Victims Not Invited

31 Days

She is a sneaky visitor. No one knows how or when she gets in, but she frequents our home more often than I want to admit. The sneaky thing about her is she looks harmless. She is busy. She is productive. She works hard and long. She gets a lot accomplished. But she’s miserable. And it affects everyone.

The she is me. Me when I lay aside the being God gave me and pick up another role. Victim.

Victim may be hard-working, but she’s not entirely honest. She inwardly grumbles at all she has to do while they never do anything. Meanwhile, they are busy being. Being little learners, being the provider, being happy and fulfilled.

Victim sacrifices her own peace and happiness on the altar of ideals not able to be realized. She sneaks in during dinner preparations, in the middle of the night when a child wakes, sometimes during a difficult math lesson.

I’m not totally sure how it happens. But I think the visitor arrives when my attitude shifts from service to duty.

Service says, “I am so blessed to be your mother. You are a gift from God!”

Duty says, “I suppose you need a diaper change, a snack, help with your spelling words, a clean shirt. I guess that’s my job. <sigh>”

Service says, “It is such an honor to be manager of this home the Lord has given us.”

Duty says, “Time to mop the floors for the fifth time today. Who keeps spilling milk in front of the refrigerator? Well, that’s what I’m for I suppose. <eye roll>

Service says, “I thank the Lord for allowing me to labor beside this man and be his helper and complete him.”

Duty says, “He expects me to cook a hot meal after a long day of homeschooling? And to stop by the post office and the bank on the way home from co-op? I guess it’s my duty. Submissive wife, you know. <grumble>”

Jesus came to serve. I want to do no less. Service is a lovely opportunity to be. 

So, I’m locking up the doors. Sealing up the cracks in my heart that allow Victim to squeeze in.

I am not a Victim.  I am Daughter of the King. I am Wife to my Man. I am Mother to my little blessings. I get to teach them, clean them, clothe them, create a home for them, and minister to them.

There’s no more room. She will have to go.


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