Recalculating

I was given the gift of perspective this week. My sister took all four of my middle children while my two oldest were at camp, leaving me with just the baby. 

While they were gone, I was able to relax a bit and spend some extra time with my husband. I was also able to have uninterrupted thoughts, a luxury I forgot existed. While I was thinking, I realized some things. One is that I don't often pray for my kids beyond the customary, "Bless and protect them. Give them a good day," type prayers.

In neglecting that little nugget of necessity, I have let my standards slip and the vision fade. I was accepting mediocrity in my parenting and in their character. After all, they're just normal kids.

• Surely that tween show isn't too bad.
• Hanging out at the mall won't hurt them; all the kids do.
• I know we said no overnights, but we do trust that family.
• It's normal for teens to roll their eyes and slam doors.
• He should be disciplined for calling me names, but he's acting sweet now.

When I'm in the middle of the chaos and the mess, it's so easy to miss the big picture. I'm mostly concerned with the moment and  forget about the future. It becomes a battle between what's easiest and what's best. Easiest wins.

With perspective came the realization about not praying, which led to much praying, which led to more perspective, which led to gratitude.

I am so grateful that, when I venture off course, one prayer for help and I can almost hear God say, "Recalculating," before he helps me back on track. Sometimes, it takes awhile to find my way back, with added u-turns and curves, and sometimes, it's almost like He picks me up and sets me right where I left off.

I'm not sure what kind of redirection I'm currently experiencing. They've only been home a few hours and I've already veered off course a few times. I'm just trying to keep my eyes on Jesus and trust Him with the journey while committing to pray, daily, for the precious gifts He has given me.

Measuring Sticks and Rose-colored glasses

Lately, I've been feeling like I don't measure up. I saw an athletic mom running into the grocery store yesterday, and cringed because I'm so out of shape. I looked at a fellow homeschooling mom's pictures on Facebook, and felt small because of my tendency to never upload the pics in my camera (if I even have any). Talked to a friend, and was reminded that she really delights in her children, and I barely tolerate mine, at times. Another homeschooling mom's children entertained with beautiful music at our church variety show and only one of mine took piano lessons...and I never made her practice. 

I have friends who have cleaner houses (by far), more patience, stronger faith, "bigger" ministries, holier kids, and infinitely better organizational skills. I keep falling short. 

It's not just about comparing myself to others. I compare myself to the me I want to be, as well. I compare my realities to my intentions. I want to be more focused, more caring, more capable, more godly, just...more. I fall short. I don't measure up.

And then He gently reminds me. He doesn't have a measuring stick. Doesn't need one to see that we all fall short of His glory. He doesn't measure the increments to see how short or who's falling shortest. None of us measure up. It's the human condition.

He doesn't view my life with a measuring stick. 

Because I've accepted Jesus, He sees me through rose-colored glasses; through the filter of the blood of His Son. I don't have to measure up; He bridged the distance. When I view my life through His lens, I have peace. I experience joy. I can come to Him, I do come to Him, and lay all the failings and unmet expectations at His feet. I find rest for my soul and my strivings cease. 

It is a burden to try and measure up. With my nose to the grindstone, I so rarely take time to see Him...to enjoy His presence. My life, once again, becomes about doing, instead of being. 

 

"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. " Matt. 11:28

 

Mother's Day Musings

I am intimidated by Mother's Day. The cards all wax eloquent thanking me for being so selfless and giving; for putting aside my own desires to focus on the wants of my kids; for being patient and kind; even for having gentle hands that nurture.

Bologna.

That's just really not me. I am often selfish and needy, impatient and rude, rough and crass. I feel like a fraud when I accept the humble offerings of my kids on this day.

I am human and imperfect. My children know this about me and I am sure that picking out the perfect Mother's Day card is difficult for them. I imagine them standing in the aisle rejecting card after card, until they finally find a safe, funny one.

I hate that the holiday objectifies motherhood until it is something  angelic and saintly like halos and gold dust. I know few women who can live up to that.

It portrays the "good" mothers are those who can read the same favorite bedtime stories for hours on end, instead of hiding the annoying books and leaving out only the short ones....that rhyme. They can create gourmet meals on a shoe string budget, instead of serving frozen pizza for the 3rd time this week. There is no way they have a hidden chocolate stash, but if they did and it was found, they'd be sure to share, instead of lunging for it and yelling, "MINE!"

The truth is I love my kids. I clean up their bodily fluids because it needs to be done, not because I am saint-like. I delight in them because they're, well, delightful. I try to do what's best for them and can agonize for weeks over the simplest decision. 

I'm just a mom. I feel like I am failing much more often than succeeding. I notice all the the things I'm not doing, over all I am. I worry that I'm not disciplining enough, enjoying them enough, teaching them enough, loving them enough...that I'm not enough.

Instead of thanking me for what I have done, Mother's Day - with it's sappy cards, commercials, and sermons - just spotlights for me the areas I'm lacking.  Next year, I'm going to unplug from all the media pressure and enjoy my family as they celebrate imperfect me.

Parenting

I can’t shake the feeling that perhaps I don’t have the kingdom view necessary to undertake this huge job of parenting. Maybe we’re not really living it, kwim? I feel completely ill-equipped for this overwhelming role and think I’m sinking instead of swimming. While I agree that there can be no formula for raising perfect kids, is it wrong to wish there were? 

 

I recently read an article that talks about success in parenting. Basically, that we are successful in our obedience, not necessarily in the outcome. That is encouraging to me. I fall on my face before the Father and beg for wisdom, only to find I need to do the same the next day and the next. The task is daunting. I have one moment that I absolutely know I did the right thing … for every 100 moments of uncertainty.

When will I know for sure it’s "worked"? When my child can sits still in a church service at the age of 2? When my 1st grader obeys my every wish without explanation? When my teen dresses modestly of her own accord? When my 25 yo shares his very first kiss with his new bride? Are these even the goals?

I suppose none of us will ever know of our parenting "success" until we stand before the Father and hear his assessment.


The problem is that our children are human and subject to the very whims and temptations that we are. And, just like us, many may look good on the outside but only God knows the heart.  Any spiritual growth can only come from the work of the Holy Spirit.  We can point our children in the right direction, but we can’t mature them.  Only God can do that.  While this is frightening in some ways (we can’t ensure the outcome) it is also incredibly freeing.  We will be held accountable only for our obedience, not for the choices our children make.

Stupid Birds

"Stupid birds!"

That is the crux of my problem, I realized this morning.


It's been winter here, in central Indiana, for far too long. The weeks were cold, the snow was colder, and the days were far too short. I was miserable, and everybody knew it. "I hate winter. Why do we still live in Indiana? Will it ever be spring, again?" was a frequent mantra. 

As is typical in Indiana, we had some warm, teaser days, and then temperatures plummeted once again. Yesterday, however was warm. The trees are flowering, the grass is green and will need mowed soon. We opened the windows wide to let in the fresh air.

We walked, played, and laughed in the sun, so excited that spring had arrived, at last.

Then, this morning, right before dawn, I heard them. The birds. They were making a racket with their mating calls and chatter. 

"Stupid birds!" I muttered as I rolled over with the pillow over my head to block the noise.

Wow. My negativity is killing me. Maybe literally, given all my recent health issues, but certainly, it is killing my spirit. Give me any silver lining and I am sure to show you the cloud.  Even while noticing the beauty of our flowering trees yesterday, I was quick to point out the stench they put off. Complain, complain, complain. 

I can't even stand to be around me, I'm so critical and negative. I'm glad the Holy Spirit pointed this out to me. This is not who I want to be. Mine is not a life that glorifies God if I take everything He's given me and add a negative spin.

Scripture tells me to give thanks in every situation, to be content in whatever state I'm in, and to do all things without complaining. Somewhere, I lost these virtues along the way and allowed the sin of ingratitude to poison my soul. Now it's time to wash myself with the Word and renew my mind...and enjoy the birds.

Tanking

Discouragement is nipping at my heels. Anxiety is wrapped around my ankles. When I close my eyes, I see myself sliding into a sink hole. To say I'm stressed would be quite an understatement. 

Grace and works are warring again in my mind. I get that I don't have to "do" anything to earn my salvation and to receive favor from God. And, yet, there is just much that needs doing. I am always behind. It's hard to remember that you are justified in Christ when He's not the one clamoring for dinner, or demanding payment on money owed, or scrutinizing your dirty house.


I've heard many times that "God is the only one you need to please". Except, that's not really true, is it? We all have responsibilities. When I was a child, I needed to please my parents. In college, I needed to please my professors. As a wife, I need to please my husband. As an adult, I need to please the IRS, my employers, the therapists who treat my son, the other moms in my homeschool group, church leadership, and on and on it goes.

So how exactly does this grace thing work in all of this?

The reality is that even if I did none of the things I am responsible for doing, God is pleased with me. I know this because when I was still a sinner, He died for me. Before He was even on my radar, He was wooing me to Himself. All the rest are waiting to judge me when I fall short, and God? Well He comes up beside me and makes up the difference.

I am okay, as is. 

There is much about me that needs redemption and yet, He only sees me as already redeemed. That is the mystery of the gospel that Paul referred to. It's a mystery because we cannot fully grasp just how for us God already is. We keep trying to perform, to do, to be good enough to win His approval and we have little concept that we already have it.

The other piece of the mystery is that once I get that He is pleased with me, I want to please Him. Not in a way that is self-serving, like, "Gee, I hope He likes me"; but instead, in a way that wants Him to be blessed.

So I will meet my responsibilities to my husband, the IRS, my employers, early intervention therapists, our homeschool group, our church leadership team, etc, because that's what God, who loves me whether I do or not, has called me to do. 

I think He'll be pleased.

Legalism

I’m beginning to think that legalism is the root of all kinds of evil. We often think we are impervious to it, but clearly we are not. It infiltrates our subconscious and colors the lens through which we view others and ourselves. It causes us to act in ways which are inconsistent with our beliefs and contradictory to our hearts. It places a price tag on that which is free and keeps us from ever walking in victory.

More lethally, it keeps others from having a relationship with Jesus. Other people latch onto our particular brand of legalism, and follow along, looking the part. But, in a moment where true relationship would keep them from disaster, the rules of legalism just force them underground.

Meet Julie, a married mom of a 3 1/2 year-old daughter. She comes from "a religious family" (her words). After struggles with both primary and secondary infertility, she finds herself pregnant with a much wanted little boy. Unfortunately, Julie discovered from amniocentesis that her son is sporting an extra chromosome. Down syndrome was not part of the plan and she is terrified. She also admits that she is very, very angry at God for playing "this cruel joke" on her.

Julie wants an abortion. But, she is struggling with that decision because of her "religious family." The only person that she has shared her son’s diagnosis with is her sister, who is championing that Julie and her husband will do a great job raising a child with Ds. Julie has not shared with her the desire/plan to terminate, because she is worried that her sister will "think less of her."

I can’t help but wonder. If Julie’s family were less religion and more relationship, would that make a difference in this situation? If she were not worried about judgment from them for breaking the rules, would she be able to share her heart and be heard? Would the love and support of her family change the outcome for both Julie and her baby? Would she have already come to a saving knowledge of Jesus Christ?

If she had relationship with Jesus, instead of a desire to keep up appearances, she would already be convinced that, because God loves her and her son, He must have a plan for her precious baby’s life that includes his extra genetic material. She would know that he is being knit together in secret for a purpose, and that he is being created in the image of her God. Termination might have been her gut reaction to the mind-numbing fear, but it would have garnered no serious consideration.

What about the rest of us? Are we living according to some moral code that applies to other people’s situations? Do we know that abortion is wrong because it just is…and because we would never find ourselves in a situation where we would be tempted? Or do we know it’s wrong because of a gut-wrenching knowledge of the Father’s heart? Can we be real with the Julies of this world and say, "I know your fear. I’ve had it, too. I, too, just wanted to make it go away," and then encourage them that God knows, and that only He can bring them peace?

Or do we shake our heads and click our tongues and declare, "I could never do that to my baby," knowing that it is unlikely that we would ever find ourselves in that situation.

It is easy for me to sit on this side of it and judge. Today I find myself judging the unknown "you" that are steeped in legalism, reacting only to the intent and not responding to the heart. Tomorrow, in my frustration, I will judge the sinner, too. I will be so frustrated and feel so helpless that I could not make her see the truth, when the truth is not mine to reveal. I will feel holier than thou because I’m living this life, and she chose to throw it away.

How is that different? Unfortunately, it’s not. If I had a living, breathing Julie in my life, I would hold her hand and let her cry. I would listen as she processed. I would validate her feelings and pray with her. I would lovingly share truth with her and pour everything I had into her. And then if, in her fear she chose wrongly, I would walk away in disgust and horror.

When will my eyes be Yours, Lord? When will I hear with Your ears? How long must I live this selfish life? Why does it always come back to my foolish pride? I pray for grace, dear Lord. Grace to love my brand of unlovables. I pray for grace to own the mercy you have so freely given me, so that I can freely give it. Change my heart of stone.

(I wrote this post in October of 2009. I don't know what Julie chose to do, but since she broke contact with me, I think I can safely guess that she chose to abort her precious son. Given the new, non-invasive blood test for Down syndrome diagnosis in pregnancies that will be here in the US within the year, the likelihood of many more stories like Julie's is great. Do we have what it takes to love them all?)