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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