accepting imperfection

Today, Ben and I stirred a pot together. Brownies for my sister's birthday (this time topped with coconut, not peanut butter).

 And I am being stirred.

It's that old momma guilt churning up again. My desires and duties mixed with questions of priorities and the reality that Ben will not be this size forever and probably will be off to school in a year-and-a-half.

Today the pot bubbled vigorously. 

I wanted it to be a morning focused solely on birthday lunch preparations to celebrate my sister. But the reality of Ben needing, deserving my attention at least some of those hours bit hard. And here's where the guilt comes in.

Shouldn't I want to lay down my work and sit down with him? Enjoying life at knee-high level, oblivious to the relentless tick, tick, tick of the clock, clock, clock? Especially when I read stories of parents, like Daisy's, who are in the trenches battling for their daughter's life. 

I do...

And yet, I also delight in doing things for others, beyond my four wee arrows. And I like tidying up the house somewhat because life feels lighter when I'm not tripping over shoes, toys, books, large boxes from a new sink, and sloshing through crumbs and dust bunnies. And there's the reality that if I don't cook, we don't eat.

And I think this guilt comes from expectations I put on myself for what I think a good mother looks like. And other people's idea of what a good mother looks like.

And I wonder if the women of yore ever felt this struggle. But perhaps they were just focused on surviving and dealing with the reality that survival and the most basic of chores took hours. Days even.

So could these modern inventions designed to make our lives easier, make them harder in other ways? Because now that we have more time for other things, we mothers open ourselves to guilt if we place our to do lists above spending time with our children?

I don't know.

What I do know is that God placed me in this specific time, place and location for a specific purpose. And I am constantly going to fail at living out that purpose perfectly. 

I need to let false idol of achieving perfection in my own strength go. Some idols are harder to fall than others.

So for today I face imperfect me and decided to accept her warts and all. And chose to have Ben help make the brownies. And let him play by himself for a while. And cooked some more. And accepted God's grace at having my mom stay for the afternoon which freed me up to read to Ben and play at knee-high level. 

And it feels pretty good. This acceptance of God's grace and the warts. This acceptance of imperfect me.

when you don't feel like saying it

Wednesday morning found me stuck in resentment. I knew in my head I should take the time right that very second to say "thank you" to God - and it really would have felt like a sacrifice of praise.

But I wanted to feel the "thank you" in my heart. Otherwise, I figured the words would ring hollow.

And the resentment I felt toward my children and having to endlessly referee arguments and remind them of manners and repeat and repeat and repeat my instructions and stop what I really wanted to do because they need me...it built up, ugly and bubbling instead of the gratitude which should have overflowed.

And here's where the clock says my 5 minutes are up. But I'm not stopping here, because I need to write this out, for me, and perhaps for others who find it hard to give that sacrifice of a "thank you." If you like, join me in the rest of this post...

The fact that Thanksgiving was the very next day needled me all the more. I felt like a hypocrite, because the very things which pulled me away from our children and caused my resentment of them and their needs, were the things I was preparing for our day of thanks.


I could choose to not write about this, the ugly side of mothering. But then all that are left are pretty pictures and people who look at you, thinking you have it all together, when really you just try to stuff the ugly away and pray it will stay locked in the closet so you can move on in an unhindered walk with Christ.

But God is gracious even in these dark and ugly places.

source

He knew that I knew I needed to say "thank you" even if I didn't feel like it. He knew that I didn't want to say what I didn't feel.

So somewhere between the arriving with unresolved feelings of resentment at a friend's house, and leaving there, He removed the resentment. Getting back into the car, I realized I just plain didn't feel resentful anymore. And that's when the "thank you's" flowed. 

What humbles me about this whole experience, is that God honored my desire to feel thankful even when I couldn't bring myself to say the words I knew He deserved. And He knows I miles to go and volumes to learn about priorities, and gratitude and how to catch resentment before it can gain a toehold.

So what will I do the next time I find myself stuck in resentment?

I don't know.


But I do know this: I can ask God to help me in the countless areas where I fall so short of His glory and I can be certain He will meet me there in the depths to pull me out.

day 16: when your daughter feels like the enemy

I had a completely different post in mind for today. But then God stepped in.

If you saw yesterday's challenges, the two focuses (foci?) for this week are learning to love God with all our mind and learning to love our enemies. In all the praying to God for Him to show me who I perceive as my enemy, I'd never imagine it would be my own daughter.

But when the enemy's been attacking your soul all day and when the sacrifices of motherhood over the years seem like just.too.much. and you wonder how you can continue to sacrifice even one more day and then your daughter, the one whom you're trying to help understand her math homework, shows you less respect and attentiveness than she does her teacher... well, it all gets wrapped up into one big ball of hurt and what do we do with a ball? We toss it back to the one who threw it our way.

Except she didn't and my daughter is not my enemy. I just forgot to take it to God in time to catch His grace instead of the enemy's garbage.

catching grace

And that's the genius of the enemy. He's sinful, but he's smart and he tries to distract us from seeing that he's the one doing the attacking. It's not really the ones standing before us. Or sitting beside us. Or blaring their horns at us. Or the ones we married. Or even the ones finding a way to destroy our civilization. They're just agreeing to his suggestions. And I did too when I yelled at Brianna last night.

In which case we both dissolved into tears and went to separate rooms to let God sort out our hearts. Which is what I should have done in the first place.

It's probably why Jesus told us, no, commanded us, to love our enemies. Because the best way to fight hate is with love.

And if I had remembered to put this into action (you can see yesterday's post on this too), I would have seen that the only truth I needed to deal with was Brianna's lack of obedience to God's commands. So today and for as many days as it takes, I'm going to carry around a piece of paper in my pocket with those words on it to remind me how to love God and others with my thoughts.

P.S. I used to think love = warm, fuzzy feelings. It doesn't. Read what real love is all about.

This week I'm learning to love God with all my mind and loving my enemy (a.k.a. the people I'd rather not have to deal with). Want to join me? Please click here for this week's challenges.

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well...did you? and agape love

If you read this post, you might be wondering if I got what I asked for.

Not exactly. :) But even better was the gift God chose to give me through this request...at heart at peace so I was not bothered by the arguingyellingcrying that I guess comes with the territory of having children. And is there anything better than a gift of being at peace in a storm?


And His second gift to me came in yesterday's sermon at church...

Lately, and especially when the arguingyellingcryingdisobeying wave crashes, I find it hard to feel very loving toward my children. Much of the time I just want to leave. Or hide under the covers. Or shut myself in the one sanctuary in our home with a lock...the bathroom. I'm thinking of posting a sign on the door that says "prayer closet."

And when I feel this way, I think in my head that I'm a horrible mother and I wonder if I really do love my children and what is love, really?

I think I got the answer yesterday.

Our rector (horrible title for a priest, but that's just what they're called where we go), tried to get us to understand what Jesus meant when he used the word "love," in John 15:9-17. He said the English language has no equivalent word for agape; the closest we can get might be "sacrificial regard." :) Not exactly the same thing as the romantic, make-my-heart-quicken, overwhelming warm, tender feelings I usually equate with love.

The part that really resonated with me, was when he said agape love starts where the warm, fuzzy feelings end.

Oh.

Now that kind of love I do understand.

And perhaps that's what real mother-love is all about...hanging in there when every fiber screams for flight. Being willing to fight through the messiness and hanging in there to hold out for holiness.

This I get.

And if any of the warm heart flutters stick around? Well, I guess that's just a bonus.


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(on Tuesday)