Olympics 2008

Watching the Olympics has been rather difficult this year and for a while I couldn't figure out what in the world is wrong with me.  Why has it been so different from the Olympics of 2008, why am I not enjoying it as much as I used to, and why in the world have I not heard a word the announcer has said.  Then it dawned on me, the last time the summer Olympics was on I had a two year old, only, one child, who went to bed no later than seven, every single night, took two to three hour naps every day, and slept through the entire night, every night.

I keep reflecting on how much a life can change in four years because today as I try to watch my beloved Olympics my life is some chaotic (wonderful) version of that life times three.  Back in the day Michael Phelps never doubted he would win a swimming event and I cleaned my house, I mean for real busted out the dusting liquid and toilet brush, every single Friday (I find this the most unbelievable memory).  I experienced real silence in my own home on a regular basis, and had no trouble hearing what the announcer was saying about the life of the Russian gymnasts.

I didn't own a DVR back then (though I'm sure they existed, I'm always about 5 years behind technology), but it was no problem I put my angelic child to bed each night and settled down to watch one of the best Olympics ever, live!!  I was tired each morning when I woke up after a short six hours of sleep but it was okay because having one two year old is not exhausting and I could take a 3 hour nap if I wanted to every afternoon.

Me and my one baby in summer of 2008 (I also had short hair back then, oh I miss that haircut!)

My life was calm in 2008, it was clean and it never surprised me.  As I look back I see it was boring and empty and less than it should have been.  Even though I've only heard 15 words on TV during this Olympic games, I can't help but looking around me and thinking, this, this three kids, this dirty house, this people over (again), this dealing with brokenness, this toothpaste on the wall and pee on the carpet, this yelling and flipping off of chairs (darn gymnastics), is a gift.

I used to have a small, quite life, where perfection was the goal and being uptight was the norm, I used to think people with crazy children were bad parents and people with dirty houses were lazy.  God gave me exactly what I needed to mold me into a woman who could better follow after Him, who would desperately need Him, and better love those around me.

He gave me three children, and chaos, and brokenness I never understood, and he used it to strip me down, to begin to remove piece by piece the abilities that I thought I alone had created in myself.  He took me to a place where I would throw my hands up in the air and say, I surrender, I can not do this by myself.  And once I was there He began the (long) journey of putting me back together.  Building a woman who sees perfection as pride, who wonders what God would like me to accomplish in this day, who daily calls out to God for help on how to love/discipline my children, because I fully realize I have no idea what I am doing.

For the Olympics of 2012 my house is a whole lot messier, my kids are a whole lot crazier, and Michael Phelps turns out to be human after all.  But I think it's better this way, we're going to be fine, sometimes gifts are found in the strangest of places and there's always the 200 meter Butterfly.