Monday, December 16, 2013

Whispers of Joy

I'll admit it.  I haven't had much Christmas spirit this year.  I always look forward to the start of this season, which in our house begins the day after Thanksgiving.  We put up our tree and decorations, and also do some gift shopping on Black Friday.  That weekend, however, started off with our daughter throwing up and the kick off to the Christmas season was very quickly dampened.  Eventually her sickness spread to the rest of us, and we realized we had all come down with a nasty stomach bug.  Add to that several days of freezing cold temperatures with grey skies, then an ice storm followed by a snow storm and two children with runny noses and bad coughs, and my "holiday spirit" was buried deep beneath a foot of snow along with the kids' backyard toys.  Those things didn't exactly leave me dancing in the streets, singing "It's The Most Wonderful Time of the Year".

I tried hard to find it again, that elusive feeling.  You know, the one you had as a child, where everything was magical and glorious at Christmastime.  The snow transformed the neighborhood into a winter wonderland, instead of an icy nightmare.  The beautiful tree with all of its sparkling lights and glittery ornaments made the house warm and bright, instead of something you're afraid is going to come crashing down on a two-year-old.  Christmas songs and movies delighted; the whole world seemed open to endless possibilities.  That joyful feeling kept escaping me, however, no matter the cheesy Christmas movies I watched or the decorating I did or the keeping up with the Elf on the Shelf charade.  The feeling alluded me even when I listened to familiar, classic songs and bought presents for loved ones.

I was getting our toddler ready for bed the other night, and "Hark, The Herald Angels Sing" randomly popped into my head.  I began to sing it to my sweet baby girl, the words getting caught in my throat as I was hit with their magnitude.  "Hark, the Herald Angels sing; glory to the newborn king.  Peace on earth and mercy mild, God and sinners reconciled.  Joyful all ye nations rise, join the triumph of the skies.  With angelic host proclaim, Christ is born in Bethlehem."  Then I felt it: joy.  Pure joy over the gift of Jesus coming down from Heaven to be born into the most humbling of circumstances, so that I could be reconciled to the Father.  "Mild He lays His glory by, born that men no more may die.  Pleased as man with men to dwell, Jesus our Emmanuel..."  These words from one of my favorite carols spoke to me that night in just the way I needed, reminding me that my joy- during the Christmas season and all throughout the year- is found in Christ.  Because of what He did, because of who He is, and what He was willing to give up for me.

I can feel happy admiring the lights on our Christmas tree, or passing down traditions to my children to celebrate this time of year, but true joy only comes from knowing Jesus.  It's not a "feeling" I can catch and hold onto either.  I need to be deliberate about focusing on Christ, otherwise my spirit is squelched when I discover that a gift is on back order, or when I run out of propane and can't bake the cookies in the oven, or when it takes me an hour to bundle up two small kids just so we can run an errand that will only take 15 minutes.

The Christmas spirit I've been trying to track down gets lost a little bit more each year under the pile of grownup responsibilities and life's inconveniences.  The magic and wonder get squeezed out by laundry, diapers and dishes.  I find that since I am so intent on making sure my children have wonderful memories of this time of year, I am really not having much fun at all myself.  That kind of Christmas spirit always leaves me wanting.  Intentionally focusing on the birth of our savior fulfills long after the belief in Santa and flying reindeer is outgrown.  As the cutesy children's song goes, "All the tinsel and lights and the presents are nice, but the real gift is You."

Thursday, December 05, 2013

What Makes a Parent

About two weeks ago I came across a post called "10 Reasons to have an Abortion- Illustrated by Adorable Cats”.  When I first saw the title I thought, surely, this is a joke.  Oh, how I wish it was.  This article was published on the parenting site Mommyish.  I find it ironic that a site devoted to parenting would actually promote abandoning your responsibilities as a parent via the disposal of your unborn children. 

First, some observations about the article itself:  Among the typical life endangerment/health of the mother reasons for abortion, the author, Eve Vawter, also lists such things as your age (too young or too old), birth control failure, missed career opportunities, not wanting a relationship with the father and just plain old not wanting to have a child.  So basically, according to this list, any reason is a good reason to have an abortion.  You can just choose to destroy another life whenever the mood strikes you.   This a human being we’re talking about, though, not a surgically removable barrier to your dreams, expectations, or conveniences. 

It is very telling that Ms. Vawter stated she “would rather look at cats than whatever comes up when you search photo websites for ‘abortion’.”  In other words, she didn’t want to be disturbed by these photos or have to confront the reality of what she was so callously endorsing.  If she had actually googled images of abortion, I doubt she would have written the post in the first place.  You can sugarcoat it by putting up photos of cute, cuddly kittens in their place, but the reality is that abortion is horrific.  Violent.  Gruesome.  The pictures do speak for themselves, and they illustrate a story that is quite literally the opposite of what it means to be a parent.  As a parent, you protect your children at all costs, even before they are born.   

I browsed Mommyish’s website and found several other articles in the same vein as “I’m a mother and personally pro-life, but politicially pro-choice.”  The gist is that you can value the lives of your own children, but you’re also totally cool with another person’s decision to devalue theirs.  To each her own, right? 

The above mentioned post is a testimony to our schizophrenic way of treating each other’s child rearing practices with disdain, while remaining silent on the abhorrent procedure of vacuuming a tiny baby out of his or her mother’s uterus.   We have a lot to say about the harmful effects of “crying it out” and feeding our kids genetically modified foods, but voice little concern about poison injections to a baby’s heart while in utero.  Heated discussions ensue over vaccinations, but there doesn’t seem to be much public outcry over babies being ripped apart in the womb.  Why is it that before a child is born we can’t say anything about the way they are treated, but afterwards they magically become our “business?”  

What were once private issues within families have now become public.  What was once regarded by society as barbaric and outlawed is now relegated to a private matter between a woman and her doctor.  Evil is good and good is evil.  The prevailing ideology these days is that a mother gets to call all the shots; she decides, for whatever reason, whether the child growing inside of her is worthy of life.  This type of thinking elevates her above God, who alone creates all life forms.  Since she is a god in her own mind, she can pass judgment both on the baby inside her womb and on the actions of others.

The truth is that defending the “right to choose” is incompatible with motherhood.  A mother, by definition, nurtures life- whether she births a child or adopts one.  She does not destroy, nor does she support the destruction of a life.  You can’t advocate for someone to be able to kill their offspring without simultaneously undermining your own importance as a mother.  Abortion and motherhood, contrary to what modern feminism tells us, are mutually exclusive. 

The giving up of ourselves on another’s behalf is the very essence of mothering.  It isn’t always easy.  It definitely isn’t always fun.  It is certainly not a popular idea in today’s self-absorbed, self-serving culture.  Abortion, on the other hand, embodies everything that is diametrically opposed to self-sacrifice.  It is the result of the radical feminist thought that women only find meaning and happiness through the personal pursuit of autonomy and freedom.  It is marketed as a way for women to liberate themselves from anything that makes them feel morally obligated to someone else.  It stands in direct antithesis to the family and denigrates a child before he or she is born.  

For a parenting site to write about abortion, they must realize an important truth: abortion is a choice that a parent makes.  When your choice as a parent affects others in negative and cruel ways, however, a humane society restricts or prohibits the choice.  That society does not support or celebrate it.  That society does not employ the use of euphemisms to defend the indefensible.  You either foster a respect for life with your words and actions, or a culture of death.  

While this article both upsets and bewilders me, it also reminds me that I am not my son or daughter's god; I am their mother.  They ultimately belong to Him, and I have simply been entrusted with their care.  As a mom, I carry out God's purposes.  Even with all my failures, if I am obedient to the calling of loving and protecting them, I have done enough.  When I understand my role in its proper context, I can parent without guilt or anxiety.  If I believe that it all depends on me, however, I will make choices based on fear and self-preservation.

Tuesday, November 26, 2013

Being Seen

Doing a "spot check" after your five-year-old goes Number 2.  Wrestling a two-year-old who doesn't want her diaper changed.  Reading that story for the 100th time.  Calling to make appointments and straining to hear the person on the other end of the line over the shrieks of two children.  Vacuuming while a toddler screams because she is terrified of the huge, monstrous sucking thing and feeling guilty for cleaning.  Breaking up fights, cleaning up messes, answering endless questions in between washing and drying four loads of laundry, emptying the dishwasher and cooking three meals.

Just a day in the life of a stay-at-home mom.

The never ending sacred dance of comforting, wiping, disciplining, and loving.  Trying to control your temper when you are met with an unexpected mess of magic markers all over an outfit, or when your oldest gives you attitude over a simple request.  Being molded and shaped into the person God wants you to become, even while you are molding and shaping their young minds and hearts.  One exhausting minute at a time.

You wonder sometimes if what you're doing really matters.

This scripture came to mind recently: "But you, when you pray, go into your inner room, close your door and pray to your Father who is in secret, and your Father who sees what is done in secret will reward you." (Matthew 6:5-7, NASB, emphasis mine).  I was in the middle of a crazy week and pulling double duty since my husband was away for work.  There was a birthday party for one of my son's classmates, baking for the school craft fair, a friend's baby shower, and a MOMS Club board meeting, not to mention the usual chauffeuring back and forth to school, dinner and bedtime.  The long week ended with Gregg's flight being delayed due to bad storms in the Midwest, causing him to arrive home six hours after we had anticipated.

I could feel that old familiar anxiety rise up after the sun had gone down and he still didn't have a firm boarding time to text me with.  Resigned, I put the ground beef that I was planning to use for dinner that evening back in the fridge, prayed, and got out the frying pan to just make some scrambled eggs.  In the middle of all this, I remembered that God sees me and is with me.  When I'm lonely and frustrated and doubting myself.  When I pray with my children and teach them to love Him with all their heart, soul, mind and strength.

While I am in the thick of cleaning up the same messes, racking my brain for creative and healthy meals, correcting, soothing and struggling, I could easily overlook the moments that God breaks through my hectic day and reminds me He is there.  When the two-year-old lays her sleepy head down on my shoulder right before her nap, and I stroke her hair and back while gently rocking side to side.  When the five-year-old writes the numbers he has been learning in school on a piece of a paper and proudly shows it to me.  And then I am thankful that I get to be here for every single, solitary moment- real and raw as they are.  This roller coaster that I ride daily with them is totally worth it.

"Your greatest contribution to the Kingdom may not be something you do, but someone you raise." - Andy Stanley

Friday, August 23, 2013

Being a Mother is Smarter Than You Think

I recently read about some new research being conducted by Satoshi Kanazawa, the controversial former Psychology Today blogger.  A Reader in Management at the London School of Economics, Mr. Kanazawa has “begun to present scholarship asserting that the more intelligent women are, the less likely they are to become mothers.”  I'm sure there are thousands of women out there who would take issue with this statement.  They know as well as I do that neither the length of my job title, nor the size of my paycheck is a reliable measure of how well I utilize my intelligence.  

So, mother= dumb?  Or put another way, intelligent= childless?  I have to say, I am a bit insulted but not at all surprised.  This is the same anti-child rhetoric that radical feminists have been spewing for the past five decades.  They have all but said that motherhood is synonymous with slavery.  If you have children, your life as you know it will be over.  Okay, changed forever, yes, but not OVER.  Betty Friedan wrote 
The Feminine Mystique in 1963, examining and confronting the role of women as stay-at-home mothers, and the seeds of discontent were sown.  She argued that women had been coaxed into selling out their intellect and ambitions for the paltry price of a new washing machine.

Fast forward to 2013, where there is a movement several years in the making among women who are already mothers (many stay at home full-time or run part-time businesses out of their houses) to unveil the realities of motherhood.  There seems to be a sense of indignation over someone not telling us that this was going to be so hard.  In an effort to expose the truth that we don't have it all together, we have let it all hang out there: the good, the bad, and the ugly.   Honesty is a good thing; it helps us understand that we are not alone in our struggles.  While we shouldn't labor under the false assumption that everyone else is doing it all perfectly, I wonder if we haven't contributed to undermining our roles by talking about all the negative aspects of mothering.

I have certainly been guilty of this.  I jumped on the bandwagon shortly after Colton was born, with a desire to debunk the romanticized version of motherhood we often hold before we actually have children.  I was open about my struggles with post-partum depression, and the hard work of caring for a baby and then a toddler while my husband was away at work for 12 hours a day.  Many women thanked me for being real and shattering the isolating illusion that being a mommy is nothing but pure bliss.  

So, I was caught off guard when I began to realize just how negative I had become.  I was doing more complaining about the daily tasks of mothering than pointing out the simple, ordinary joys.  When I saw a pregnant woman browsing the baby aisles at Target and passed her with my two kids who may or may not have been dangerously on the verge of a total meltdown, I'd think "Just wait.  THIS is what's in store for you."  When people asked me if I'm having more children, I would be quick to say I'm a member of the "two and through club".         

The message in our culture today is children are an inconvenience; wait to have them until you're "ready", or better yet don't have them at all.  It was subtle and happened over time, but I found myself perpetuating this very same message.  When a friend who was childless would tell me she couldn't wait to have kids, I'd encourage her to wait because once she had them her life would be completely changed- she wouldn't have the freedom to do whatever she wished, whenever she wished.  I thought I was doing her a favor, but I was really doing her (and myself) a disservice.

When I write and speak more about the tantrums, the stomach viruses, and the sibling squabbles, I am conveying that being a mother is tiresome, loathsome, and something to be avoided at all costs.  There are so many beautiful, sacred moments in the ordinary that I miss when I am focused on those details.  I forget that my kids are two precious individuals God has entrusted me to raise, who miraculously grew inside me from one cell into a complex human being.  After all, the idea that children are a blessing is as old as time.  It is also biblical.  And something I've sadly forgotten. 

We definitely shouldn't try to live up to an impossible standard or ideal as mothers.  That takes our focus off of our unique talents and circumstances, including the special children that we alone have been given to care for.  Mrs. Friedan complained about this all throughout her book.  This is one of the things the women's lib movement in the 60's and 70's was trying to liberate us from.  However, f
ifty years later, what remains is that stay-at-home mothers still believe that there must be something wrong with them if they do not find great satisfaction in every moment of parenting and taking care of a house.  What we are left with is that the value in raising children and managing a household has been stripped away, because they proclaimed that women can't find meaning in these tasks.  They also succeeded in getting two generations of women to deny the distinctive, inherent qualities that set them apart from men and uniquely position them as life-givers and nurturers.
The term "housewife" or "mother" is what you make of it.  You can either see it as a misery or a joy.  We glorify God and experience His blessing when we accept and joyfully embrace his created design, function, and order for our lives as women.  Society is all too willing to feed us the line that we should abandon the home in pursuit of our so-called real ambitions.  We are sold a bill of goods that to give up our careers or other aspirations for raising children is, quite bluntly, dumb.  The "war on women" is more like a war on mothers.   
It is not unintelligent, though, to recognize that children are only this young for such a short amount of time, compared with the rest of one's life, and that during these crucial years our role as mothers is vitally important in shaping and molding their minds, values, and morals, along with instilling a sense of stability.  As I muddle my way through these early years of mothering, I take heart that my actions, though not always glamorous or acknowledged, will one day produce a godly young man and woman.  That is where I get my fulfillment, if you will.  This is worth sacrificing all those other achievements for.

Thursday, August 15, 2013

Refusing to Buy Into the Hollywood Version

One of my favorite bloggers, Lisa-Jo Baker, wrote a post a few weeks ago in response to the June 29th "Teenager Posts of the Week" featured on The Huffington Post Teen Edition.  The unnamed girl stated, “My love life will never be satisfactory until someone runs through an airport to stop me from getting on a flight.”  Lisa-Jo's post was so popular with readers that it ended up going viral and appearing back on HuffPo's website, this time for its parental audience.

I can tell you that my husband has never run through an airport to stop me from getting on a plane.  But he has run through an airport to catch a flight to go on a business trip that provides a roof over our heads and food for us to eat.  He has left a meeting early to come home and take care of the kids, when I was ill with the flu and could barely get off the couch.  He has been patient with me as I recovered from two c-sections, and was right there beside me in the OR when both our son and daughter entered the world.

We are more than a decade now from the evenings when I would catch him staring at me from across the table.  To be honest, I do miss that time period in our relationship.  Our love has grown much deeper than those romantic dinners through the years, however.  He tells me over and over that I'm beautiful, with no make-up on, even during times when I feel like I'm at my worst.  He still saves me the last piece of cake, or the last cookie, because he is considerate of me.  He offers tenderness, listening, and protection on a daily basis.  He has held my hand and prayed for me during rock-bottom moments, when I didn't have the strength to pray myself.  
The last day of our honeymoon, 1/21/03
The Bible articulates numerous reasons for the purpose of marriage.  The following three are the most important, in my opinion: 
1) Companionship 
2) Procreation 
3) Holiness
Marriage provides us with lifelong friendship, sustains life on earth, and brings us closer to God through the process of sanctification.  It is not for the purpose of our happiness. When you subscribe to the view that the main purpose of marriage is to make you happy, it's easy to see why so many marriages fail. As soon as the fun stops or the momentary "happy" runs out, people quit and the marriage collapses.  Marriage is God’s design, and His purposes must be pursued in order for you to be truly happy. His end is holiness and He will use all things in a life devoted to Him to fulfill that end.

Our marriage has definitely not always been happy, happy, happy (as Phil Robertson would say).  
We've survived countless moves, two episodes of post-partum depression, and three separate periods of unemployment.  Going through life's trials together has sanctified us and strengthened our relationship with one another and with God.  When you can go through some pretty tough circumstances and come out on the other side with your marriage intact, being even better than before, that's a powerful testimony to the redemptive work of the Lord in your lives.  

No, he's never run through an airport for me.  But yesterday, he raced home from Newark Liberty to be with his family who he had been away from on a job for almost a week.  He played with our kids outside until dinnertime, even though he was jet-lagged.  And later that evening, he held me tight and told me how much he missed me.  That's my version of romance.  The ordinary, forgiving, brace the storms of life together, kind of "ever after" you just won't find in fairy tales.    

Ten years and two kids later.

Friday, August 09, 2013

Let's Hear It For The Boy

As Colton's birthday approaches, I have already been thinking about what I will post on Facebook that day- probably something like "five years ago, I became a mother."  Then my own words stop me and I think, is that accurate?  Did I really only become a mother the second my son came out of me?  Or did I become a mother months before, when he was conceived.  Or nearly three weeks later, when I held a positive pregnancy test in my hand.

With my suspicions of being pregnant confirmed, I immediately went into the mode of doing everything I could to ensure the life growing inside me would thrive.  I switched from soda to juice and water, ate a better diet, started taking prenatal vitamins, and began exercising.  I started preparing for his arrival by reading baby books, researching the best baby gear, and long before I even knew that the baby was a "he", I blogged almost daily about every detail of the pregnancy.  I dreamed of who my son would become and who he would look like.

A unique person with his own DNA, his personality began to take shape even before he was born.  As a preschooler, he doesn't go along with the crowd.  In the womb, he remained breech right up until his due date.  The coding for his father's engineering mind and my facial features were already there.

The law did not consider him to be a person with certain inalienable rights until 1:33pm on August 14, 2008.  Up until that time, it was strictly up to me to protect him.  That was my job from the moment I knew I was pregnant and continues to be throughout the rest of his childhood into adolescence.  Even when he turns 18 and becomes a legal adult, he will still be my responsibility if he lives under my roof.  I will still worry about him, pray for him, give him advice.  In other words, I will always be his mother.

Though the physically demanding, practically non-stop work did not begin until he was outside my womb, he could not have gotten to that point unless I recognized that I was already a mother and began sacrificing parts of myself for his sake.

Colton continues to develop and thrive as his fifth birthday draws near, due to the investment made into his life by me and his daddy.  We make sure he eats the right things, gets the sleep and exercise he needs, learns values, receives discipline, and understands that he is loved and special.  And, if I may be permitted to brag a little, he is a pretty amazing kid.  This is not to pat myself on the back, but to proclaim that he is an extraordinary child who I have the blessing and privilege of raising.

He is kind to others, quick to help, and embraces life with tenacity.  He is definitely ALL boy, turning his sister's toys into lawn mowers, gear for monsters or super heroes, and garages for his cars and trucks.  I love how blonde his hair gets in the summer, and how the sun on his cheeks accentuate those deep, blue eyes.  I am so proud to be his mother, and I can't believe he is going to be five next week!!!

Colton enjoying his favorite treat at the Sussex County Fair.

Tuesday, July 30, 2013

Phases of Motherhood

The other night, my son and I brought dinner to a friend who recently had her first baby.  She was very grateful to receive a meal and a visit among one of the most hectic, challenging, joyful times in life.  As we talked, she mentioned trying to figure out what was best among the various approaches to parenting a newborn she heard from others.  I could tell she was a little overwhelmed.  I wanted to give her some advice, but I know she has to figure it out on her own.  A one-size-fits-all approach just doesn’t apply to child rearing.  

Plus, just because I am well beyond the newbie stage doesn’t mean I have all the answers either.  I’m really just a few steps ahead in this journey called motherhood.  The crushed Cheerios in the carpet, toys taking over every room in the house, holding my breath instead of completely losing it on my kids phase.  One in which I am trying in vain at mealtimes to get one kid to sit down and the other to eat a vegetable.  Where I am simultaneously holding a conversation with another mom at the play ground while I watch two kids who are off in different directions, doing mental gymnastics to keep track of when they each last had a sip of water, went to the bathroom/had a diaper changed and how many donut holes they consumed. 

It’s crazy, but crazy enough I'm pretty comfortable here.  In fact, it can be somewhat of a stretch now to go back and remember what it was like to have a newborn and be in completely unfamiliar territory, feeling desperate and isolated as a new mom.  I’m in the thick over-growth of a new forest.

Instead of counters littered with baby bottles and cans of formula, every square inch of our fridge is adorned with crayon scribbled and water color painted pictures.  Instead of infant cries and coos, there are toddler and preschooler shrieks in conjunction with the music from kids’ tv shows.  My kids now play by themselves together, but fights over toys inevitably ensue, interrupting a single household chore at least 10 times.  When I put Rory in her crib at night, I can be 99% sure that she will sleep straight through the next 12 hours, and it won't be all that long before she trades in the crib for a toddler bed and diapers for Disney Princess panties.  Colton is now one of the oldest kids in my moms’ group, and I am the one passing down his old clothes and toys instead of being on the receiving end.

There are new worries and challenges here, and while they aren’t helpless newborns anymore, some days I still feel unequal to the task of mothering two little ones.  Their needs have actually seemed to increase as time has gone on.  Now they need discipline as well as their physical needs taken care of.  It gets discouraging and frustrating when my four-year-old doesn’t obey, and nothing I do seems to help him change his unpleasant attitude.  It’s draining when my toddler constantly disregards my “no”, bent on doing what she wants. 

Yes, this phase often means banging my head against the wall when my daughter is super clingy and I can’t figure out what’s wrong because she only says 10 words, which put together make no sense.  It means exasperated sighs when I’m downstairs in the basement doing laundry, and my preschooler yells from the top of the stairs and I come running, only to find out that he just wanted a different television show on.  It also means wanting to hide in the bathroom for five minutes of alone time, if I can just get the door shut before Rory rushes in there to “help” me.  It most definitely means thinking I will go crazy if I hear the word “MO-MMY!!” one. more. time.     

This stage in between feeding, rocking and changing non-stop and teen rebellion is a lot of stinkin’ work.  But it’s also exhilarating.  And, for me, ultimately better than the newborn phase.  It’s fun to watch both of them learn new things and play together.  I still have so much influence over what they watch, do and eat.  Their disobedience is small right now, and their faith is big.  Their hearts are soft and innocent, making them a perfect place for Jesus to live.

I love having them press in close while I read them stories, see them dance and "sing" to songs, and experience life through their eyes.  I know one day I will look back on these days in which the pages of "If You Give a Moose a Muffin" play out repeatedly, and my heart will ache for when they were that little.  Then I will be "that older lady" telling another mom to try to treasure these moments, even though you feel like you're going to be swallowed up in them.

Wednesday, July 03, 2013

A Woman's Right

I have been thinking a lot lately about rights since the abortion debate was once again thrust into the media with last week’s filibuster by Texas Senator Wendy Davis of a bill that would hold abortion clinics to the same standards as ambulatory care clinics and require abortionists to have admitting privileges at hospitals, as well as ban all abortions after 20 weeks.  Pro-choice supporters showed up to help defeat the bill, championing the cause of women's rights so loudly that it caused chaos and confusion in Texas’ State Capitol, and the bill was not signed into law before the deadline for the special session had passed.  

It seems odd to me that the same group who lobbies for women's health is the very same group fighting against legislation that would effectively make abortion safer for women, but that is not what this post is about.  It is about rights.  Or what we think we have a right to, at least.

The reigning ideology today insists that a mother determines whether or not she wants to be one, and whether or not she perceives a child worthy of life, even as it develops in her womb. She makes these decisions at an incredibly emotional and vulnerable time, with the support of a prevailing belief that there is empowerment in ending that child’s life within her.  This has been, in fact, defined as her constitutional “right”.

In the last 40 years, the feminist movement has done a very good job of persuading women that they should be ashamed and even fearful of traditional women’s roles.    It has instilled a great fear of having to give up oneself for the sake of a child.  It has even instilled the fear of pregnancy itself, going so far as to say childbirth poses more danger to females than abortion. 

For many women, childbearing and rearing is a wonderful, joyous thing.  But for many others, it represents death.  Even in the best of circumstances, motherhood demands your all.  You give up control over your time, your finances, your needs and your wants to put those of small children ahead of your own. 

Motherhood is not celebrated or embraced in our post-modern culture.  Instead, it is reviled.  There is very little support for mothers these days.  Our communities by and large are no longer the welcoming, safe havens they once were and the statement “it takes a village” is a thing of the past.  Sadly, many churches turn away the unwed pregnant girl instead of offering resources and hope.  By contrast there seems to be a multitude of organizations, such as Planned Parenthood, presenting a way out.

In her book What Women Fear, Angie Smith writes that when sin entered the world back in the Garden of Eden, fear was ushered in right along with it.  “[Adam and Eve] acted out of fear, and so do we.  We do it in all kinds of ways, and while it’s different for every person, the heart of it is the same.  We are responding to the lie of Satan each and every time we run.  Fundamentally, every single fear comes from the lie spoken by the enemy in a garden designed to be a haven…  Is God really good ?”     

I have experienced the sheer panic which accompanies the realization that you now have the soul-crushing responsibility of a brand new baby.  Even as my son grew older, I experienced fleeting moments where I thought my world was crashing down around me.  Just when I thought I had mastered those, I gave birth to my daughter and experienced that same all-consuming feeling of fear.  Only this time, it appeared to double since I had the responsibility of both a toddler and a newborn.  How much more must this fear be present for women whose pregnancies are unplanned.

Fast forward to present day, and my children still regularly trample on my freedoms.  My right to privacy is infringed upon by their barging into the bathroom without knocking.  My right to peace and quiet is walked all over by a four-year-old asking "why" questions that stretch down around the block and back, the ear piercing crying of a one-year-old, numerous tantrums and meltdowns over any number of things, fights over toys, songs being sung at the top of my son's lungs, and the list goes on and on and on.  My right to my own body was infringed upon by a tiny baby taking up residence inside of it on two separate occasions.  Then there's the right to advance my career or financial/social status, which I basically kissed goodbye when I became a stay-at-home mom.  My world revolves around the constant needs, wants and demands of small children who have absolutely no regard for what I gave up for them.

All of this can feel threatening if I lose sight of the fact that Jesus gave up His rights as Lord and King when he came to earth and lived among needy, dirty people who demanded all He had to give.  He was entitled to glory, honor and praise but He laid it all down for us.  “Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage; rather, he made himself nothing by taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness.  And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to death- even death on a cross!”  (Philippians 2:6-8, NIV) 

He made Himself nothing

It's that kind of self-sacrificing love which inspires me to serve not only my children, but others around me who are in need of grace.  It is that perfect love which drives out fear- the fear of losing myself in motherhood, of being required to give up too much and get little in return, even of giving up control over the way my kids turn out.  When we have a relationship with Christ and understand His sacrifice for us, we bring everything under His lordship.  Everything we are holding onto so tightly we are then able to let go of and entrust to Him.  We let Him order our steps and faithfully give up that which we feel we are entitled to.

The very law designed to protect women’s rights ironically also impedes their liberty, since true freedom is only found in Christ.  Giving a woman the right to terminate a pregnancy is not, in and of itself liberating when she feels her choices are very limited to begin with.  For her, it is often the decision between the figurative death of herself or the actual death of her unborn baby.  Women should be empowered to carry out the work of nurturing and caring for a child, a mission of many pregnancy resource centers.  This is something that politics alone cannot accomplish; it must come through a genuine encounter with a Savior who has already walked the road of sacrifice and suffering. 

Saturday, June 29, 2013

Childhood Revisited

Once in a while, it seems rather strange to me that I am all grown up now and a mom.  It doesn’t seem like that long ago I was playing dolls with my sister and swinging carefree on our swing set in the backyard.  Now I am not merely playing house anymore; I am desperately trying to find a way to manage my own real life household.  Sometimes when the kids are getting out of control, there are messes to clean up and dinner needs to be made, I look around and wonder “now who’s going to take care of this?”  Then it dawns on me and I realize, oh that would be me!

While I am comfortably past the phase where I stumbled around in that new mom sleep deprived stupor, I still long for the days when I was someone else’s responsibility instead of the other way around.  It makes me appreciate so much more everything that my mother did for me.  I took it all for granted: the trips to the playground, library and pool, the three square meals a day, a freezer and cabinets stocked with our favorite treats, new clothes every season, etc.  As a kid, I didn’t realize how much time, effort and money went into every single childhood and adolescent memory.  How much preparation went on behind the scenes of every vacation, birthday party and play date.  I just sat back and enjoyed it, for the most part.  There were times when I would let my ungrateful attitude show, however, and my mother would in turn make no bones about how displeased she was with it.                      

My own kids are way too young to recognize everything it takes to parent them also.  At   4 ½ and almost 21 months, they have an extremely limited ability to appreciate all that I do for them.  If I am doing any of this for recognition though, I will be very disappointed.  I will become bitter and resentful towards my children, and they will become a burden instead of a joy.  Jesus said “Come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”  I am finding this verse to be very applicable currently, with two small kids who are in constant need of my attention. 

As I sit here and type this post, they are both sitting at the kitchen table playing with Play-Doh and I could just about harm the inventor of this substance right now.  The bucket of this brightly colored gooey stuff usually stays hidden away in the play room closet for a reason.  As I survey the mess they have made, I am on the verge of crawling out of my skin.  And thankfully, they are blissfully unaware of how I am suppressing my OCD tendencies just so they can have a morning of innocent childhood fun.    

They often plow right through my orderly, structured world with their sticky fingers, loud voices and talent for destroying any room they happen to be in, in less than 60 seconds.  It is overwhelming at times.  I feel downright weary some days, with all the work that goes into parenting.  All the behind-the-scenes prayer, fretting, prayer, frustrated sighs, tear-filled conversations with friends and did I mention PRAYER that they are totally oblivious to and might never even thank me for someday.  This right here is unconditional love; it is not reciprocated.  What I do for my children will not be returned in kind, no matter how long I live.  Nevertheless, I do it all because I love them and want the best for them.  I know not to expect anything in return.  This is how God loves us.

His love is completely unselfish and perfect, since there is absolutely nothing I can offer Him.  He desires that we love Him for who He is, too, instead of what He can give us.  Of course, God also wants us to remain in a posture of gratitude for everything He does for us just like I want my children to be grateful.  This doesn’t mean I lord every little thing over their heads and demand that they appreciate my hard work and sacrifices, however.  I shouldn’t act like a martyr in our home, feeling as though they somehow owe me.  Motherhood is about serving, just like any other ministry.  It behooves me to remember that Jesus came to serve, not to be served.  Especially on those days when I feel more like a maid or cook than a mother, when I am wistfully remembering my carefree childhood.         

Monday, June 24, 2013

More Than a Fairy Tale

This blog is titled "Gregg and Marisa's Married Life" because back when I started it, we didn't have kids.  I can't imagine our lives without Colton and Rory, but I'll be honest, I do miss those child-free days.  When our schedule didn't revolve around nap times and we could just decide to go somewhere on a whim, without having to plan three hours in advance to get two little ones and a diaper bag packed up.  When we weren't practically shouting over the voices of a preschooler and toddler to have a conversation.

I turned 23 the summer we met, and he was 25.  Those ages seem so young to me now, 11 years later.  Back then, we had our whole lives ahead of us and were starry eyed with dreams of our glorious future together.  Before the gray hair and the stretch marks.  When we were still in that "eat, sleep and breathe" one another phase.

I used to be the girl who just walked over to him and wrapped myself up in his arms for no reason.  I was the girl who, when we were apart, would miss him so much it felt like the breath got knocked out of me.  I was also the girl who went out of her way to make him his favorite meal or dress a certain way that would capture his attention.

Now I'm the woman who yells, "No jumping on the bed!", "Stop bothering your sister/brother!", or "Put that back!"  I'm the woman who is frantically trying to contain the plethora of toys to one room.  I'm the woman who is too emotionally spent at the end of the day to enter into any kind of meaningful conversation with another adult.  I'm the mother wiping, consoling, disciplining and wrangling two kids under the age of five wishing she could turn back the sands of time to have one uninterrupted night alone with her husband.  And not just to have it, to treasure it.

But somehow I spend more time planning birthday parties and play dates than I do date nights.  I'm too busy hugging and kissing my kids to share some of that affection with their father.  I'm so focused on the needs, wants and desires of our children that before I know it, I'm neglecting those of their dad.  I get so bogged down with the daily, mundane tasks of child rearing and household managing that I sometimes forget to cultivate the relationship that started this family in the first place.

If I want to teach my kids anything, they must first know that they can rest securely in the fact that their mother and father's marriage is healthy.  I don't want them to reach their twenties, ready to go off on their own and start their own families, without having had a good example of what marriage is.  Not just having been taught that you stay together for the long haul, but that you also keep finding ways to love, communicate with and serve one another.  That you shouldn't lose sight of each other somewhere between the very first cry of your firstborn and the "I do" of your last.  I don't want to arrive at the empty nest phase and discover that we were merely roommates all those years.

I need to start being intentional about the most important earthly relationship I have.  Marriages between one man and one woman that actually last are going the way of the dodo bird these days.  I don't want to be swept up with the extinction.  My children certainly deserve better than that.  So I will mother less and play the role of wife more.  I will carve out that time for the one who I couldn't wait to spend all my days with.  I will extend the same unconditional love to him that I pour out in abundance on our children.  And I will put myself into his arms for "no reason" again.

Our wedding day, January 11, 2003.

Monday, June 10, 2013

The Post That Will Likely Get Me "Unfriended"

I can empathize with the woman who would do anything to prevent her child from suffering.  There is an overwhelming instinct within me to protect my own two children from life's struggles.  Unfortunately, because this world is broken they will face pain and sadness, and sometimes there won't be anything I can do about it.  As a culture, we go to great lengths to avoid suffering.  If a child is having an unusually difficult time in school, we are quick to get him on medication that will take care of the problem instead of letting him struggle through what are usually just normal growing pains.  If we don't have enough financial resources, we put purchases on credit cards and take out loans to buy stuff that gives us a life of comfort, not wanting to delay gratification.  When we are facing hard times of any kind, we often pray for God to just take them away.

Our society is not in the regular habit of dying to ourselves.  What draws many people to Jesus is the same reason that many others reject him.  He willingly endured emotional and physical suffering to save us, and requires us to deny ourselves as well.  "Greater love has no one than this, that one lay down his life for his friends".  (John 15:13, NASB).  This fierce opposition to pain and suffering is how we as a nation can be horrified and outraged at the shooting of innocent children in a Connecticut elementary school, while at the same time endorsing abortion.

We have gone so far as to delude ourselves into believing that ending a life of suffering is actually somehow humane.  We have taken God out of decision making, so that we can choose for ourselves what is right and what is wrong.  40 years ago when deciding on Roe vs. Wade, the Supreme Court threw up its hands and said that if medical professionals, clergy and ethicists could not agree on when life begins then neither could they resolve the question.  They deferred to the mantra that is even more popular today of "what's true for you isn't necessarily true for me."

Quality of life is often championed over sanctity of life.  Women like Stacy Delisle and Angie Smith come to mind as examples of brave women who chose the opposite.  Both were given extremely poor prognoses for their unborn children, but chose to continue carrying them anyway.  Despite possible great emotional and financial hardship, they decided to give their babies a chance at life, no matter how slim that chance was.  Angie's daughter Audrey lived for one hour and Stacy's son Isaac lived for 16 minutes before going to be with Jesus.  Though brief, their lives had weight.  They mattered to God.   

Their mothers were not given any special guarantee that the choice they made would result in a happy ending.  They listened to the doctors, watched the ultrasounds and decided to believe in the sanctity of life instead of the fear that their lives would never be the same.  The voice that said the baby would be better off.  The lie that every situation is unique and nothing is cut and dry.  They knew that it was their responsibility as mothers to protect and preserve the lives inside of them, regardless of the supposed quality of those lives.  "Quality" is a subjective term, and the last time I checked only the Creator has the right to determine that.

If a person were to stop the ventilator of a tiny baby who was dependent upon it to breathe, we would call that murder.  But because a baby hasn't passed through the birth canal yet, we feel we can call it "mercy", "kind" or any other feel-good label and justify that it is somehow noble to take the life of a child.  People blur the lines between right and wrong, using terms like "viability of fetus" and "incompatible with life" when God has always been very clear about this.  Every life is important to Him, and He created every one in His image.

Saturday, May 25, 2013

True Mom Confessions

The other day I stumbled upon this website:  It's a place where you can leave comments, or confessions, anonymously about your motherhood experiences.  Because they are completely anonymous, people feel free to be honest without fearing judgment or negative repercussions.  As I read the first few, I have to admit I giggled to myself and nodded in agreement.  But then, as I continued to read, I began to feel more than a little disturbed.  Here are just some of those "confessions":

"Everyone is always impressed that my four-year-old can read.  Honestly, he taught himself because I'm too busy to play with him.  But, I take all the credit."

"She's potty trained, but I put her in a pull-up when she wears a snow suit.  I'm that lazy."

"I get ridiculously excited to do our taxes every year.  It's the only thing my MBA has proved useful for as a stay at home mom."

Now, I'll be the first one to say that parenting is HARD.  I can easily relate to the woman who posted that she joined a gym just for the free childcare so she could read magazines and blogs in the locker room in peace.  Or the one who fantasized about dropping her son off at the lost-children sign in the mall and pretending he wasn't hers.  I get it.

There is something to be said for being real and not pretending every moment spent with your kids is fabulous.  Because, let's face it, it's not.  We are raising tiny neanderthals who think the world revolves around them and training them one exhausting minute at a time to become productive, responsible adults who hopefully also love and serve Jesus.  It's no easy task.

However, I feel like we are caught in a trend of mommy martyrdom.  As if the world and our children owe us something for bearing and taking care of them.  We act like they get in the way of us pursuing our dreams, having "me time", or romantic encounters with our husbands.  We start treating them with contempt.  I hear it from the mouths of mothers every day in stores, parks, moms' groups and yes, even from my own.  That annoyed, irritated tone which conveys to a child that they are an interruption and your (fill in the blank) is more important than they are.  I'm not saying we should indulge our kids by giving into every request, or that play time by themselves isn't important.  They should learn how to delay gratification.  But our attitude seriously needs to change.  This is the under current running through all of the confessions I quoted above and countless others on  

Long after they've lost interest in all those childhood toys and had fun on all those great family trips, they will remember our attitudes towards them.  Did we treat him like a nuisance, or like the blessing God gave to us?  Did we act annoyed when she made messes or mistakes, or extend her grace?  Were they burdened with the expectations we placed on them and our despondency over our supposed mundane role as mothers, or were they delighted in and celebrated for being exactly who God created them to be?

Mothering is an opportunity for us to participate in the miracle of shaping small human beings with no regard for personal space, no awareness of social cues and hearts bent on evil into reasoning, rational, emotionally and spiritually healthy men and women.  It is our calling to shepherd our children's hearts toward Jesus in all of the seemingly monotonous, irritating "distractions" throughout the day.  He refines us too, in the process.  When we confess those longings, frustrations and regrets to Him and lay them down at His feet, we can parent with grace and humility, and perhaps even enjoy the children we have been entrusted to raise, instead of simply enduring the daily drudgery of cleaning up messes, changing diapers and breaking up fights.      

Tuesday, May 14, 2013

Not "Just" A Mom

This year on Mother's Day, I didn't get breakfast in bed.  Instead, I got my preschooler snuggling into bed with me and my husband at 6:45 that morning.  As I kissed his cheek and put my arm around him, he said "Happy Mother's Day!" and told me excitedly that he had made a card for me the night before with Daddy's help.  This past Sunday, I didn't get pampered.  Instead, I got a huge smile from my daughter that was meant only for me as I lifted her out of the crib.  There was no parade held in my honor, no declarations about how much I do for our family. Just quiet undertones of recognition from my children, found in their giggles, laughter and hugs.  Gentle reminders that I am blessed to be not just a mom, but their mom.

Two days before, I attended a Mother's Day Tea at my son's school.  The children sang songs and we were treated to a special snack that they helped make.  Then all the moms were invited to take a look at the bulletin board in the back of the room, where the teacher had written what each child appreciated about their mom the most on construction paper flowers.  Colton's read "She plays and does games with me".  He could have chosen a million different things to say, but that's what stuck out in his mind the most.  It was an acknowledgment of the time and energy I invest in him daily.  When it's not convenient.  When I am exhausted.  When no one else sees.  When it seems fruitless.  

Rachel Janokovic wrote a post at Desiring God Ministries about motherhood that resonated with me:

Motherhood is not a hobby, it is a calling. You do not collect children because you find them cuter than stamps. It is not something to do if you can squeeze the time in. It is what God gave you time for.
Christian mothers carry their children in hostile territory. When you are in public with them, you are standing with, and defending, the objects of cultural dislike. You are publicly testifying that you value what God values, and that you refuse to value what the world values. You stand with the defenseless and in front of the needy. You represent everything that our culture hates, because you represent laying down your life for another—and laying down your life for another represents the gospel.
"Objects of cultural dislike" seems pretty harsh at first, until you consider that the abortion industry has now wiped out 1/4 of an entire generation of Americans and that society pushes more and more for children to grow up faster through media, education and clothing.  Kids' childhoods are being diminished and even obliterated today in the name of progress.

There are many days that I wonder if what I'm doing really makes any difference at all.  Sometimes all those menial, monotonous tasks and hours spent in child's play don't appear to have lasting value.  They might not seem like much to the world, but I know that they matter greatly to at least two people.  Two beautiful, precious kids that God has given me to mother.  I'm not just someone who feeds and clothes them, does their laundry and shuttles them around from one activity to another.  I am someone who invests in their lives and raises them to be contributing members of society.

And that is not just something.  It is everything.

Two of the best reasons I love being a mom.

Sunday, May 05, 2013

Thank Heaven For Little Girls

Ever since I can remember, I wanted to be a mother.  And a mother to a daughter, in particular.  Don't get me wrong; I LOVE my son.  I even love the fact that he is all boy.  However, being a girly-girl myself growing up with a sister and being raised by a single mom, it is definitely a stretch for me to parent a child that has a Y chromosome.  He usually wants to do some high energy activity involving bad guys vs. good guys, or monsters, or any combination of cars/trains/trucks when I'm at the pace of sitting down to color.  He will have none of it though, and that's okay because he's his own person and has blessed and challenged me in a million different ways...

But this post is about his sister.  Mostly because I don't want to miss this glorious, innocent stage of her childhood before she becomes a drama queen that has more time for boy-bands and keeping up with the latest fashion trends than she does her mama.  When I found out we were having a girl in the spring of 2011, I wept tears of joy.  I had convinced myself that I was carrying another boy and made peace with that, so when the ultrasound technician told us she couldn't find any obvious, um, boy parts I was in a little bit of shock.  The tech also told us this daughter of ours was going to give us a run for our money because of the way she was moving around so much.

And give us a run for our money she did.  After the initial two week stint of sleeping and eating like a dream, Rory kind of realized she was now living outside of the womb and put up one heck of a fight.  She wouldn't nap anywhere but in her swing, or sleep at night for more than two hours at a time.  The crying was almost unbearable.  At her two week appointment, she had already developed thrush and was diagnosed with an umbilical hernia that eventually went away on its own.  She started a weird pattern of throwing up her bottles that usually lasted about 24 hours each time.  Every 4 to 6 weeks on average, she began another cycle which had us switching from milk-based to soy formula and then back again.  At two months she got her first cold that lasted for 8 weeks, resulting in conjunctivitis, a double ear infection and an upper respiratory infection.  And oh my, was she clingy.  I couldn't even pull the shower curtain closed to take a shower without her having a meltdown.  She also pooped no less than 8 to 10 times a day, necessitating in a full outfit change.  Every. Single. Time.

I was seriously beginning to wonder if I had fallen victim to the saying "be careful what you wish for".  I loved  my daughter, but to be perfectly blunt, if she had been our first I'm not sure there would have been a second.

And then she started sleeping through the night.  Only after three nights of letting her cry it out, of course.  Her mysterious bouts of vomiting became less frequent.  She began reaching all those important milestones that made her transform from a helpless baby to a little person with a personality.

Today at 19 months, she is a tenacious toddler with the desire to explore everything and a smile that could melt your heart.  Somewhere in between baby and child, she still has that "brand new" smell that I want to bottle up and store forever.  She still has those soft, baby fat arms and legs that you just want to squeeze.  And don't get me started on those cheeks!

I love that her hair is long enough now to pull back in tiny, colorful elastic rubber bands that come in a package of 500 because of how easily they break.  I love the swishing sound that she makes as she runs because her bottom is still diapered.  The impish grin she gives me as she's about to do something she knows she isn't supposed to.  The way she copies everything her older brother does.

I find myself wanting to savor her each night before putting her down to sleep.  Because I know she is our last child. Because she's my daughter, planned and prayed for.  Loved unconditionally, just as my Heavenly Father loves me.  There is no doubt she is one of the greatest gifts I have received from Him, and I hope that she knows how valuable she is to us and to Jesus.

"You're a little piece of Heaven, you're a golden ray of light, and I wish I could protect you from the worries of this life.  But if there's one thing I can tell you, it's no matter what you do, hold to Jesus- He's holding onto you."  Hold Onto Jesus by Erin O'Donnell  

Saturday, April 13, 2013

Motherhood Measuring Stick

There's a post that has been burning inside of me for months.  Something I have hesitated to write.  But now it is making it's way out and I can't contain it any longer.  I'm about to "out" myself.

There is often a disconnect between the mom I am and the mom I want to be.  Or make that the mom I think I ought to be.  A lot of times, I feel like Julia Roberts' character Isabel in the movie "Step-mom".  In the opening scene, Isabel is frantically trying to get her live-in boyfriend's two children ready for school.  She struggles making them breakfast, getting them dressed and even finding the youngest child who has hidden himself in one of the kitchen cabinets.  She realizes that she hasn't washed the daughter's shirt for "purple shirt day" and as she suggests that she just wear orange instead, the girl rolls her eyes and shakes her head in disgust.  Then in the middle of all the chaos, their real mom shows up and says "I can take it from here, Isabel."

Just like the step-mom, I live in the shadow of a better, more organized, more patient mom.  The one I've created in my head.  She shows up whenever I'm feeling defeated, frustrated or just having a hard time keeping up with the demands of two small kids and all the household responsibilities.  She whispers to me that I'm a failure.  She looks at me with contempt, saying smugly "Why can't you get it together?"  She follows me around throughout the day, constantly criticising everything I do and the way I do it.  The way I responded to my son- too harshly, not firm enough or just not enough period.  The way I am often distracted when playing with my children, instead of being in the moment and just enjoying them.  The fact that laundry is still sitting downstairs in the dryer when it needs to be folded and put away in drawers so each family member has what they need at all times.  The list can go on and on and on until eternity.

The so-called "real mom" is who I measure myself against.  Somewhere between Michelle Duggar and June Cleaver.  I imagine that she would never choose to be on Facebook when she could be engaging her children in creative, structured activities or crafts found on Pinterest.  She would always keep the perfect balance of maintaining a well-organized, clean home and taking care of the kids.  She would be ever patient with the litany of requests, both those spoken and those communicated through whining, and she most definitely would never, ever raise her voice or lose her temper.

I have always been a perfectionist.  I guess it comes with being the oldest child, especially growing up in a family that tried to maintain a wonderful outward appearance while crumbling apart on the inside.  I've carried that legacy, or should I say bondage, right into my own family.  I have never felt so inadequate as the day a nurse handed me my newborn son, and I looked at him and literally thought "Now what am I supposed to do with this?"  You would think that nearly five years later and with another child under my belt, I'd have it figured out by now.  Or at least under control.

About three months ago, when I was lost in these self-defeating thoughts, I mercifully heard the Lord say to me, "You aren't enough, but you don't have to be.  You don't have to be everything to them, because I AM."    I had been listening to the lies of the enemy, in the form of my alter-ego mom, for far too long.  The lies that say I have to have it all together for my son and daughter to grow up the right way, and that if I make too many mistakes I will consign them to years in therapy.  That cold day in January, the voice of truth finally broke through.  Now, this isn't to say I no longer struggle with doubt and discouragement.  I still have plenty of days when I beat myself up for not being or doing enough and thinking that everyone else does it better.  But I have started admitting my weaknesses to God so that He can be my strength in those areas.  I have invited Jesus into the chaos of my every day life, when I feel like I can't stay on top of the messes or I'm going to blow my stack, so that He can meet me there and remind me that He will "take it from here".

Then there's no perfect mom pointing out all my faults.  There's only grace.  That is what my kids need the most from me anyway, when they too make mistakes.    

Sunday, February 24, 2013

Just Passing Through

It's been one of those weeks.  A rushed mornings-late bedtimes-yell in anger-worship at the altar of Keurig- seriously consider selling my kids to the gypsies- kind of week.  My son has had more tantrums than I can (or care to) count.  I have, in turn, lost my cool more times than I can count.  The hook-on chair at the kitchen table still reeks of baby puke after my daughter coughed so hard the other night that she threw up her dinner, because I haven't bothered to take it apart and throw the fabric in the washing machine.  My husband and I have been like two ships passing in the night.  We looked forward to a night out alone at an awesome concert in the city that he won tickets to, but couldn't find a sitter since my mother-in-law is out of town and it was a weeknight.

Yesterday morning, Gregg left before the sun came up to present a workshop at a church over an hour away.  Colton woke up when he heard the shower start and wouldn't go back to sleep.  That was NOT how I wanted to start my weekend.  It was cold and raining out, and I probably should have just declared it a pajamas-and-movie day but I got the three of us out the door to go to an indoor event that the town's rec center was putting on.  On the way home, I committed the unpardonable sin of stopping at McDonald's for lunch when only the night before I congratulated myself on having made a flavorful, inventive dinner for my family from scratch using only organic ingredients.  Oh how the mighty have fallen.

Everywhere I looked, I saw imperfection, mess and disappointment.  I heard words and phrases in my head like "inadequate", "out of control" and "hopeless".  I asked God why I couldn't have just one week where the kids weren't sick, my oldest wasn't constantly challenging every word I said and things seemed to work out in my favor.  Then I heard the answer.  Because this world is not my home.  Because this life isn't meant to satisfy.  It is broken, but thankfully this is not all there is.  Jesus came so that our peace, our satisfaction would be found alone in Him.  He still comes, every day and every time I need Him to show up in my ordinary life as a mom.  I've found this week that even my disappointments and struggles can point me to Him, because they serve as reminders of how much I need a Savior.  He experienced weariness, too.  The pressing in of people with great needs.  The sorrow over how broken this world is.  And He overcame the cross so that we could have hope of something more.

I don't really observe Lent, not in the traditional sense anyway.  I don't commit to give up anything, and I don't stick to only eating fish or pizza on Fridays.  But this year, as I count down these 40 days to Easter, I will be meditating on the meaning and the power of the cross.  I love the song "There Will Be A Day" by Jeremy Camp, especially the part about the beauty that is in store outweighing the hurt of life's sting.  One day we will see Jesus face to face.  That gives me incredible hope.      

Sunday, January 27, 2013

A Place For Everything, and Everything In Its Place

I've always considered myself a pretty organized person.  It was at the top whenever I was asked to list what my strengths were.  Growing up I kept my room neat and tidy, papers were always kept in tabbed three-ring binders, and there was a system in place to keep track of everything important.

But now, after having two kids, organization is just a long word that starts with the letter "O".  I try to be organized.  I make lists, monthly menus, and put important dates and appointments right on my Google calendar.  Still, despite all my best efforts, I find that I can't really get my act together.  I walk into a room and forget what I came in there for multiple times a day.  Colton's preschool projects, mail, and other papers threaten to take over the kitchen table.  I haven't put anything away in the filing cabinet in months.  Our basement is starting to look like it could be featured on Hoarders.  Dinner is often a last minute thought, and I cannot for the life of me make it out of the house on time.  Ever.

My life is really not that complicated.  I'm not over-scheduled.  I do the same exact things, every single day, with little variation.  Why, then, does organization seem to elude me?  I think the answer lies not in my ability or will power, but in two small but fierce opposing forces.  My children.

I begin a task on my list and Child #1 starts a litany of requests for tv watching, eating a snack, playing, etc.  I tell him to wait until I'm done and go back to the task at hand.  Then I am interrupted by Child #2 needing a new diaper.  Then I need to discipline Child #1 for taking a toy away from Child #2.  And 30 minutes later, I've finally emptied the dishwasher.  Often I feel like I'm being pulled in a dozen different directions all at once, which makes focusing on anything nearly impossible.

It's just the nature of having two little kids who are always around when I'm trying to clean, or cook, or blog, or whatever.  Inevitably, after picking up and organizing the play room the two tiny tornadoes will trash it again in no time.  There will be two chubby hand prints on the freshly cleaned mirror.  The recyclables will be emptied all over the kitchen floor since my 15 month old thinks that the recycling can is her own personal treasure box.    

What I am learning is that I need to be okay with it.  The house cleaning and the laundry will always be there, but my children will not always be this small, nor will they always be around.  Someday, though it seems like YEARS away now, they will grow up and move out.  And my house will be clean and organized again.

This isn't to say that I should just neglect our living space, either.  Our family needs a safe and relatively clean haven to dwell.  However, I can't make organization my idol or get so wrapped up in having things "just so" that I see my kids only as mess makers instead of the beautiful blessings God has given me.  I need to be content in and grateful for the season of life He has placed me in, even though it may be disorganized and messy.  My best laid plans of having a clean, orderly house will continue to be thwarted daily by a preschooler, toddler, and medium-sized dog who sheds like crazy.  Thank goodness the saying "cleanliness is next to godliness" isn't actually true, right?