I don’t usually involve myself in posts that could be
controversial. First, I really struggle with the comparison game, myself, and
elevating one philosophy of mothering over another can easily turn into harsh
slung words over who is right or what ideas carry the greatest weight. Secondly,
ain’t no busy momma got time for that!
But this topic is near and dear to my heart and is one I
have long struggled and labored over. Yet, in writing this, please don’t feel I’m
pushing an agenda or saying this way of thinking is best for everyone. I just
want to share my heart on one topic I’ve wrangled with and seen the effects
play out in my sons.
The perfect mother. It’s something we all have strained
toward. We research what it looks like, what it feels like, what it sounds like
– we seek the ethereal example of motherhood perfected. If it requires a new
gadget, we invest in it. A change of thought, we conform. A habit, an effort, a
fruit of the Spirit, we model our life after actions that may lead us to a
closer ideal.
I’ve read blogs – leave the house dirty, hug your little
ones, the time passes quickly – be slow, be intentional, stop saying no, order
is the way, schedule, free play, make lists, organize, relax, take you time,
discipline, give grace. And each time I walk away feeling a little more of a
failure in my motherhood – like somehow I don’t measure up. So I set the bar
higher, leaning and stretching to attain some form of perfection in my
parenting. And I’ve grown weary. Weary of trying and failing. Weary of what
forever seems impossible, but unable to break out of the relentless cycle of
pursuing perfection.
Here’s the problem: I can’t do it. And I will never be able
to do it.
Now if I said that’s the reason I’m giving up, this blog
post would be over, but there’s more to it than that. My struggle toward
perfection is strangling my motherhood. Here’s what I’ve discovered:
First, when my focus and my goal is that of my own idea of
perfection and I fail, who am I failing? Namely, myself, my own ideas and
desires. And if I’m failing myself, what is my response? Well, guess I better
try harder next time. And you know what I miss? I miss how my failure in that
moment may be affecting one of my sons. When my eyes are fixed on my own goals
and motives, I miss the dynamic bigger picture of how my impatience or my harsh
words may be breaking my boy’s heart. I don’t sense the need to apologize for
anything because the offense was against my own goal – not against anyone else.
Second, when I set perfection as the standard for myself, I
am inadvertently setting the standard at perfection for my sons. If I am not
allowed to fail, then neither are they. What is this teaching them about grace
but that there’s no need for it? If failure is not an option (and Lord knows
how often we mess up), then am I communicating that they will never be enough?
Never measure up? When I don’t give myself room to fail, my sons don’t see my
need for grace. When I communicate that perfection is the standard, I don’t
give them room for grace either!
Finally, when I strive in my own strength toward perfection,
I am turning my motherhood into a vessel that is to be set on a shelf and
adored rather than a usable vessel to nurture my family. I communicate “don’t
touch,” “do not disturb,” “Hands off.” This is my pretty vessel – it doesn’t
need finger smudges and boogers to flaw its surface. But this is not what I am
called to as a mother. The direct commission I have been given is to bring
forth life and to bear fruit (both in a physical and spiritual realm). And who
is the life giver? God! Who is the vine that I must abide in? His son, Jesus.
Who develops the fruit in my life? The Spirit. And I so desperately want my
sons to know this. This, right here – the power of Him who raised Jesus from
the dead dwelling in me!
So, no, I cannot do it. Motherhood is not for the faint of
heart. I say that all the time – and that’s why God must be the strength of my
heart and my portion forever.
So where does that leave me? I am going to mess up. I will
have moments where my anger gets out of hand, where the house is not perfect
(or maybe for the moment it is, but I have missed an opportunity to invest in
one of the little ones), I get impatient, I speak harshly, I don’t give grace,
or I mess up in many other ways that I know I will. And I want my sons to know
that’s okay.
When I wound them, I want them to see me admitting it,
asking for forgiveness, seeking their grace – so that they can go and do
likewise.
When I fail, I want them to see that it’s okay. Perfection
is not something we can attain. I want them to see me receiving grace in my
time of need so that they also can receive grace in their time of need.
When I walk this road of life with my sons, I want to be
tangible, real. I don’t want to be hands off. I want them to see my desperate
need of Christ. I want to be usable. And the only way that will happen is to
let Christ live through me. I don’t want to be an empty vessel on a shelf – I want
to be filled and spilled. And that means being willing to get dirty (sometimes
in physical ways too!).
So I’m giving up on the idea of perfection in my mothering.
I’m giving up to the one who can live His life through me. Christ, the image of
perfection – that who I want my sons to see!
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