Though He slay me, Yet will I praise Him

I would welcome and appreciate your prayers this evening. I'm very tired--physically, spiritually, probably in other ways that I haven't thought of.

The baby is cranky and teething. Aedan is trying to learn the use of the facilites, to put it delicately, and the house is continually wrecked. No matter how hard I work at it, the dirt never seems to actually go away. I've been making stock and bread and doing dishes and sorting clothes and laundry and calling lists of people and being short with me children who are tired also of my bad mood for the last four days, really without leaving the house. I'm tired.

But even more than that I'm weary of my sins, of rolling the big rock of Church Work up the mountain and having it flatten me again the next week, of not having the energy to be cheerful and joyful even.

We're hosting classes for an upcoming Franklin Graham Festival in June and the miriad of details and emails to sort out and parking to worry about and chairs to rearrange has stressed everyone, but also me. And then at the last minute we're going to do the annual vestry breakfast for Good Shepherd Sunday, even though no one rememberd until the last minute and it will mean getting to church at 6:30 in the morning to cook eggs and sausage and set up tables and chairs.

And every time I turn on the radio I hear another sermon about Job, because everyone seems to be preaching through the whole book, verse by verse. Which just makes it worse because I don't have it that bad. All my children are still alive. I'm not covered in boils. I have nice friends instead of awful ones. But I still feel like I am sitting in the dust.

And yet, from the dust, I will praise Him.