First Friday: An Inconvenient Truth



I’m serious, friends.

Serious as a pumpkin pancake.

This very well could be the last thing you wanted to hear on this fine fall morning.

It was the last thing I planned to ponder a week ago. It happened as I overheard two girls chatting away about adding another baby to the family.  The momentary interchange went something like this…

“Well, you know, three is the new two.”

“Yeah, but the first year, I could really take it or leave it. It is just SO inconvenient.”

Now I realize for most people, these words would have led to a little pause or “hmmm…” I even believe that these were most likely lovely girls who had no idea what such words would do to me. But truthfully, I felt like my heart had been drop-kicked to the floor.

And what’s more, my stomach felt like an internal tilt-a-whirl.

My gut, fleshy reaction reflected my emotional temperature.  I was staring down the week where we had found out our last baby had no heartbeat. (Even two years later, I’ll admit it still stings.)

Combine that with the fact I was fresh off another TIA, I was more hurt animal than mighty spiritual warrior.

And I knew it.

So I put on my big girl pants, grabbed my darlings and just about the second my feet hit the van floor, the waterworks started.

At first, I cried out of self-pity, “Jesus, I wish I could have the choice to have another baby.”

Sob. Sob. Sob.

Then, I felt a deeper ache, “Jesus, forgive us for seeing someone’s life as an inconvenience or even a trend.”

Sob. Sob. Sob.

But then, I felt a holy smack with another cry of, “Jesus, forgive me.”

Sob. Heave. Sniff.

Pull the log out rather than the splinter, girlfriend.

Sob. Sob. Sob.

In that moment of complete brokenness, I trudged through an inconvenient truth:

“I have become drenched in the lie that my journey for the sake of eternity is about my convenience.”

How long I have to wait in line at the grocery store.  At the doctor’s office. At the DMV.

How long I have to wait for what I want in life.  In stability.  In things.

How long? How long? How long?

Oh. Lord.  It’s everywhere.

In my mothering.  In my marriage.  In my friendships.

Have I really bought into the perception that I am so in control of my life, my schedule, that Jesus does not breathe purpose into my days, my moments, my hum-drum circumstance?

Do I forget to see who is to my right or my left in line at the grocery store?  Or who needs a kind word at the doctor’s office?  Or who is internally screaming for even a touch of Jesus at the DMV?

Have I tried so hard to look a certain way that one would not confuse me of being of the world but when it comes down to it, I am?

Do I think or say or act as though my kids are an inconvenience?


How the truth hurts at times.

Like Jacob, I have wrestled with it these last seven days in a way I don’t even know how to write about it.

It just is.

A place in me that I know Jesus can refine and mold and transform.

But not in one sitting.  One moment.  Or one anecdote.

I need this place refined daily.

So Jesus, teach this unlovely part of me to breathe You.

Rip my hands from everything that says my agenda is more important than Your eternal purpose.

In my mothering.  In my marriage.  In my friendships.

In the way I see my days, my moments, my hum-drum circumstance.


Even when, like a petulant child, I stomp my foot, whine a sonnet and throw a holy snit-fit.




With sacred truth.

Inconvenient or otherwise.

And Jesus?

Thank you.

For the tears, the words and even the mouths from whence they came.

Without them, I would have stopped dead in my tracks.

Cowering at its very sight.

Blinded by the words,


Sara Cormany guest posts on the first Friday of each month. Sara is mommy to six-year-old Grace, four-year-old Drew and one-year-old Sophie.  When she is not wiping noses, changing diapers or chasing her kids, she is a sometimes writer and a sometimes teacher to teenagers.  But her most cherished role is that of one who is perfectly held by Jesus. She loves watching Him take the broken, the messy and the seemingly mundane of her everyday and turn it into something beautiful.