Every Woman

Every Woman

She sits there in silent tears,

just waiting for someone to care;

She is every woman.

She'll cross her feet, draw up her knees,

drowning insecurities;

She is every woman.

Wounds from the past turn into scars,

wonder how she got this far;

She is every woman.

Fear of who she is or who she'll be,

prevent her from admitting need;

She is every woman.

From deep inside, release a sigh,

and watch the others walk on by;

She is every woman.

Walls thick and strong protect her heart,

or maybe just keep us apart;

She is every woman.

Alert aware, eyes open wide,

Just maybe you can see inside

The others that are passing by,

Glimmers of tears sit within their eyes.

They too have fears, and scars and needs,

You're not the only one who bleeds.
They hide it well behind the mask;

Next time she passes, please just ask.
For she is every woman!

*Dedicated to all the women who feel alone on this journey - who feel they are the only ones with messes - you are a part of every woman. You are known. You are loved. You are delighted in. (Zephaniah 3:17)

 

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Authentically Exhausted Mother

Exhausted! Burnt out! Tired! Done! All words that have come out of my mouth – or at least out of my heart today. Extreme phrases, such as: “I never want to take my three boys out in public again!” and “I don’t know if I’ll even survive until Wednesday.” Have also made their way across my mind. And today wasn’t even the worst day I’ve ever had as a mother. Maybe it’s just a culmination of the past few weeks. We’ve had a busier summer than normal, and our routine has been non-existent – not a good thing for this structured momma. On top of it all, the exhaustion and nausea from early pregnancy has kicked my butt this time around – yes, child number four coming in January. J As if three were not exhausting enough….

Sometimes, I wonder if I really have what it takes to be a mom – or rather, to be the mom that Christ wants me to be. So many times I feel like all I am doing is crushing my kids spirts over and over again as my voice takes on an edge that I don’t recognize – and that sometimes even scares me! I find myself begging for God’s grace, his strength, his peace, and his comfort in these moments. And every once in a while, I catch a glimmer of hope. A child prays a prayer that makes me cock my head at their emotional maturity. The older one asks a deep question. The little one shares his toy. But mostly right now, it is survival at best. Thriving is nowhere to be found.

My nose is attached so firmly to the grindstone that I miss moment after moment of the glory of God around me. Sometimes, I feel like I am just spinning so fast that I can no longer figure out how to stop my inertia because if I try, all I am going to do is fall over. So I keep spinning. I keep up this craziness, and all along I say I’m fine – even though my head feels like it may explode at any moment!

But somewhere in the back of my head (maybe in the depths of my heart), I hear, “Fall down; it’s okay. You don’t have to have it all together.” And maybe that’s just what Christ is waiting for me to do. Fall down – on my knees, on my face, admitting and evidencing that I don’t have it all together. And actually most times, I don’t even have a clue what I’m doing! And that’s okay because I am not perfect, but His strength is made perfect in my weakness.

So why am I airing my “dirty laundry” as some people might call it? Well, I’ve also been called to authenticity as a believer in Christ. And I know that as a member of this thing we call family, I was never intended to do this alone. So here I am, in all of this “beautiful mess” in an aim to bring God more glory than I ever have before – and I ask for your prayers. As you think of me, pray that I will rely less on me and more on Him. Pray that my heart will be in tune with His will and will be rid of my selfishness. Pray that I will learn to know my kids hearts and lead them to the heart of Christ. And in the meantime, can I be supporting you in prayer as your sister in Christ as well?

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Mom's Night Out

Mom’s night out. I had one of those last night, and I saw the movie by the same name too. It was really well made. I laughed. I cried right along with the other 13 ladies I was with. And I related. I related to the feelings of being overwhelmed as a mom of three little ones. I related to the writing on the wall, the messes in the kitchen, the endless laundry, and wanting to hide from it all. I related to having to deal with the kids at church by yourself thing – yes, that’s how some of my Sunday mornings actually look. And I related to Allie’s determination, “I started this by myself, and I’m going to finish it!” 

I was surrounded by people last night. But I still felt alone. If they knew how much I struggled, if they knew how much I don’t have it together, if they knew the real status of my heart (not just the ones I post on facebook.)……what would happen? I wondered if other ladies related as well. I’m sure they must, but we laugh at the irony of it all, and we put our masks and costumes right back on because we want our sisters to think we do have it all together.

Our masks alienate us from one another. We rub shoulders, offer hugs, but we don’t see what’s really there under the costume. Much like the Pastor’s wife in the movie – admired by all, yet so alone. She hadn’t been invited out with the girls in over five years. No one knew her. She struggled, but she was strong. She hurt, but she had to constantly offer hope to those around her. She had regrets, but she didn’t know how to relate. Finally, she opens up, and when she did, people realized she was human – not superwoman. People realized she had needs, and ironically, they were willing to meet them.

Why is it that I think if I have needs people will look down on me? Instead, they may just look me in the eye. They may just be willing to see past the façade and see my soul.

That’s what I long for. That’s what real community is about. When I can take off the pristine outfit, and show my dirt and scars, maybe I’ll see how many other mom’s out there carry around some of the same wounds.

I love how Paul puts it is 1 Corinthians 4. He’s talking about judging those around you, and he poses three questions to the Corinthians. “What makes you different than anyone else? What do you have that you did not receive? And if you did receive it, why do you boast as though you have not?”

This passage addresses three issues for me:

1. We’re all on level playing fields. We’ve all sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. Our Salvation is by Grace – not our works. We all deserved the same punishment no matter how little or big our “sins” were. I have no right to judge those around me. I have no right to judge myself in light of who I think they are.

2.  Anything that I think I may possess (talents, gifts, lessons I’ve learned, character qualities) have been given me from above. I can claim no talent apart from God. I can claim no ability apart from grace. This knowledge levels my pride and helps me to see that it’s not me, it’s God.
3. I have been gifted. I have been blessed with every spiritual blessing in heavenly places. Why do I get down on myself and feel like I don’t possess that which some of my sisters do? Sometimes, I get confused about humility. In our culture, it is seen as making one’s self lower. But the true definition of humility is to know one’s proper place – and that means knowing how richly I have been blessed and living out of that identity.

Lord, as I grow in you. Help me to learn to relate to the ladies around me and not walk in self-righteousness knowing that we really area all on level playing fields. Help me to remember your grace and what you’ve saved me from – and also what you’ve saved me to. Remind me that anything that I am is because of you – not works that I have done. And when I’m tempted to look down on myself, open my eyes to the beautiful masterpiece that you are creating right here, right now, in the midst of this “beautiful mess.” To you alone be the glory!

Mother's Day (And I don't feel like a good one) Reflections and Prayers

I feel like a crummy mommy. We’re coming up on Mother’s day, and as I reflect on my journey over the past year (that started on Mother’s day, actually), I am probably more frustrated, embarrassed, and overwhelmed than I thought I was then.

I wake up every day with fantastic intentions to have fun with the boys, get a lot done, walk in the Spirit. And within 10 minutes of their waking (which recently has been an hour plus earlier than they should), I am angry, edgy, and frustrated. This is the course of the day; it is then set. Each offense after that just adds fuel to the fire. My tone gets more coarse, my reactions starch and stiff – definitely not the loving mother I always imagined I’d be.

Moments come where I may breathe, but most of the day, I hold my breath. I feel my cheeks puff, blood rushing to my skull. I stand up and get lightheaded, and I wonder why I don’t have the endurance to go the distance. Lord, open my lips so that I may breathe of You.

Sometimes, I wonder if it is my sheer determination to walk by the Spirit that makes it so hard. My enemy sees me as a threat. Maybe? So things get harder.

Or maybe my little boys are being just that – little boys. What else should I expect from a 4, 2, and 1-year-old? My parenting lacks as I just want to avoid. I’m tired of breaking up fights. I roll my eyes at the drama of another “owie.” I cannot stand to be asked one more time, “Can I have?” And most of the time, I am already in process of meeting the request even as they are asking. We’ve worked on manners, but they seem to go out the window when the boys are hungry (which they seem to be constantly.) I can’t keep anything nice in the house. The couches, chairs, beds, cribs, changing tables, gates, railings – they all become things to climb up, conquer, then jump off of. Balls are thrown (as are blocks and anything else that can be projected from a toddler’s grip). Maybe bubble wrap on everything would be most effective….. I don’t mind the fingerprints on the windows, the mud on the walls – soap and water always does the trick. Crumbs left on the floor; I can sweep those up. And the ones left in the sofa cushions, a vacuum and a little elbow grease (well, sometimes, it works anyway.) But what about the four-year-old’s name scribbled across my coffee table book in ball point ink? The wall he chose to use as his teacher’s marker board to educate his stuffed animals?

Then there’s “Mommy, MoMmY, MOMMY!” while I’m trying to take care of business on the phone, the inability to carry on a full conversation with my husband before 10 PM, two-hour-long dinner’s because “I don’t like it” again.

Sun up to sun down, food prep, dishes, sweeping, mopping, wiping counters, wiping noses, wiping bums (yuck), washing, drying, folding laundry and getting them into proper drawers. Pick up the toys (and don’t miss pieces, or your sore foot may remind you later). Training little ones to get dressed, make their beds, take their dishes, hold the dustpan, feed the dog. Sometimes before dawn, offering snuggles because of a bad dream; sometimes after dark, filling a water cup, turning on a bathroom light, or tucking them in again. Homeschooling (now that’s like a second full-time job), teaching ABCs and 123s, shapes, colors, science and art. Planning, purchasing, preparing meals, grocery shopping, check-book-balancing, bill paying, plant the seeds, water the vegetables, pick the produce and store it away. Bake the bread, boil the bagels, and brown the meat (all while superheroes battle it out behind me on the kitchen floor.) Catch a glance of the purple violets sitting in a saucer of water on the table and be reminded that my little ones do love me – even if they don’t always show it. 

I’m a mother – a tired mother. I’m a mother, and I want to be a better mother, a good mother, a mother that sees the fruit of God’s work in her life and in the life of her little ones. If they are to arise and call me blessed, something must start that process now. Someone must start that process now.

I’d love to have the “answer,” but I don’t think there is one. I get tired, weary, burnt out – all while desiring to walk with God. And I know I cannot do it. I cannot do it alone.

I was encouraged the other day by a comment that someone made that David (as in King David in the Bible) sought God before every battle. He didn’t assume that God’s battle plan would always be the same. So each time, he sought God to ask, “What is Your battle plan?” And sometimes motherhood feels like that – a battle. Each day, each moment even, a battle for good, for my kids’ hearts, for God’s victory in their life. Why would I think that God would want me to approach motherhood with a formula and try to do things the same each time. It just doesn’t work. Each battle is different. Lord, Give me wisdom to fight this battle today; show me how You want me to fight this battle now.

As this Mother’s day passes, and I enter in another year of motherhood, my prayer is for Christ to have the victory – over my heart, over the battles that I face, over my kid’s hearts – and that He alone would get the glory and honor. Soli Deo Gloria!

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The Birthing of a Man

Wet, warm, slimy babe in your arms, new from the world of wombs. Only God could have planned this moment. Skin to skin, breathing in new life, new joy, hopes and dreams for both today and tomorrow. Pull the wobbly, too heavy, head up for a kiss and feel the warmth of new blood rushing, oxygenated now by something other than you. Your role is a little less crucial than it was yesterday. But you don’t feel that right now, you just bask in the new mommy, joy moment. And do, for it passes too quickly. All of life is letting go. 

 The way he ripped through your body, the burning pain with the tightenings and the forceful entry into the world – that’s the way he’ll rip through your life as he strives to be birthed into a man. Many painful contractions of love, breathe, readjust, try to cope in the moment – if you look at the whole, it’s overwhelming. Then a break, a breather, a moment of reprieve, and you still feel the tiny pushes from within. 

The transition hits and you don’t know where to go. You try to catch your breath, but it seems elusive. “I’m done. I can’t do this anymore.” And that’s what it feels like, the ends of the world caving in and pulling you apart at the same moment. You’ve been stretched, stretched to where your body can handle, but it’s still try to stretch a little more. Tears, groans, and gasps. They all come. Did you picture it this way? Did you know the pain of birthing a man?

Pushing brings a little relief, but adds with it a stinging sensation you may have never known. At least you and your body are working together now. In a moment you want to hold back, hold back from the burning, but holding back hurts all the worse and you give in to the urges of your body. God knows best. For if a child remained inside forever, he would never be a man, and he would wind up eating you alive. The ring of fire, appropriately named, as your skin stretches and sometimes breaks open at the sheer force of his head, and in one gigantic effort, it emerges. A moment, or maybe two, and you bear down again unable to hold back any more. He twists and turns and struggles his shoulders out, and in one swift motion, he slides into the waiting hands. He’s born.

That first breath brings air to parts of his lungs that have never experienced air before. He wiggles and screeches. No longer safe in the darkness of your womb, but now exposed to the light. Breathing now depends on him. Life, depends on him; his body has been preparing for this moment. Your body has been preparing for this moment. They clamp the cord – his former life source – and within ten days, the evidence of such will also fall away. 

But now that he’s here, you don’t remember the birth pangs, they are the former thing and are no more for you are overwhelmed at the joy of who is here now. 

For when your son becomes a man, it is then that you truly become a momma!

Hannah Norton 2014

 

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Getting Back on the Horse...er, um, The Treadmill

I've been asked by several people recently how my recovery is coming along - well, here is where I found myself yesterday...

I went running for the first time since the race yesterday. I mean really running – not just these recovery jogs. And I faced some real demons along the way. Sometimes getting back up on the horse that bucked you off can be the most frightening thing. 

Mentally, I was so much farther along than what my body would allow, and as I watched the time and distance slowly tick up on the display of the treadmill, the doubts started to creep in. “Could you even run a 5k anymore, Hannah? You pace, akin to what you were running nearly a year ago when you first started out. Yep, you’re weak. You’re out of breath at a 5.2? Are you even sure you should be doing this? Maybe you’re not cut out for running. Maybe you never were a runner. Maybe you should just give up.” As my breathing labored and my leg once again tightened down, I slowed to a walk around mile 2.2. 

Over the past year, I had seen so many changes in my body, in my mind, and even in my spirit as I trained my body for the races. I felt healthier and stronger than I ever had before, and I was definitely smaller than I had been in a long time. I found it easy to like my body when it was this way. The results of the hard work excited me and pushed me to keep going. And I found that I really liked working out hard for an hour and then enjoying food rather than not working out and having to really count calories. 

My runs were my time – my time to connect with my heart, to connect with God – to allow him to enlarge my heart amidst the struggle and press on through the pain, coming to the end and finishing victoriously. Kind of an image of the Christian walk I want to lead. All of that changed when I got injured.

I loved being able to go into a store, know what size I was, pull something off the rack and know that it would fit. I loved how I was finally comfortable in my own skin, and I was no longer concerned about what others' thought. I had reached the climax. I was where I wanted to be, and I was content. Crazy how fitness doesn’t stay when you can’t train at the same level.

Running our neighborhood was all well and good, and I had set several PRs for my time as I trained for the marathon. I was excited about setting a PR at a spring race for a 5k distance. I wanted it recorded. I wanted it official and something more than just on my stopwatch. I wanted to feel good about my time, I wanted to find my identity there – to finally call myself a runner. And yesterday, as I was running, I saw the reality of where I am now – having lost nearly 40% of my performance in just three short weeks.

As I walked, I was ready to throw in the towel. What was I thinking? If I’m just going to “fail” anyway (at least fail in my eyes…), why even try? And God started cultivating my heart in that moment. I cried out to him and told him all my fears and frustrations. He turned like a mirror and showed me the reality of my heart in the midst of this. 

Hannah, you may not have seen it. It may have been subtle, but running has become an idol to you. The feelings of endorphins, addictive. The results of your size and fitness something that you cannot let go of. Your speed and distance, your pride. And some sort of title as “runner” your pursued identity. That’s not who you are. And my grace has allowed this injury to bring you to this point – for you never would have realized the depths of this stronghold without being pulled away from it for a time. You’re not a failure. You’re walking in my sovereign allowed grace. Accept this as a gift. Learn to run in Me, by Me, for Me.

Up to this moment now, I had not even considered my injury something good – much less a gift and something to be grateful for. But that’s what it is. And today, I thank God for his grace in allowing me to be pulled away from my idolatry. I’m still in process as to what this all means. Am I going to give up running? No. Am I going to change some goals and perspective? Yes. What does this next year look like? What does my new training look like? All of that is still in the works….

Where is my heart right now? Trying to break down what it looks like to have been crucified with Christ, therefore it is no long I who live, but Christ who lives in me. The life I now live in the body, I live by faith in the son of God who loves me and who gave himself for me. (Galatians 2:20)

 



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