I can’t eat anything delicious.  My period is coming.  And I’m trying to relate to my sixteen year old son.  It is not going well.

Sometimes I feel that he looks at me like I am a strange (not exotic, just strange) fish swimming inside of a tank.  What?!?  Huh?

I don’t like it.  I want to snap at him for looking at me weird, dismissing me, not responding to me with awed respect.  I want to go into the pantry and eat some forbidden food by the handful.  Bury my face in a pan of brownies.  That’ll show him.

Instead, as those godless roads are closed to me, I escape to my bedroom and give myself a time out.  Big breath.  What is true?  Who is the grown up here?  How do I love from this out of sorts place?  Jesus, please come. Help me rise above my hormones and sugar addiction and self-centeredness.  Fill me Holy Spirit.  I breathe you in.  I let go of my own agenda and compulsions.  Thank you. 

I’m still hungry but choose to reengage.

“Ping pong?” I offer.  He says no thanks.  I am still a fish. 

“I turn my eyes up to the hills.  From where does my help come?  My help comes from the Lord, maker of Heaven and Earth.”  I love you, Jesus.  I know this is about me, not my son.  You are the only One who can fill this hungry heart.