Better to Be Mary than Martha when in Postpartum

After months of struggling in postpartum depression , I think of when Jesus visits Mary and Martha and how Martha struggled with the busyness of her life and questions Mary. Jesus has dwell ed in my brokenness, my home of despair... wanting to teach me while I ran around in the wide path of nowhere. I heard him daily whispering to me, "come, sit and learn what I am doing in your life."But in the beginning I would say "no I am too angry at you for allowing me this much pain" and now I sit with a struck of humility weeping at his feet in pure joy. He looked favorably toward Mary because she sat with him in stillness , teachable. Many areas of my life I have resembled Martha in her running around trying to keep up and appear to my company that I am okay. These months of pain and disappointment moments have pushed me in a corner with no choice to lean against, slide down, and sit with HIM. He continues to train me in surrendering to his will and reminds me to take joy and thank him in this circumstance of suffering. I have yelled at my God and pleaded asking "why?" Yet he continues to smile on me while his enemy swarms around like a bee stinging me with self doubt, pride, failure and a heart of idleness. And with each sting, I smile back knowing only by his mercy I have survived , I am better, I am his will, I am Martha discovering what cannot be taken from me.

House of prayer or den of robbers?

Jesus was disgusted by hypocrites and I feel close to that wrath. In the past few months I have encountered people who claim false gods, worship a mother that never existed, and replace with a peaceful sign of a natural lifeless journey. I am unable to communicate to them anymore and hear that my God is some helper out there for only me, something I have created in my own. I feel that I have risen from this place they call safe and like minded and ripped out for the glory that I may have forgotten had I comfortably stayed. I have long suffered in the valley feeling the sun blaze my back calling me home. God has revealed his teaching and that suffering is an honor and I grow from the pain that inflicted my body, my womb, my breasts. True surrendering is not giving up, its letting go what really was never mine to keep, to worship, to beg back. I pity the one who sits and asks, "what is she saying?" The one with sight can see but choose to stay blind and look for the shiny gold calf to justify.