When You Can’t Quit Your Job

Two weeks ago I was ready to quit being a mom.

At 34 weeks pregnant, with a nearly four-year-old and just turned two-year-old watching T.V. downstairs, I lay in bed right before my husband left for work, pulled up the covers, and let it all come crashing down. He did the right husband things, asking what he can do for me and praying that I’d find the strength I needed to take care of the kids that day.

Yes, I’m pregnant. Yes, it has been in the 90’s nearly every day for the past month. And yes, we are in the season of structure-less summer with two demanding children. So of course.

But just because you can see all the reasons why you may be feeling a certain way doesn’t pull you up out of the hole you want to stay safely buried in. But then my husband had to leave for work. And I fought my way to the weekend, barely surviving.

On Sunday I tried carpe diem. We made waffles, blasted Josh Garrels on Pandora and danced in the flour dust on the kitchen floor. I convinced my husband to let me take the afternoon off and I didn’t move from my seat in a coffee shop for nearly five hours.

But then Monday crept in with her black clouds, heaviness and strength-stealing aggression. Carpe diem let me down.

So out of desperation, I put out an S.O.S. to some friends who live in other states. The message was this: I don’t have energy or even the desire to be with my children right now. Please pray and please call me.

And they did.

My friend who is a counselor recommended that I find a counselor. My friend who is a teacher asked how I’m structuring my days and suggested ways to fill our time. My Catholic friend called from her personal retreat and we talked about the time I have been spending alone and the ways that motherhood still undoes her on a regular basis. And my friend whose third baby was more than a surprise suggested we get out of the house as much as possible.

On Wednesday, we dropped the kids off with my parents and headed to the mountains for my first adult, church-camp-style retreat. Nature plus camping plus Jesus lovers (minus kid/home responsibilities) sounded just about perfect.

The conference was full of big ideas, big personalities and big dreams for God. Not just the dynamic speakers, but the 300 attendees all seemed to be engaged in fighting injustice around the globe. We sat next to those living among the homeless, people working with those in sex trafficking, current and former missionaries, a couple doing humanitarian work in Iraq, pastors, worship leaders, heads of women’s ministries and counselors. The movers and shakers of kingdom work.

The weekend was full of radical Jesus lovers who believed that faith should translate into action.

As a stay-at-home mom in white bread America, I expected to feel frustrated and inhibited. Marriage and motherhood have been a slow shaving down of those types of ambitions for me into a single point—our home.

But God can surprise you.

When I approached one of the speakers after her powerful talk to thank her, she turned the conversation around—“What do you do?,” she asked.

I pointed to my bulging belly, laughed, and said, “This…and try to survive the other two.”

And then she fixed her gaze fully on me, pointed, and said, “You are SO blessed. I didn’t marry until later in life and wasn’t able to have children of my own, so I think what you are doing is incredible and beautiful.”

I did what any pregnant, overwhelmed, defeated mama would do—I cried. “Thank you,” I said, “and you’re right—it is a gift.”

“But that doesn’t diminish how hard it can be, either,” she consoled me. I nodded.

Throughout the weekend of tales of people going to jail for feeding the homeless, recovering from abuse, deconstructing and reconstructing a polished faith and fighting on the front lines of injustice, instead of feeling less-than or shackled by my role as a mom, I felt something else.

I felt loved.

The conference, called “Simply Jesus,” was true to its name and allowed me to feel that because Jesus is enough, then I am enough. Yes, He has called me to Big Things in the past and may call me to radical steps of faith in the future, but right now, He is calling me to dig deep into the few callings He has given me. Shawn DeBerry Johnson, one of the speakers at the conference, challenged us to be sure that we are living out of our callings and not just out of our comfort—and that we are not called to ALL things.

So it made me think about what God is calling me to right now.

I am called to spend time with Jesus daily and to let myself be loved by Him.

I am called to be a selfless, generous, attentive, adoring, spirit-filled and fun wife.

I am called to the kind of downward mobility that asks me to sit down on the floor and play with my kids, listen to their stories, gather them up into my lap (what’s left of it), smother them with kisses, put band aids on invisible boo boos and take them out to explore our world.

More than one mother encouraged me over the weekend—many with grown children who had moved away from God and away from them. “I wish” and “I would have” were a few sentence starters they used to encourage me to love them hard, be intentional about teaching them and not allow these moments to slip by. They affirmed the hardness of the season, but highlighted its value, too.

But I am also called to use my gifts and passions in whatever small way I can. To love my neighbor right next to me. To think of ministry on the micro level instead of the macro level—loving the international student He brings to live with us, making meals for new moms, investing in just one or two friends and continuing to open my eyes to the injustice in our world as I listen to podcasts while folding laundry, read books while my kids nap or check news on my phone in the grocery line.

I am called to shift the puzzle pieces of my day to make space for writing and stay engaged in that world because it activates my soul and allows me to lean more into the rest of my day from a place of wholeness.

I have only been back for two days, but while I still feel tired and mostly want to just sit on the couch and be a spectator instead of engaging with my children, I feel more relaxed, peaceful and still than I did a week ago. I feel like I spent the weekend with Jesus rubbing my feet and reassuring me that I’m on the right road, that I can do this. That I can keep going.

The last day of the conference in the chill of the morning, I wriggled my hand into my pocket and found a tiny object there—a butterfly hair bow that belonged to my two-year-old daughter. Pulling it out, I held it flat on the palm of my hand and then clutched it tightly. Throughout the morning, that bow reminded me of the treasure I had waiting back at home. A treasure I hadn’t wanted to see.

One of my favorite stories in the Bible is of Elijah climbing the mountain and waiting for God to appear. He finds that God is not in the Big Things—the great and powerful wind, the earthquake, or the fire—but in the gentle whisper. When Elijah hears it, he pulls his cloak over his face and goes out to meet the Lord. And God tells him, “Go back the way you came.”

Sometimes the way forward is the way backward. Sometimes it is accepting that where we are is exactly where God wants us to be and instead of looking for ways out, we should be looking for ways in, to dig deeper and live more fully into the simple callings that Jesus has placed on our lives.

Every night I sing to my children. For my daughter, I sing “Jesus Loves Me” and usually follow it with the song that we just happened to sing as our final song at the conference—as I sing it, it is a song whispered not from the pulpit, stage or blasted from the speakers, but in the quiet shadows in the nursery of our home:

“I love you Lord and I lift my voice to worship you, oh my soul, rejoice.

Take joy, my king, in what you hear. Let it be a sweet, sweet song in your ear.”

It’s as simple as that.

~~~

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~~~

Related Posts:

For the Mom Whose Life Feels Small

Loving Like They’re Lost

When Jesus Asks Too Much of Us

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June 29, 2016

Potty Training a Strong-Willed Child

If you are not currently a parent of toddlers or preschoolers, please feel free to skip this post or pass it along to someone who is in this stage of life—I won’t be offended. But hopefully this will be helpful to those of you in the middle of this insane time of life where we actually get excited about our kids’ poo.

My son is currently three months shy of his fourth birthday and my daughter is 23 months old. We tried this foul business almost exactly one year ago and I was so scarred that I’ve put it off until now. If it weren’t for the fact that I will soon have THREE children in diapers at once, I’d probably wait even longer, but that thought alone motivates me (along with the fact that we already put down a deposit on my son’s preschool where he must be potty trained by the end of August).

I’ve read the books and done my research. I’m armed with stickers, fruit snacks, juice (well, mango tea…I forgot to buy juice), movies, a froggy potty, rags, cleaning products, a bajillion undies, a doll to train, pull-ups, a reward toy and promises of going out for ice cream and calling grandparents with the good news.

But here’s the thing…my son couldn’t give a rip. That toy has been sitting in my closet for an ENTIRE YEAR. So I’m going into all of this knowing full well that it will be a battle of the wills…and I’m determined to win.

After last year’s sad attempt at using the naked bootcamp method of staring at your kid’s naked bum for three days straight without leaving the house and not having a single hit in the potty, this time around I decide to relax. I’m okay with naked, but will keep the kids in undies if at all possible (and shorts with an elastic band, too, for my son so he can get used to pulling them off and on).

I’m starting to accept that I’m not a cutsie parent who does sticker charts, dances and elaborate parties–and that’s okay. Kids all over the world learn to control their bowels completely without the help of Pinterest. I also let my husband off the hook and decided to do it during the week instead of over a weekend. So here’s how it went for us…

Pre-potty training (trying to gear myself up)

(Saturday):
I sat in an Adirondack chair with a cup of tea and let the kids run around in the backyard in their underwear all afternoon. My son had one big wet accident on the carpet in his room at 6:30 pm, but held it otherwise (even though I asked every 15 minutes if he needed to go). My daughter peed in her underwear 4 times (and I finally put a diaper on her right before dinner).

(Sunday): Skipped

(Monday):
More backyard nakey/undie play time in the afternoon. Brought the little potty outside, which my daughter sat on for over 15 minutes without going, then promptly peed on the patio. I never saw my son go, but I suspect the wet undies weren’t from playing in the plastic pool.

The Real Deal

I decided to just go for it. We pulled up the rugs and I committed to staying home all day for four days, but was ready to bail if it was terrible.

Here’s my “method”:

show them what I want them to do by demonstrating myself and with a doll
set a timer and take the kids to the potty every 20 minutes
have my son sit on the actual toilet normally with a step stool (we have a pretty small/low toilet) and my daughter on the portable one
make up stupid songs about pee as they sit there for at least two songs (Twinkle Twinkle Little Star is a good one for this 😉 )
don’t make a big deal out of accidents
RELAX and enjoy lounging around watching movies or laughing at my kids playing in cute undies outside (this is why I waited for summer)

Also, last minute I decided to go cold turkey with my son even at night and naps because I figured he’d just hold it until I put him in a diaper. We put a waterproof mat under his sheet and a portable potty in his room at night and naps and hoped for the best…

Day 1 (Tuesday): Not terrible.

I started out the day bawling on my husband’s shoulder because my son kept announcing that he was NOT using the potty (hey–pregnancy hormones are for real). But I rallied and we ended up having a low-key morning of cuddling and eating popcorn on towels on the couch.

All day long, I marched both kids to the potty every 20 minutes. Neither ever went during these times.

My daughter was the first to pee in the portable potty. She went while she was watching T.V., but I suspect it was just luck because I probably changed her undies six times throughout the morning as she played around happily without even noticing the rivers she was leaving on the wood floor.

Later in the morning, my son announced he needed to go potty, then went in the regular toilet like it was no big deal. I was so happy that I CRIED. Honestly. I never thought this day would come.

Hugs, cheers, kisses and high fives seemed to be enough of a reward and he didn’t even mention previous promises of rewards.

He went once more right after his nap in the portable potty–all by himself in his room without prompting. No pooping all day. No accidents, either. Hallelujah!

Day 2 (Wednesday): Failure…

Neither kid went in the potty all day long…not once.

My son started out the morning by unloading his bowels into his undies twice in 20 minutes. Throughout the day, we continued parading to the potty every 20 minutes with no results. During non-nap times, we watched movies and the kids played outside in the backyard. My son held his pee from 8:30 am until 5:30 pm (nine hours!), then let it whoosh after sneaking into another room. My daughter started resisting sitting on the potty and would go on the floor minutes after our bathroom trips. Hopefully vinegar will be enough to cover any potential smells…

Feeling discouraged.

Day 3 (Thursday): Success!!!

We woke up at 5:30 am to my son shouting, “Mommy, Daddy, I pooped in the potty!!!” It was his first time. We stumbled into his room, admired his “present” in the portable potty, gave hugs and high fives and “let” my son flush it down the toilet. Grandparents and uncles were called later in the day.

The second time he went #2 was right before his nap–alone in his room. He also peed in the potty two or three other times throughout the day and stayed dry otherwise (even at night and naps!).

I didn’t even bother taking them every 20 minutes because my son never once went during any of these times, but always went of his own initiative. Oh, the strong-willed child. So frustrating, but so lovely in their ability to surprise you. Later in the afternoon, he remembered the promised toy he has admired in my closet for the past year and we decided it was finally deserved.

I had my daughter in her undies in the morning as they played outside in the sprinkler, but gave up and put her in diapers in the afternoon after more accidents and no hits in the potty since the first day.

Day 4 (Friday): An Outing.

My son has been dry for over 24 hours (sleeping times included), so I decide to attempt an outing. We went out for frozen custard and french fries–at 10 am. I put my daugher in diapers, but brought a change of clothes for my son, a towel and threw the froggy potty into our van for good measure.

About 30 minutes into our time at the restaurant, my son said he needed to use the potty, so we rushed into bathroom and he bravely scooted onto the much larger public toilet to do his business. I was glad it wasn’t an automatic one, because I wasn’t ready to deal with that trauma. He did it! More cheering, hugs and alerting of the family members. We headed to the park for a little bit after that and made it home without any accidents.

1 Week Later…

Up to now, my son has had just one accident and has stayed dry while sleeping–for an entire week. In that time, he’s gone at church, at restaurants and even peed off the hiking trail with daddy. We’ve jumped right back into life as usual and trust him to tell us when he needs to go. But what’s surprised us the most is how this new skill has transformed him. He is more confident, willing to try new things and glows with pride in himself. He can control something very important in his little life and this knowledge empowers him.

~~~

Here’s my take-away:

1. Wait until they’re older, not just “ready.”
My son was very content to stay in diapers forever, so I couldn’t just wait for him to tell me he was ready, but I think the fact that he was older made it all go so much more quickly. I keep thinking of it like picking fruit–would you rather pick fruit prematurely and have it sit on your counter for a week to ripen, or just wait and pick it when it’s good and ripe? My son was ripe and ready for this. My daughter? Not so much. But she’s two next month and we’ll try her again when the time seems right.

2. Relax.
Don’t take it too seriously and be willing to wait if it doesn’t work for you right now.

3. Be willing to go against “the books.”
My son certainly didn’t follow the potty training script–he never ONCE went when prompted, stayed dry at night and naps from day one, and seemed more motivated by our smiles and praise than by stickers and prizes.

Ah, parenting. I never thought I‘d see the day when I‘d look in the toilet, see a huge turd and start smiling and clapping.

~~~

What’s your experience with potty training?

~~~

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What we did and how it went when we attempted to potty train my strong-willed son.

June 1, 2016

Loving Like They’re Lost

My babies are my tattoos. When I gave birth to them, my flesh ripped and I was left with beautiful, forever scars. I’ve been branded. Altered. These tattoos are a display of the divine artist who chose the intricate motions that would sear my skin and create the unique patterns of each child. Like a fresh wound, motherhood leaves you vulnerable and exposed. Motherhood sensitizes you to pain, but also to raw joy.

I’ve been complaining a lot lately. About children’s tantrums, humiliating tasks, “lost” time, wasted gifts, mundane moments, tiredness and the general humdrum of motherhood. But here’s the thing. I could easily have never been a mother. Or I could lose a child.

I could have been the mom at Cincinnati Zoo, whose little son slipped away from her and ended up being dangled around by a 400 lb. gorilla. And I am not exempt from having the baby wiggling in my womb right now never take a breath or losing a child in the myriad of tragic ways we have all read about on the Internet. Like gawking at a train wreck, we read along even though we know what such stories will do to our insides. How we’ll weep, fear more and clutch our little ones until they complain that we’re crushing them. But it’s that last part that I want to do more of. More of that clutching and squeezing my kids until they tell me that I’m hugging them too hard. I’d rather hug them too hard than make them wonder if they are less important than the rectangular box with a glowing screen that I cradle and stare at all day long.

A mom once told me that on the hardest days as a mom, she says to herself, What if my son died tomorrow? I thought that was dramatic at the time, but today I came across a woman’s story of losing her five-year-old daughter in a fire and fresh grief and fear gripped me. It’s a real thing. This losing of a child. And those of us who have never experienced that kind of loss have an obligation to love the ones we are given as if every day were their last.

So though you won’t often find me gushing about all the magical moments of mommyhood, I do want to write about them today. I need to come back to this post on the rough days when I wonder how my three-year-old was trained in torture techniques that could wear down the more resolute of prisoners.

Because gratefulness comes in the expressing of a thing. Beaming the light of thankfulness reveals the gifts that the darkness likes to hide. It illuminates the intricate, incredible, delectable, delightful details right under our noses.

Here are some of the ways I am thankful for my little people.

I’m thankful for this three-almost-four-year-old boy child that made me a mommy. He is a skinny thing of average height, with curly cornsilk hair with just a hint of strawberry in it. He has a small nose dotted with five brown freckles, green eyes with the same amber spark as mine and dimples that look more like creases right under his eyes when he smiles. He is pale, though he never seems to sunburn and still runs like a foal getting used to its legs.

I’ve started calling him Tigger Boy because he will not stop hopping around like the bouncy, trouncy, flouncy, pouncy, fun fun fun fun fun tiger in Winnie the Pooh. He is always moving, making trucks talk and acting out elaborate tales. Removing toys from his room has never helped him to sleep because he just plays with his hands instead, making them banter, leap and fly. The only way I can get him to be still is to plop him down in front of a fresh pile of library books and he will be quiet for an hour.

We have sung him the same three songs at night for the past year and he will not let us change. So every night after reading a book and a Bible story, we kneel at his bed and sing “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star,” “Amazing Grace” and “Skip to my Lou.” Every. Single. Night. After that we pray and then he tells us he’s been saving up some kisses for us. So with what are usually wet fingers, he counts them out, “One, two, three, four, five, seven. No…one, two, three…” By this time we are usually ready to be done with this routine, but remind ourselves that this is sweet. We should savor this. This will not last. And so we wait and then squeeze our eyes shut as he slowly leaves saliva on every inch of our face.

He probably asks a hundred questions a day. Easily. And more than half we have no answer for. Where is that truck going? Why is that house green? Why are train tracks called “train tracks”? What is that lever on that boat for? Why do airplanes fly? Why do ants eat people food? Why do people watch races?

Lately, I’ve found that the only thing that seems to motivate him to clean up his toys is the promise of a BIG hug and a kiss. After months of threats, I was shocked that this simple flip of the switch from negative to positive reinforcement would actually work on my stubborn boy. A begrudging affection-giver, receiving these hugs from him is like precious treasure.

Having this first baby boy was the first time I ever fell instantaneously, head-over-heels in love.

Having convinced myself I’d probably have all boys, I couldn’t believe it when the ultrasound technician announced that my second baby would be a girl. My husband and I squeezed hands and looked at each other with eyes full of tears–a girl!

Now almost two-years-old, she seems to delight in tormenting her brother, snuggling with her parents and exhibiting more of an attention span for Lego’s than for dolls. Girl clothes, hair and toys are still an enigma to us as we’re slowly adapting our expectations from Little Boy World to Little Girl World and finding that they are, in fact, two different things. We’re discovering how complicated it is to match different shades of pink and purple clothes and convince your toddler to sit still for more than two minutes while you comb out her tangles and brush her straw-colored hair into two neat, wispy pigtails. And we’re already wading the sea of sexist toys earmarked for girls that seem to stereotype and define females from such a young age.

But this little girl. Oh my. Her chubby cheeks and thighs. Her musical laugh. Even the way she beats up her brother with her tiny hands slapping his back while he just sits there saying, “ow, ow, ow, ow” without moving away. The way she breaks into crocodile tears in an instant when we say “no.” She looks at us defiantly from those huge blue eyes, button nose and pouty lips when she’s in time out, but usually willingly joins our son for his time outs when he is in trouble. She has fire in her.

But also sweetness. She shows surprising kindness even at this young age and will eventually surrender her toys to her screaming, tantrum-throwing brother even though it was technically “her turn” to have them.

And the two of them together? Lately, they love to twirl to music, arms raised, and run in circles on the carpeted living room floor until they fall into a giggling heap. They can’t wait to get butt naked before bath time so they can do their “nakey dance” as their dad and I clap out a rhythm for their tiny dancing bodies. They sit in lizard-like positions, draped over the couch or coffee table as they are mesmerized by the moving images on the T.V. screen. On walks, they flatten themselves on the sidewalk to poke at unassuming bugs and transfer them to blades of grass or twigs. They squeal endlessly when we pin them to the ground and tickle their hands, feet, tiny toes and soft necks.

These little ones are my axis right now. The climate of my world often shifts depending on whether they have slept, eaten or been shown enough affection throughout the day. My days are more dreary when they are unhappy, and flooded with sunshine when they are spilling with laughter.

Perspective breeds gratefulness.

Today, I give thanks for these precious babes. For their innocence and simple delight. These beautiful tattoos on my soul. And I want to love them more wildly for all the mommies who have lost their little ones. I owe it to these mothers, but also to my beautiful, darling children and to my Jesus for entrusting them to me for such a time as this.

~~~

**Trigger alert**
www.abigumbrella.com This was the site that I poured over yesterday afternoon that led to writing this post. It is heart-wrenching, but a beautiful testimony of finding that God clings to us even as we’re searching for Him in suffering.

~~~

Linking up with #GiveMeGrace

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I've been complaining a lot lately. About children's tantrums, humiliating tasks, "lost" time, wasted gifts, mundane moments, tiredness and the general humdrum of motherhood. But here's the thing. I could easily have never been a mother. Or I could lose a child.

May 26, 2016

To the Writer Mamas

Writing while simultaneously being a mother to teeny children is a bit like trying to renovate a house while you‘re still living in it. House projects–or writing goals–abound, but messy, magical, mundane life cannot stand still for you complete them. But is it possible that every finished project, however inconvenient, will eventually improve your quality of life–and the quality of life of your family?

Since I began writing more seriously eight months ago, several older people of faith have warned me not to get “too distracted and carried away” by writing, lest it infringe on my duties as a mother. As a result, I’ve been on the hunt for other mamas who are leaning into this tension of the dual callings of art and home and can help me answer the question: Is it possible to be a mother and a writer–and still do each one well?

Madeline L’Engle is a hero for those of us seeking to debunk the myth that being a writer and mama are in conflict. L’Engle inspires us as writer mamas because she managed to have a flourishing writing career while raising three children. I recently listened to a podcast by Ann Kroeker where she spoke of getting the opportunity to ask L’Engle how she was able to be a writer and mother at the same time during those years when her kids were small. After a long pause, L’Engle finally looked at her and answered, “It was hard.”

But in her book, A Circle of Quiet, L’Engle recounts a time when her eldest child noticed that she had been in a bad mood lately and said to her, “Mother, you’ve been getting cross and edgy with us, and you haven’t been doing much writing. We wish you’d get back to the typewriter” (p. 199). In Walking on Water, she refers to this story and says, “I had to learn that I was a better mother and wife when I was working than when I was not” (p. 166).

Like L’Engle, writing has made me a better mother. It sets me on high alert to notice the beauty, meaning or hilarity in the ordinary. Writing plants seeds of gratitude within me as I am more apt to discover the magnalia Dei, the marvels of God, in my daily life. I have the mind of an explorer, always on the quest for new places, people or ideas. Writing shoves me into the presence of other pilgrims, seekers, and beauty-finders. It gives me the opportunity to “live life twice,” as Natalie Goldberg said, and finally work through my past, present and future with infant eyes. Like thumbing back through my pictures from a trip, writing allows me to slowly reexamine and delight in the minutia I might otherwise have missed as time whizzed by.

Writing also heals. As someone who has always called my journal my “personal counselor,” writing unlocks old, dusty treasure troves of experiences and gives them value as they are polished and given away. Healing comes as I write in league with the Spirit, who illuminates my path and reveals the times when I was not walking alone. Writing enables me to offer a more whole version of myself to all who know me.

Fitting writing into the more than full-time job of being a wife and mother has been a challenge. But L’Engle also admitted that, “For a woman who has chosen family as well as work, there’s never time, and yet somehow time is given to us” (Walking on Water, p. 165). We make time for what is important to us. It‘s been amazing to find that if I am willing to let my floor be a bit messier, the laundry to linger a little longer and the T.V. screen to sit blank and lonely, that I have time in the margins of my day to write. L’Engle remarked that “A certain amount of stubbornness—pig-headedness—is essential” to the mother who wants to write (Walking on Water, p. 165). For me, that is a 5 AM wake-up, writing during the kids’ nap time, scribbling notes for articles while sautéing vegetables for dinner and spending free evenings thumping on my keyboard.

But I also have to accept my limitations as a writer during this season of being a mother to tiny ones. In the conclusion of her podcast, Ann Kroeker finally got a more satisfactory answer to her question about juggling motherhood and a writing career from the writer Holly Miller. Holly told her, “You still have time to develop your career as a writer, but you only have NOW with your kids. Your kids are so little and they’re little for such a short time. You’ll never regret spending this time with your kids.” But she also encouraged Ann to “Keep your finger in the publishing world. Keep it going on a small scale and your time will come.” Years later, Ann agrees that these small deposits into her writing career did add up.

I will have more time later to write. Now is the season for delighting in the magical world of child’s play: splashing in the sprinkler, sending dandelion seeds flying, lying on the ground to poke ants and rollie pollies, taking very slow walks around the block, tickling again and again, building towers, blowing hundreds of iridescent bubbles that float into the neighbors’ yard, making toy cars talk, endlessly making up answers to the question “why?,” rolling out play dough snakes and zipping baby dolls into tiny clothing.

It is talking to my children about this God-man, Jesus, who loves us so, reading stories about talking animals, kissing ouchies, holding up traffic to spot the prairie dogs in the field, finding pine cones in the pots in my cupboards and deliberating over whether picking up the toys again is really worth the effort. It’s wondering if I am still the same person that I was four years ago and deciding that I am not. Parts of me have been lost, but other, more fruitful branches, have grown where the others have been stripped and pruned. Though I may not be writing for five hours a day, this season of slowness is training me in the discipline of noticing.

Tears streamed down my face as I listened to Ann’s podcast because it validated me as a writer, but also gave me permission to enjoy my children right now. To the other writer mamas wondering if their callings of motherhood and writing are in conflict, please know that they do not need to be. You will be more whole and available to your family if you are using your gift and following your call as a writer. But also know that you do not have to achieve all of your goals right now.

Life is long, but the time with our kids is short, so keep in step with your kids and allow your writing to have the same pace that they do—even if that is stopping often, moving slowly and developing gradually. Our writing in this season has a similar rhythm and stride. It is slow, but there is progress as you slowly renovate your rooms. Keep celebrating the small advances in your life as a mother and in your career as a writer and know that these two are not mutually exclusive, but inextricably bound as you settle into the home of the mama writer self you were created to be.

~~~

Are you a writer mama? What has your experience been?

~~~

Resources for Writer Mamas:

Ann Kroeker (Writing Coach) Podcast mentioned in this post: Here’s to the Writer Moms (just 7 minutes!)

How Alive Do You Want to Be? by Ashley Hales (mother of 4) for The Mudroom

An Interview with Sarah Bessey on Faith, Art & Motherhood (writer and mother of 4), by Jerusalem Greer

~~~

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~~~

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Linking up with Grace & Truth

On (most) Thursdays this year, I’ll share thoughts, tips and inspiration for writers. I’m certainly not an expert, but am simply seeking personal encouragement in this art and want to share with anyone who’s also trying to find their way as a writer. These short posts will come from books, articles, the Bible, my own thoughts, and other people. Subscribe in the upper right corner so that you don’t miss a post. If you’re new to the series, find all the posts here. Come meet me in the comments–I’d love to read your thoughts on writing.

Happy writing!

Leslie

Is it possible to be a good mother AND a good writer?

May 24, 2016

Lessons from The #MotherLetters

Last week my almost two-year old and almost four-year old joined forces and put their tantrum-throwing, shrieking, obstinate little heads together to make me question not only my calling as a mama, but my credibility as a decent human being. It was a rough week. So reading again through the book, The Mother Letters: Sharing the Laughter, Joy, Struggles, and Hope, today to prepare for this post has been like pouring healing salve on still-open wounds. As I read the book of letters compiled by Seth Haines for his wife, Amber, for the first time a few weeks ago, I often wept as I drank in the words of other mamas around the world with similar inner struggles during this challenging, yet magical, season with little ones.

Here, I’ve listed ten of the most common themes I noticed throughout the book with a quote or two under each category, but this is just a sliver of the wisdom that this book offers to moms everywhere looking for a shoulder to cry on or a warm, empathetic embrace on the journey of motherhood. Please read it yourself. Designed in letter form for moms with very little quiet time, it would make a perfect companion to morning coffee or as before bed reading.

Here are ten recurring themes from The Mother Letters that I will revisit in the days, weeks and years to come:

1. Slow down and cherish the little moments.

“Slow down…Living a slower life, you can see things more clearly…We all know they grow up fast. All the more reason to slow down.” Ann Kroeker, “Blink”

“I should take some time to appreciate today’s little wins…each day brings its own small delights that eventually contribute to the great victory of seeing our children grow up to be joyful, productive, appreciative, competent people.” Katie Meyering, “Victories”

“Time goes by too quickly. Cherish it all…” Lisa Douglas, “Cherish”

2. Don’t forget you are a person, too.

“Mama, you need to do the things that make you feel like a person…being a whole person makes you a better mother.” Sarah Bessey, “Calling”

“Find some small fragment of time. Find a place where you can be alone with your thoughts. Close your eyes and remember who you are.” Tammy Zufelt Thomas “Queen”

3. When we are weak, then we are strong.

“Ours is a power that comes straight from weakness.” Amber Haines, “A Final Letter”

4. Your children belong to God first.

“Who am I to worry about them when they’re God’s first? Will God not take care of his own far better than I ever could?” Laura Bull, “Worry”

5. Your presence is your greatest gift.

“Your children don’t need you to enroll them in eight hundred activities, to keep the cleanest house, or to entertain them. They need you to be there. Practice the art of sitting. Watch your children play…prove to them by your stillness that you will be there. That you are listening.” Lora Lynn Fanning, “Being”

6. You are your child’s perfect mother.

“This has nothing to do with perfection or being perfect and everything to do with God gifting you to steward their lives.” Robin Dance, “Perfect”

“Over time, I am noticing that I don’t parent out of guilt or my own agenda as much as I used to, because I realize God has equipped me as he sees fit.” Rachel McAdams, “Trust”

“I know God chose me to mother my kids.” Kristen Welch, “Presence”

7. Choose gratitude.

“We will walk this road to the end—no changing that. But we will choose how to walk; chained and bent by bitter disappointment or hands and face freely raised in praise. Our choice…Walk the road, but look for the beauty along the way. And when you find it, rejoice.” Tonia Peckover, “Live”

“Whatever your path to motherhood was, I pray that you can take a moment to be in awe of your children and the fact that they are your children.” Rebecca Whitson, “Together”

“…I try to remember that I could have missed all of this, and I choose to smile.” Carlee, “Here”

8. You are doing a fabulous job.

“There will be so many times you feel like you’ve failed. But in the eyes, hearts, and minds of your children, you are Super Mom. You are their world.” Stephanie Precourt, “Super”

9. God will give you what you need.

“We’re not alone on this journey. God has given us these little people to shepherd for a time, but they are his. When life is overwhelming and dark and exhausting, he is there. When it is precious and thrilling and magical, he is there. Is. 40:11 promises us, ‘He tends his flock like a shepherd: He gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart; he gently leads those that have young.’” Shannon Lowe, “Shepherd”

“I have learned to trust that God, who made me a mother, equipped me to meet the needs of my special child.” Kari Clark, “Unexpected”

10. Motherhood is hard…but it is good.

“A thousand, thousand voices raised together across the centuries in the wild chorus of motherhood that soars over all you thought you would be and transforms you into all that Christ believes you can become. The stretching doesn’t end after the first nine months. Nor does the joy.” Lisa-Jo Baker “Anthem”

~~~

Thank you to Seth and Amber Haines for adding more voices to the chorus of motherhood through sharing these precious letters.

~~~

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May 11, 2016February 25, 2018

Three Children is a Bad Idea (and why we’re doing it anyway)

If you make a pro/con list about whether or not you should have a third child, I guarantee you the answer will be no. I know, because I actually wrote that list.

On the con list? It’s more expensive to travel. You need a larger table at every restaurant and a bigger car. There’s less parent (time/energy) to go around. You’ll need more college money. And you have to change your parenting strategy from “man-to-man” to “zone” defense.

There really is no logical reason to have more than two children—especially if you already have one boy and one girl like I do.

But when you take a good look at the pros, you’ll find that though there are far less of them, they are weighted differently than the cons. How can “new life” or “a soul” not be a better reason to try for a third than any other monetary or convenience reason?

Don’t get me wrong. Three is not for everyone. Honestly, I was more of an “even-numbers only” gal, myself. Growing up as one of three siblings, one person is inevitably left out. The phrase “three’s a crowd” was coined for a reason.

But after having two kids, I still felt that spooky “someone is missing from our family” feeling. Since negotiating with my husband for two more kids (and so arriving at my “even number”) was a tougher sell than just one, I conceded to “just” three kids. Five months later, we were staring down at a faint pink line on our dollar store pregnancy test, excited, but going into it all with eyes wide open, wondering how we were going to handle yet another one.

If you’re in the market for three, here are some of the reasons that have helped me overcome the overwhelming list of “cons” you may be staring at on your pro/con list right now.

1. Three is a small “big family”

Large families are boisterous and lively. “I’m bored” moments are rare because there is always someone to play with (or annoy). Your family is the party. So three is a nice compromise for having a big family without having a huge family. Having three kicks you up from the 1-2 category of families to the 3-4 category which equals more chaos, but more life and bustle.

2. One of my children will have a same-sex sibling

I would love for my daughter to have a sister. Growing up with two brothers, I always wished I had one. But if we have another boy, a wise friend of mine pointed out that it is often more difficult for men to find friends later in life (especially after marriage), so having a brother is a built-in guarantee that they will always have a male friend in the world. As for being left out, the one sibling who doesn’t have a brother or sister will get to brag to their friends about how understanding they are of the opposite sex because they had TWO brothers or TWO sisters.

3. More chances my husband and I will be cared for in our old age

Though it’s not generally something we think about during our young-ish child-bearing years, one day we will get old and need help. And with western society spinning with a surprisingly fast centripetal force, flinging our families farther and farther apart, the more children we have that will still be close enough to care for us in our feeble years, the better.

4. We get one more chance at perfection

Poor, poor first born child. Son, we had no idea what we were doing and you were essentially an experiment for us in parenting. We only pray that we did not screw you up beyond repair by all of our failed experiments.

But with number three, hopefully we have learned a thing or two and have a chance to incorporate our wisdom and experience into raising a more obedient, compliant and calm child (insert sarcasm).

5. Life is “supersized”

When we had our second child, we felt like the work didn’t just double, but increased exponentially. I’m not naive enough to believe that going from two to three will be any different.

But just as the grunt work, sleeplessness, frustrations, anxieties and stressors have increased, so have all the counterparts. The giggles, dance parties, hugs, kisses, snuggles, invented words, and heart-bursting love have also increased right next to the difficult parts.

~~~

Although I am not quite as idealistic and swoony as I was with my first pregnancy, I’m still in awe that I get to experience this mystery one more time. Even now, my little one is kicking in my belly and reminding me that I will never regret choosing life. Though we still haven’t chosen a name for our son, God has always known what he will be called.

Three is not logical. But I’ve always been more of a believer in going with your gut than with logic anyway. So if you feel like you want a third–why not? Rip up the pro/con list. Your life is probably chaotic already, so really you’re just adding more life to the party (or more party to the life…).

~~~

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May 5, 2016

The Minivan Identity Crisis

Minivans are not sexy. No girl anywhere ever said to herself, “I can’t wait to drive a minivan when I grow up.”

Today at the dealership the kids ducked in and out of the doors and scrambled on the seats of the used slate-grey minivan as if the entire structure were their personal gym. I yelled at my son through the cracked window not to honk the horn again as he pretended to drive. Standing in the car lot, hands on my hips, I inspected for dents and scuffs. Leaning inside, I noted a tinge of the kid smell that would just continue if it became ours. The van seemed bulky after only ever driving a smaller Civic or Corolla my entire adult life. The entire thing was too big and too loud. “Here comes a mom!” it seemed to scream at the world. If I had any residual aspirations of feeling cool as an aging 30-something, they would be wiped away with one large check and a few hours of paperwork.

“We’ll be in touch,” we said. Buckling the kids in their car seats, we ducked under the exploding blooms of the flowering Crab apple tree in the crowded car lot to rush off to our noon lunch appointment. After lunch at our new Chinese friend’s house and speeding home for the kids to nap (which they didn’t), we decided to buy it.

We strapped everyone back in the car. The sky grew black with rain as we drove the 20 minutes through open fields beginning to glow green and moody mountains catching the last remnant of sun. I tried to talk myself into being excited. More space! More features! More cup holders! At a good price, low mileage and being nearly spotless even though it was several years old, it was perfect for our growing family. But the entire concept threatened not only my ego, but my identity as an independent, adventurous woman. This felt like yet another tick in the “ordinary” box I had avoided my entire life.

My husband parked under the same tree that was now raining pink petals that stuck to our windshield and decorated the jet black tarmac of the parking lot. We prayed in the car for the second time that day. Wisdom. Discernment. Not our will, but yours. Adam went inside to find our car salesman, Ace (seriously), and do some haggling. In the car, I pacified the kids with books, obnoxious kids’ music and finally, with food. Adam texted that the man was checking with “the boss” about our offer. Soon after, he jumped back in the car to discuss the counter-offer. We decided on a firm price. “This, or we walk away,” he’d say. “We have five months, after all, and can wait for what we’re looking for.” It’s strange how hundreds of dollars become arbitrary when it comes to bargaining for a car worth thousands.

Ten minutes later, the text came in. “They took our offer!”

We had a mom van of our very own.

So the kids and I did what you do after you buy a minivan. We went to MacDonald’s. In my defense, I’ve only ever taken the kids to “Old MacDonald’s,” as my son calls it, one other time. Before that, my husband and I would get ice cream or fries at the drive thru and we’d congratulate ourselves when my son would ask, “What restaurant was that?” But now, I admit that (apart from the nasty burgers) the three dollar Happy Meals complete with a chintzy toy, a handful of fries, a bit of fruit, and milk have swayed me to the dark side. The one closest to us is very clean and has a great play area for toddlers and bigger kids, so it didn’t take much to sell my soul. Plus, my guard was definitely down.

My husband came home when it was dark and I had already put the kids to bed. I feigned excitement, but he saw through me. We did what you do in marriage as I assured him that he had gotten a fair price on the car and he reminded me that it’s just a car—a thing—not the essence of my being. But up in the bedroom as we started doing the other thing married people do, I just couldn’t stop giggling. It turned into the belly-laugh-till-you-cry type of laughing that began scaring him. “There’s a minivan in my driveway!” I finally roared. He looked at me like I was crazy. “I just don’t feel that sexy with a minivan parked in my driveway that belongs to us,” I said. And it’s true. Minivans have a way of wrecking your libido.

I don’t have any deep life lessons or spiritual epiphanies yet. I really just needed to put this into print because I kind of don’t believe it myself.

We bought a minivan.

Thank you to those women out there who still remember what it feels like to shrug reluctantly into the skin of the stereotypes of our age and position in life. It helps to know that there are still a few women out there who will give me an empathetic pat on the back as I shake my head and say, “We bought a minivan…a MINIVAN,” and not wonder why I’m not jumping for joy.

“In acceptance lieth peace,” Amy Carmichael wrote. And it really is a pretty nice vehicle—for a minivan.

~~~

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Linking up with Grace & Truth

May 2, 2016

Dear Daughter

Amber and Seth Haines’ new book, The Mother Letters, is a fabulous compilation of letters from over 30 women written to encourage moms at every stage of motherhood. I’ve been a mom less than four years and am expecting my third child, so I‘m still in the thick of it, but I want to share the mama dreams I have for my daughter in the link up on Amber’s page. I‘m also honored to share this letter today at Self Talk the Gospel.

Dear Daughter,

I see the way your attitude already changes as you discover you’re being admired. You shrug your shoulders and peer back at your admirers in a coy way, hoping for more attention. You’ve already received more compliments for your wispy blond pig-tails, wide blue eyes and perfect little toddler body than your brother has had in over three years of his life. And it’s not because you are more adorable than he is.

No. It’s because you are a female.

It caught me off guard at first when grown men would stop and compliment your eyes, because no man had ever done that with your brother. You were no more than six months old, so it all began so much earlier than I had expected.

Of course I want you to be admired, but I also want you to be seen. Right now, you and your brother are equally cute, intelligent and playful. You are both developing in your own ways and have your own strengths. The world is wide open for both of you. So I dread the day when you find your first gate to walk through that is for you alone and not for your brother simply because of your gender. And there will be many more to slow you down in the years to come. But they are gates, and not walls, so I don’t want you to turn back.

My prayer for you is that you grow up knowing you are loved by your family, but especially knowing that you are held, cherished and adored by Jesus. You do not need to be loved by a man to have value. Period. You are already a beloved daughter of the King (1 Jn. 3:1). He–not a man– will fill the empty places in your soul (Eph. 3:19). Never believe that Prince Charming will save you. Instead, remind yourself, “I am my beloved’s and His desire is for me” (Song of Songs 7:10). I pray that you fall deeply in love with Jesus as your first love (Rev. 2:4).

I want you to feel respected, honored and trusted by the men in your life and especially by men in the church, who too often belittle women and make them feel invisible. Jesus sawwomen and raised them to a higher status. I want you to have healthy relationships with men as you respect them and honor them as much as you expect them to respect and honor you (Mat. 7:12). There are good men in this world, so I hope that you surround yourself with the ones who treat you with kindness and dignity; as Ephesians says to “be kind to one another, tender-hearted, forgiving each other, just as God in Christ also has forgiven you” (4:32).

I want you to have the freedom to pursue your passions, gifts and callings without guilt or apology. While women and men have different strengths and weaknesses, a woman should not be told that she “can’t do” something because she is not a man. I want you to be as educated as you want to be and to find pleasure in all that God gives you to do. Being a mother is wonderful, but it is not the only calling for a woman, so I hope that you find joy using your gifts however God has crafted your soul to serve (1 Pet. 4:10). He is delighted when we use our passions as He intended and especially when they are poured out as an act of selfless worship unto Him (Mat. 25:14; Luke 7:38).

When I think of the woman you will become, I pray that you would “put on a heart of compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience” (Col. 3:12). I want you to see the overlooked, the weak and the oppressed and to be brave enough to speak up on their behalf when you have the chance (Ps. 82:3-4). I hope that you ask questions and don’t just accept the status quo. Don’t be afraid to live differently or push back on a broken system even when you don’t see a way to fix it just yet (Esther 4:14).

I hope you have the opportunity to know and love people who are poorer, richer, lighter, darker, crazier, duller and braver than you are. Each person will enrich your life and broaden your perception of God’s kingdom and the scope of His creativity (Ps. 22:27).

The world right now is scary at times and I don’t see that changing before you are grown, so I pray that you don’t live in fear, but with hope and the knowledge that you are never alone (Is. 41:10). This world is not your home (Heb. 13:14; Jn. 18:36). You’re a visitor here for a time to play, learn, love, grow, change, rest, build and wrestle with the world–and with yourself in it. But mainly God has granted you this precious life to develop a relationship with Him through the sacrifice He made for you (2 Cor. 5:15).

Never forget that you are not alone (Deut. 31:6). Never forget that you are extravagantly loved (Jn. 3:16). Never forget that Someone stands over you smiling and belting out happy songs about you (Zeph. 3:17). Never forget that you have worth and value not because of what you look like or even because of what you do with your life (because that will constantly change), but because you are God’s daughter, His precious one (Ps. 139). He knew your name before your daddy and I did and He loves you more than we ever could (Jer. 1:5; 1 Jn. 3:1).

I thank God daily that I get to be your mommy and walk this messy magical life with you. I have so many hopes for you, baby girl, but I know that you are in hands that are stronger and more loving than mine (Job 12:10). I pray that one day you will decide to give your life to your Greatest Admirer and accept His gift of Life through Jesus, because He is the place where your heart and soul will find their true home (Rom. 5:8).

I love you, my little miss.

Your mommy

~~~

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April 16, 2016

Surviving the Culture Shock of Motherhood

Peering out of the airplane window at orange dirt, bright green fields and spirals of smoke rising up from the waking villages, I wiped away tears with my shirt sleeve. I was finally in Africa.

In my first weeks in Uganda, every sight and sound in its exotic newness was titillating and welcome. I was immediately captivated by the unusual food, danceable music, lyrical language, brightly colored clothing, funny store signs and friendly faces. My school-girl crush had become a reality and I was in love.

But within a few weeks into my six month stay I was crying less joyous tears on a daily basis. Alone, I felt misunderstood, annoyed, purposeless and overwhelmed by the amount of energy it took to try and adapt to a culture that was so different from my own. All that had once been quirky or fascinating was now aggravating. I was in culture shock.

~~~

Fast forward fifteen years and I now find myself adapting to another new culture: motherhood and staying home with teeny children. I was in a school setting as a student or teacher full-time for nearly thirty years, so quitting work after my first baby and not living in the vice of the education structure felt amazing–at first. Although I had a grueling labor with my first child (didn’t we all?), I was elated to have a son and felt like I was on a love drug in those hours and days after giving birth. The honeymoon stage of motherhood lasted a year or more for me.

It‘s been nearly four years since my last day of work as a teacher and the magic mommy tonic has worn off. What used to be quirky and darling—even funny—has now become frustrating. I find I am transported back to my Africa days of feeling misunderstood, annoyed, purposeless and overwhelmed. I am in the culture shock of motherhood. But perhaps some of the ways I learned to combat culture shock abroad can also apply to adapting to this culture of motherhood.

Be a Learner
The best advice I received before traveling abroad was to go into a new culture with the attitude of a learner. It’s easy as a mother to see our children as blank slates to be filled. We feel are all-knowing and our job is to teach our children how to be human beings.

Yesterday I sat in a lawn chair in the backyard watching my kids playing in the sprinkler for the first time this season. Slipping and laughing, they went through a range of emotions as they tried to fill toys with water only to be splashed by the moving water. As I watched, I envied their ability to play without a care or worry in the world. And I thought about how Jesus tells us to be like little children.

Surviving the Culture Shock of Motherhood~ "...perhaps some of the ways I learned to combat culture shock abroad can also apply to adapting to this culture of motherhood."

If we become students of our children, we will learn how to live the way Jesus wants us to live—loving, curious, emotional, dependent, silly, playful, trusting, excited about the little things, and without worry or shame. Children are much like the lilies of the field and the ravens of the air that Jesus spoke of in Luke 12—completely unaware of the cares of the world, but confident that their needs will be met. Instead of always looking for ways to change them, sometimes I need to become their student.

Sense of Humor
Another way to fight against culture shock is to maintain a sense of humor. I could cry about having to locate the two resident cockroaches in the outhouse I had to use everyday in Africa, or I could greet them by name before doing my business. Every day seemed to offer plenty of opportunities to either have a mental break down or break down laughing. Motherhood is much the same.

Last week I had one of those epic grocery store trips. The kids were in the shopping cart cars that I have a love-hate relationship with, “driving” along cutely until my almost two-year-old daughter bit my three-year old son. Screaming ensued, so I strapped my daughter in the front part of the cart so I could console my son. When I turned after putting him back in the toy car, cherry tomatoes were scattered all over the aisle and my daughter grinned with tomato seeds dripping down her chin. A sympathetic woman helped me pick them up and I hustled to the check-out to put an end to my misery, my daugher taking off her sandals and dropping them several times before getting there. I took my son out of the car part so the cashier could more easily get our groceries and he began howling again. I wanted to join him.

But then I caught the compassionate eye of a mom in the next aisle and instead I laughed. I feel like there is a level of disastrous events that eventually tips the scale to the ridiculous and truly the only thing to do is to acknowledge the hilarity and laugh.

Take a Break
Sometimes you just need to escape for a little while. I lived with a family in a village in Uganda, but I had several opportunities during my time there to get away with another American friend for the weekend. Getting out of the routine and just remembering who I was again was enough to help me get through to the next period of time. Similarly, as moms we don’t need to feel guilty about escaping for some time away. Whether it is a couple of hours at a coffee shop, a weekend away with girl friends or a day in a cabin for a personal retreat, we need time away from our children to center us and give us space to regroup and remember our identity apart from being a mom.

Being vs. doing
The last stages of culture shock involve finally adapting and gaining some semblance of independence in your new culture. In order to this, you need to develop relationships, learn the language and shed some aspects of your old culture in order to assimilate to your new culture. In motherhood, this can look like making new friends, really listening to our children, meeting their needs and accepting that sometimes “being” has more value than “doing” in this new culture.

In Uganda, my job in the slums was to file records and proofread documents. I felt useless, ignorant and angry that my qualifications were going unused. On rough days with my kids, it’s easy for me to focus on all the ways my skills and education are being wasted while I roll a hundred play dough snakes, read books, change diapers, sit through library story times and fold tiny clothes. I didn’t get my masters for this, I think.

But one of the greatest lessons I learned living abroad is the value of being over doing. I eventually developed strong friendships with Ugandans that made living there not only bearable, but meaningful. Most other cultures value relationships over tasks. In the culture of motherhood, presence trumps productivity. Sometimes my children need me to stop doing and just be with them.

~~~

I now look back on my time in Uganda with “yearbook eyes,” remembering the sights, sounds and friends that caused me to fall in love in the first place. I’m sure this period of time with little ones at home will be much the same. But in the meantime, I’m asking for Jesus to strengthen me and give me the ability to be a learner, laugh, know when to get away, and celebrate being over doing. If you’re a struggling mama, I pray the same for you today.

~~~

Can you relate? Please share in the comments! I’d love to hear your story.

~~~

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Motherhood and the Big Picture

For the Mom Whose Life Feels Small

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April 3, 2016

3 Things Helping Me Right Now as a Mother

I lived ALONE in China for five years. So how can it be that now just schlepping my two kids to the grocery store less than a mile from my house feels like an adventurous and arduous task? Motherhood has been a joyful and unexpected gift, but as a person who had kids in her mid-thirties, the adjustment has been a jarring one. But in the past few weeks, one new habit and two new ideas have brought a bit of clarity and hope to my life as a mother in this season with little ones when it can be hard to remember who you are, much less find Jesus in the fog.

1. Get off the porch

We live at the foothills of the Rocky Mountains and I recently jogged past a house with a porch just steps from a mountain view. What a shame they can’t see the mountains, I thought. Were they to walk just ten feet from their house, they would have a spectacular view of the sun spraying the rugged mountains with pink light.

As I thought about missing my long pre-kid mornings spent with the Lord, I felt like there was a message in that for me—“Just get off the porch, Leslie. I’m right there waiting for you. All you need to do is show up.”

As a result, I’ve been trying to set aside 20 minutes every morning to read one day of the One Year Bible and a very short devotional. I’m trying not to categorize this time as a “quiet time” or “Bible study,” but instead see it as simply as spending time with Jesus. Sitting at His feet. Laying my tired head on His chest. Asking for His help and gathering my manna for the day. Yes, it sometimes means hiding in another room while my children scream from their rooms (they have plenty of toys to keep them busy), but even in the noise, God seems to be whispering loud enough for me to hear.

I still struggle with allowing myself lower expectations during this season, but God reminds me that if I just get off that porch and walk a few steps, He will meet me.

2. Wash the Feet

Honestly, there are some aspects of motherhood that I kind of abhor. What makes up my list of detestable chores? Sweeping the floor after EVERY blessed meal, changing poopy diapers, rinsing out cloth diapers (ugh, but worth it?), getting kids into bed when you’re dead tired yourself, cooking food that most likely won’t get eaten and dealing with Laundry Mountain.

But as I sought God this week, I read the story of Jesus washing His disciples’ disgusting feet and then telling everyone to follow suit (John 13). And certain aspects of my life as a mother to little ones became blindingly illuminated—and surprisingly elevated.

Do I see these mundane tasks as service to my King? Would I grumble as much if it were Jesus Himself asking me to do them? (As He is, in fact, doing.)

Somehow viewing these jobs as service to Jesus brings me more joy than thinking about doing them simply for my children. We don’t have the practice of foot washing as a norm in our culture, so perhaps if Jesus spoke to us today, He would instead be commanding us to change diapers, pick up paper towels off the church bathroom floor or make that toy truck “talk” for the one hundredth time today. What does “foot washing” look like for you?

3. Serve the Least of These

Another story that has hit me hard recently is when Jesus tells the disciples that when they treat what most people would consider to be “the least of these” with love, respect and compassion, they are serving Christ Himself. This story usually conjures images of soup kitchens, homeless shelters and slums, but this week as I thought about “the least of these” in my life, what came to mind were my two darling, frustrating little tow heads.

Don’t judge, but my oldest child is not potty trained and cannot dress himself. He and my daughter are completely dependent on my husband and me to meet their every need. Weak, helpless and vulnerable, our children are “the least of these.”

So as I think of them in this way, how does that change the way I go about caring for them on a daily basis? Do I see Jesus in their tiny hands, chubby knees and wispy hair? As I get up for the third time in the night to get my son his water or straighten out his blankets? Because Jesus says that as I serve the least of these, I am, in fact, serving Him (Mat. 25:40).

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I miss hour-long quiet times in the stillness of dawn, my dirtiest tasks being to clean the bathroom whenever I felt like it and the days of serving others on my own terms. But that is not motherhood (nor is it being a Jesus-follower). So for now, I’m thankful that Jesus blesses my small efforts at holiness and for the reminders of His presence in the faces of the little people I am privileged to serve. Because as I serve them, I am serving Jesus Himself.

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What does “foot washing” look like to you?

What is helping you find Jesus in the fog of motherhood right now?

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