Don't Stop at Death...

I awoke from my nap to the smell of hot milk. Oh No! I had forgotten about the yogurt starter in the crock pot! I rushed into the kitchen to discover it boiling and scorched edges all around. I had needed the nap so desperately after the combo time change and waking baby the night before. I didn’t even think to turn the pot off before I slept. And now, it may be lost – just another mark on my inability to manage things right now. My spirit sunk once again into a deep introspective spiral. What am I really battling with right now?

I rush out the door in frustration having wasted 10 more minutes trying to figure out my yogurt problem (no time to restart it – I need it for breakfast tomorrow). Can it be saved? I don’t know yet…

I hate having my boys see their mommy like this – shipping myself out the door (encouraged by my husband) in order to get away and order my heart. If I get time away, I want it to be time to live – not time to just discover how again.

The winter has catapulted my heart into a torrent of self-preservation – a hibernation of sorts, and I’m feeling the desire to awake again. It’s not so much been a depression of sorts, but more so a measured way to survive the moments that make up my chaotic days. But this measuredness, this cautiousness has also caused a callousedness to creep over my heart – hardened to potential, thickened against holy expectation, and ignorant of abundant life. I’ve survived the winter – but barely.

Spring is coming – and with it, the hope of new life. I’ve taken some purposeful steps this spring to step away from some of those things that have been life suckers. I’ve taken some extra time to pursue the giver of life – and I guess that’s the only way to go about finding it again.

Ironically, the call in the Christian life is a call to die, to carry your cross, to deny yourself. And on initial inspection, it seems too large a demand for my already frail and tattered heart. Why would a lifestyle like this draw anyone? Turmoil, pain, difficulty – this life is wrought with them. “Try harder” is the cry of our churches – you need to be patient, kind, self-controlled – grow the fruit of the Spirit. Keep being joyful (don’t you dare let anyone else know you may be struggling), live a life of peace (don’t rock the boat or confront conflict), and Love God and others by sacrificing your life, your passions, and your desires for them (it’s not right to pursue your own interests when others have needs). 

So I struggle, I labor, I work, and I work, and I work, and I work to become the “fruit-bearing” tree that I’ve been called to. I try to catch the sun on my leaves, I laboriously pull water up my trunk, providing movement of nutrition to my branches. I dig my roots in ever deeper, but the more I try, the more worn out I find myself, and season after season, I’m discouraged at the lack of fruit in my life. (at least fruit that is worthy of being used for anything more than animal fodder.)

Here’s where I’ve found myself, and yet as spring approaches and Easter approaches, I (we as Christians) of all people should know that Death is not the end. Why do we stop there so often? Why do we speak of the resurrection only this time of year – Death – necessary? Yes, but Christ rose victorious over death and rose to life – in order that he may bring us also to NEW LIFE. Do you realize that in all gospel accounts (except one parallel account in Luke – which could just be oversight) of Christ speaking of His death, He never did so without also mentioning the resurrection!!!! So, why do we, as believers stop at dying to ourselves, taking up our cross, and counting ourselves dead to sin? Why not move on to alive in Christ Jesus?

Even Christ himself spoke of a tiny seed that went into the ground and died (the mustard seed) and once it did, it grew into the largest tree. Unless a seed dies, will it ever live and bear fruit? No, but the end purpose is not dying – it’s living!

So yes, I need to die to myself, I need to bear the cross and count myself dead to sin – but ALIVE to God in Christ Jesus. He has brought me from death to life. And his desire is to see me live – and live life abundantly that will bear fruit unto his name and for his glory.

So I am pursuing God in this season – the author and perfector of my faith, of my life – to discover the resurrected life that He intends me to live, by Him, for Him, through Him and to Him. Will you join me? Don’t stop at death – Live! He has called us from death to life – and Jesus who conquered the grave and power to bring life to our mortal bodies! Blessed be His name!

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The Lie and the Truth of the Failing Mom

“Failure!” I heard it scream in my heart. “Failure!” You’re leaving your kids with unmet needs. You’re incapable of getting your baby to stay asleep. You’re pushing your oldest through his schoolwork. You’re doing too much housework. You’re not working out enough. “Failure!” I heard threatening my identity when I didn’t hear the phone the 5^th time my husband called, and I didn’t hear the doorbell the three times he rang it. “Failure!” It’s all my fault he’s late for work.

Each day, one moment is melting into another as I get lost in the swirl and chaos of four little boys age 5 and under. The oldest needs help with school. The youngest needs his most basic biological needs met (which for anyone who has never had experience with an infant, it takes a lot of time to do so!!!). The two in the middle – well, where do they fit in? I try to find things for them to play with, watch, of do (shoot, I’m probably letting them watch too many movies right now – failure!) while I help the oldest and the youngest. And somewhere in here, someone has to make meals, feed kids, wipe bums, change diapers, clean dishes, clean clothes, bathe bodies and wipe snotty noses. (Forget mamma getting a shower – who has time for that?)

Try to get up early? Yep, tried – but when you get 3-4 hours of sleep because said littlest has needs overnight, you don’t even hear your alarm go off in the morning. Tried getting naps too, but my brain won’t slow down long enough to let me relax.

So this is where I’ve found myself this afternoon – on my couch with my computer, coffee, and a cookie (mamma’s got to get some endorphins from somewhere) willing that my youngest does not awake from his afternoon nap too early.

I’ve had experience with these emotions before. They are nothing new. I’ve heard that word – failure – it’s all too familiar.

I’ve come to see this for what it is – a lie.
And I’ve come to see this for what it is – the truth.

The Lie

Let me explain. The truth of the matter is that my kids are alive. They are well fed. They are hearing the word of God on a regular basis. They are getting hugs and kisses, and for the most part, plenty of sleep. The oldest is learning to read and do his addition. My house is not a pig sty. Most days we have clean clothes to wear – and I get a shower at least once a week! All of this signifies that I’m not “failing” on a routine basis.

That’s why this is a lie! there’s only one who wants me to feel a failure in this way (my enemy). Why? Because he wants me to give up. He doesn’t like the potential of what it could look like for parents to raise four boys for the glory of their Creator. That scares him. So if he can just get me to get discouraged and think it’s not worth it or that I cannot do it, I may just give up and decrease the potential of the amazing impact my boys could have on the world around them. (Do not lose heart in doing good – for in due time, you will receive a reward if you do not give up!)

The Truth

The truth of the matter is that this word. This “failure” is in fact very true. I have yet to meet a woman who can do it all – the perfect house, the perfect kids (especially when there is more than one), the perfect decisions to please everyone around her, the perfect body, etc. And I am no exception to the rule. 

That's why this is the truth! There’s only One who wants me to feel a failure in this way (my Savior). Why? Because until I can admit my inadequacies, I cannot accept His all sufficiency. Because until I can admit my weakness, I cannot grasp His Strength. Because until I can confess my foolishness, I cannot understand His wisdom. (For the foolishness of God is wiser than man’s wisdom, and the weakness of God is stronger than man’s strength).

It’s only when I realize my failings that I can begin to trust God’s sovereignty. It’s only when I come to Him with empty hands that He can fill them. His grace is sufficient. His strength is made perfect in my weakness – so it is, when I am weak, I am strong.

I, myself, am a failure. I cannot do it. But Christ in me is more than enough – and when I live out of that truth, I see that He will do exceedingly more than I could ask or think. For my God is enough. His presence in me is enough. And he makes my failures into more than enough to be used for His glory!

Edit March 2020: 

The original post was created five years ago. In all honesty, it hasn't gotten easier - just different. We've added two boys, moved to a smaller house, weathered a mental health crisis, and now we sit in self-quarantine during the middle of the COVID-19 pandemic. Life is hard, and perhaps it always will be. But through it all, I have discovered that my pursuit of truth and the glory of God is crucial in maintaining proper perspective. 

None of us are enough for this job of mothering (and many who have just been thrust into full time stay-at-home-home-school-mom status due to this crisis may feel beyond overwhelmed!) I see you. I care! If you can find even a moment today (put on a virtual field trip for the kids or send them to the backyard to run around) to breathe, take it. Find a spot of beauty (a house plant, a warm shower, a photo album, some music). Take a minute to just be. Realize that Christ is here - even in the midst of this chaos. He is still in control. His strength is still enough. 

He's got this, Mamma! He's got you! And you've got this in His strength! Take your next step with Him today, and trust Him for the one after that. Grace and Peace!

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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