Wednesday, November 14, 2012

The Martyr sydrome

Women. Wives. Mothers. Do you ever have days when you feel like this?!? Lol..

I have to tell you the truth: sometimes I think this is the image in my mind when someone begins to ask me to serve them in someway (smile). I'll explain...

Some days I have this awesome morning prayer time. It goes something like this, "Lord, if there's ANYone you want me to help today, ANYone I can serve today in any 'ole way, then...well, you know me Lord. Send 'em MY way. I'll do it willingly. I just love to serve! I'm your gal....(big smile on my face & pat on my back~just joking! but you get the picture)".

I get off and my day begins. The race is on and the clock is ticking. This particular morning my husband is home. What a treat! He usually works so much, but today is his day off.

I head down the stairs and my mouth is watering...I want to make a nice low-carb breakfast (I AM trying to watch my weight, right?) and I'm off to find my ingredients...when I hear, "Honey, can you please make me some toast? How about putting the cereal out?" Grumble. Okay, I guess that's not too hard to do.

Fast forward a bit...after breakfast we inevitably have a mountain of dishes sitting over the entire counter top (no exaggeration, really. Not with 4 children). My husband is getting ready to do some outside yard work....then I hear something like, "Honey, do you mind doing the dishes? I'll be in after awhile." Grumble. Uh, sure. Of course.

A little bit later the kids kick in..."Mommy, can you read me some stories? And not the 5 page simple one, but the FIFTY page long-winded one by Dr. Seuss I just love to hear on repeat..."(okay, that's an exaggeration but you Moms know the kind of books I'm talking about!)

How about: "Mommy, where are my new pants? I can't find them anywhere!" They're right here...hmmm, right where you put them last night after you went to bed. Grumble.

"Mommy, can you help me do this 1000 piece puzzle?" "Mommy, can we go play outside with YOU?" "Mommy, I need someone to help me with...."

The phone rings. The cell phone buzzes with a new text. Maybe 5. The emails come. It is to ignored until my set time of course to do those things. But again more 'little' needs and 'little' requests. My patience is thinning.

This of course does NOT happen everyday. And I don't mean at all to imply that my hubby and children are self-centered (in fact I would say they are ALL very helpful, and most of the time very caring/considerate people).

However, I just want you to see how EASY it is to forget about our morning prayer (our original good intentions!) when pressed with all the 'little' demands of the day.

So sometimes, I really do feel like that woman in the picture. I FEEL like a little 'martyr' with a BIG pack of weight on my back.

What does Christ say though? What is His take on all of this?

 "If anyone wants to be first, he must be the very last, and the servant of all." (see Mark 9:35).

Oh. Hmmm...well, why on earth does Christ say that??

I am not an authority on the scriptures, but here are a few of my own thoughts.

I have a feeling that He was speaking against our selfish ingrained nature. He knew that in our OWN strength we tend to: think about ourselves, look out for numbero uno, forget others, do our own thing, only serve someone else if WE can get something back! At least I know in my own strength that's pretty much what I do......

But why serve? Why keep plugging away at learning how to effectively and consistently serve others? (while NOT of course becoming some sort of a door mat or in essence, taking on others' responsibilities that they should do for themselves).

I don't have all the answers. But I do. know. this.

When I serve others in love. I feel better. I feel energized. When I do it WITH a right attitude. I love to see them smile. To say thanks. Or worse if they don't say anything. To know I pleased Him.

So on those days that I want to grumble. & complain. & feel sorry for myself cuz noone else is SERVING me! I need to remember. True service. In love. Is a blessing.


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