were disturbed by kids spreading snot all over the sheets and multiple wake ups. It has not been fun, and I have not been a great mom and not an overall great person and life has not been great and simple and nothing seems to be going the way it was meant to be.

This is not a complaint; this, my friend, is a confession.

When I don’t sleep well, I am not well. I forget names of friends I’ve known for years and I yell and I don’t have a lot of gentleness in my soul. More than the sleep – when my cup doesn’t get filled by the things and people that I love – that’s when I am at my worst. Just the absolute worst. Not great at all. And I hate it. While I’m in the middle of a sleep-deprived rampage my brain is so aware that what I’m doing or saying is dumb and stupid and not at all right but my body doesn’t obey. It barges on, making sure everyone knew just how unhappy I was at the moment. All things that I end up regretting in the soft light of every new day.

Here’s the simple truth that my mind has difficulty grasping: I have to be able to do the work even when the circumstances are not ideal. What work? The mothering, the loving, the gentleness, the writing, the making, creating, nurturing, giving- especially the giving. That’s the work that needs to keep getting done even when the routine gets broken and the groove is nowhere to be found.

When I get like this, it always makes me think of the story of Jesus at the well with the Samaritan woman. It’s one of my most favorite stories because it shows the beauty of the love of Jesus so well. It shows us that He meets us where we are. It’s found in John 4 (you should read it, it’s such a good story), and in verse 14 Jesus says that when we drink from the water He provides, we will never thirst again; He can fill our cups to the overflowing. And the frustrating thing is I know this, I know this! I know He can fill my cup, I know He’s a source that never runs dry, I know that He doesn’t expect me to come in perfect condition, and yet each time I seem to forget. I forget that it’s not other people’s responsibility to make me happy, that it’s not other people’s job to manage me. My emotions are my responsibility, my cup is my responsibility.

Listen, I wallow in guilt as much as the next person, but I know that nothing gets accomplished in guilt. All it does is stop you from becoming a better person, and this is where guilt needs to go out the window. After you become aware of the crappy things you’ve dealt humanity, then humility has to take the stage. I’m reminded of another story – this time from a man who is probably the best example of God’s transformative power: Paul. A man who used to kill Christians for funsies eventually becomes one, if not the most, effective apostle of Jesus.

In 2 Corinthians 12 he talks about a thorn on his side that he begs God to remove. The thorn is a constant source of consternation – we don’t know what it is, but Paul says it doesn’t allow him to think all too highly of himself. And so he begs and begs and begs but God basically just says, my dude, you don’t need to be perfect. My grace is enough, and my power is made perfect in weakness. God doesn’t take the thorn away. Instead, it becomes a constant reminder for Paul that he needs to lean on God through whatever it is he’s going through. Eventually Paul says, you know what, weakness is cool. I’m able to display how good and powerful God is through the times I’m insulted, or when I fail, or am persecuted. For Christ’s sake.

I probably have a whole bunch of them, but one of the more prominent thorns on my side is my gigantic temper. I have begged God to magically turn me into one of those soft, gentle moms who get remembered in movies with bokeh and backlight. Sometimes I worry that when I die, my kids will remember me as more like Ms. Trunchbull – no bokeh and no flowing white sheets. Just sweat and yelling and the chokey. I hope I’m wrong. I’d really very much like to be Ms. Honey instead.

I know that each time I flail and fail in that regard, it only means I’ve forgotten to lean on Him again. But I’m also not afraid to tell you all about it, because I want everyone to know that God’s love isn’t something that’s deserved; It’s freely given to everyone who wants it. It’s for people like me who are constantly getting in their own way and tripping on their own feet. God’s love is for those with the biggest thorns on all their sides. Just like the woman at the well (the Samaritan one, not Samara Morgan), we can come without pretense, failing and untraditional with five husbands, and He will still meet us- right where we are.