Tip of My Iceberg

It could have been anywhere in the States.

We needed to be at a meeting outside of Florida. Which required a hotel stay. And being typical Americans who don’t stay in Ritz Carlton’s or Four Seasons’, we stayed in a chain that provided a clean bed, small bottles of personal necessities and a hot breakfast of rubbery eggs and overly sweet pastries I had no business eating.

It was heavenly.

Being somewhere that doesn’t require me to prepare food or make beds is a gift I never grow tired of. It has everything to do with being taken care of rather than needing to be the responsible one.

And how I enjoy being irresponsible–on occasion.

I’m a wife. A mom. A nana. None of those roles lends themselves to being a slacker. Not even a weekend slacker. And my personality, developed from my rich and crazy story, tends more towards worker bee than relaxed bum.

There was something so satisfying about using my towels just once and having someone else make waffle batter. About not hanging up John’s towels when he left his on the floor.

Is it wrong to want to be taken care of? To want someone else to be responsible?

I don’t think so. I know I yearn to be cared for. That someone will shoulder with me the burden of my concerns, my worries, my fears. Spouses and best friends are key in this process, but no one is able to carry the total weight of my stuff plus their own.

The hard part, though, is that I’m not always willing to let anyone help me. Sure, I want to share the load with those who’ll help. But I’m not good about letting go. Maybe it’s my passive-aggressive need for control. Maybe it’s my trust issues.

Maybe I don’t ask.

The hotel asks nothing of me but money. They don’t know me and could care less what my life is like.

For me to genuinely relax, I don’t want to impose on anyone else to make them feel burdened.

I can’t afford to go to a hotel when I feel overwhelmed with my stuff. To use multiple towels and eat waffles just because I’m stressed. So I sit with my stress.

I don’t often ask for help. I often eat.

God gets this about me. He knows I tend to hold onto issues with clenched fists rather than letting them go. He knows I struggle with letting others in to help when I tend to be bull-headed about doing it myself.

He offers.

“So humble yourselves under the mighty power of God, and at the right time He will lift you up in honor. Give all your worries to God, for He cares about you.”   1 Peter 5:6-7

Humbling myself before God isn’t easy. It means admitting my need for Him. My brokenness. My inability to do it all myself.

He is God. He can do anything. And He wants to do so much for me.

Hotel Happy? Maybe not

Eternity happy? Definitely.