Murphy's Law and Springtails

Strep throat for the whole family, 3 unrelated ER visits and a whole host of general life frustrations later. . . And here I am, finally recovered from Murphy's Law (maybe?).

We are also currently overrun with springtails. At first we thought they were fleas and then baby termites but were relieved to learn from our bug guy that they are really pretty common minuscule insects that are attracted to water. They're so small they look like dust and come out in the late spring or early summer to find their way into our home by any open crevice.

I thought about what the world must look like from their perspective.

When you’re a little over a millimeter in size, one 3-inch plank of our hardwood floor is a hike, a few planks is a long journey and our front foyer looks like a cracked and jagged expanse, impossible to traverse. There is no concept of the kitchen tile just a few feet away and to ask a springtail about the second floor? Forget about it. That is like thinking about what infinity means. They are far too small and these concepts far too large to even begin to comprehend for them.

What must a springtail’s whole world consist of? As the chunk of apple flies out of Navy's mouth and hits the floor next to a springtail, it sends juice into the air and down again in torrents. The noise the chunk makes as it lands and rolls twice must sound like a massive boulder falling from the sky and hitting a lumberyard below. The springtail cannot conceive of this potential destroyer as a food and water source (or as a home if the apple chunk rolls under the grate and goes unnoticed for several days - which is very likely in our household).

As I pondered the existence of these springtails, it occurred to me that everything I see, the judgements I make, the things I fear and my every emotion are all based on the scale by which I measure them.

When Belle comes home sick with strep throat and then Johnnathan and I get it, all I experience is the messy house, the exhaustion, the stress of missing work and the feeling of being behind on everything in life. I might not be able to enjoy the quiet Friday afternoon at home with my whole family watching movies or the sweetness in Navy’s eyes as he asks if I’m feeling better yet. No, those things are like kitchen tile to the springtail.

We made 3 trips to the ER, 2 to the pediatrician’s office, 1 trip to the eye doctor (and cancelled a dentist appointment - I was just over it by then) in one week.

Only 1 appointment was because of the strep. The others were a potential broken knee cap, unexplained and unresolved nausea and vomiting, and dry eye OR Multiple Sclerosis (it was dry eye), and a broken distal fibula.

Not. Even. Kidding.

Who goes to the ER three times in one week for three different family members for unrelated illnesses and injuries?

We do, that’s who.

So when we had to head to the ER for the third time because Johnnathan slipped in the mud as he was chasing a chicken in the backyard . . . yes, for real . . . I definitely only heard the crashing noise of disaster all around me.

Fun evening plans with one of my best friends was replaced with me calling her in sobs to see if she could come get my kids. Building a better chicken coop so our birds (dirty leg breakers) could have a more secure home was replaced with 4 hours in the ER. Now Johnnathan has 6 more weeks to think about the definition of productivity while I remove all the rugs so his crutches don’t catch and make him slip (he did throw one of the crutches across the living room. Who would have thought a rug could provoke so much anger?).

​It seemed we'd been victims of Murphy's Law - big time. I was overwhelmed. My threshold for family health issues had already been far surpassed the night Johnnathan had taken Gray to the ER early that week. I was still a shaky mess even though she was fine. And yet, here I am, alive and typing.

The last three weeks were bad, bad, bad. There is no doubt about it. Like an expanse of desert, I did not taste the sweetness falling from the sky (I'm going back to the apple juice analogy here in case you missed it) but ran for shelter because I couldn't conceive that there could be a blessing.​​

But my perspective shifted a bit when I stopped looking at the world like a springtail and started seeing the bigger picture.

I've been praying for a break (no not an actual bone) for a while. I thought I was asking for things to slow down, calm down, and go well. But perhaps I needed the mess in order to clear my head. To-dos are still not done, my house still looks like . . . I'm out of analogies . . . it looks like my three disaster children and their ADD parents live here. Let the imaginations run wild, I bet it's worse than you think.

So a couple of days ago I got tired of being so tired and whiny. This was after I cried to my mom on the phone about wanting to crawl onto someone's lap, about having to make dinner when I was exhausted after a ten hour work day and feeling badly because my husband was in pain and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. This was after I cried to my colleagues and friends about what normally would have been minor frustrations - if you've ever cried at work you know it feels worse than crying any place else. This was after I cried by myself when no one was around because I was feeling icky on the inside and because my car started having trouble. I was sick of feeling so sorry for myself.

So on the way to work the other day, talking to my sister from another mother on the Marco Polo app, I decided to talk to myself. I gave myself a much needed hard talk - a good hard verbal shake. What did I really have to cry about in the first place? My dear friends have been through so much worse, even very recently. I've been through so much worse! So I said something like:

"Seriously? Get it together, woman. You are fine. Your kids are fine. Your husband is fine. He's limping a little. Legs heal. Remember? You've broken both of them. Budgets haven't been done, errands haven't been run, you're behind. Whaa-whaa. So what? Cry about it some more, why don't you. Give me a flipping break. Is this worse than postpartum depression? Is this worse than when you couldn't pay your rent? Is this worse than not being able to walk; what about the pain recovering from 3 C-sections? How about the friends Johnnathan made in Haiti who said they have trouble finding joy when they don't have food to eat for days? Is what you've gone through worse than your friends who have lost their fathers? What about your friends who have lost their kids? Huh? Is the crap on the floor and the fast-food for dinner really going to put you over the edge? Sheesh, lady. Weren't you a boxer in a former life? When did you get so soft?"

I needed the talk. I wasn't seeing anything but the desert foyer while I had a whole house to explore, a whole world ringing with the truth of God's Word to my heart.

God is in the midst of her, she will not be moved; God will help her when the morning dawns. Psalm 46:5

My perspective has been far too small and short-sited. I smelled the chicken poop instead of hearing my children giggle. I fretted over the hospital bills instead of stretching on the floor and doing yoga with my daughter. I stayed up too late trying to unsuccessfully get caught up on work instead of taking the opportunity to talk with my husband while he was laid up on the couch and couldn't get away from me.

I didn't see the beauty, the bigger expanse, the gifts Murphy brought me recently - strength, courage, perseverance, friends that gave me food and presents and hugs, laughter in pain, feeling far beyond my limit and yet pressing on, late night moments snuggling with my 17-year-old cat while I cried on his furry ears and he mewed in response, holding my son's chubby hand as we walked through a parking lot to get his dad's prescription, surprise flowers that showed up on my desk - beauty in struggle and beauty when there really isn't much struggle at all. Things are good. Life is truly good.

Don't get me wrong though, Murphy can still go to hell.