I'm gonna give it to you straight here. I don't have my shit together. Right now there are dishes in the sink, laundry molding in the washer, soap scum in my shower. I have thank you's that have not been written. I have 4 day old mascara on. I have no idea what I am going to feed my daughter for dinner. And this is on a GOOD day. Some days, it feels like a trip to the nut factory is just a breath away. Sometimes, truth be told, a stay in the looney bin seems like it might be a nice vacation.
I AM NOT PERFECT. Despite how I try to appear to be. Despite my efforts to seem totally with it, I am not. Oh, I may have my makeup and jewelry on. My clothing may not be stained. My kids may be clean. But I am in a constant head space of "Why can't I do it all???!!!"
Because nobody can, that's why.
I find myself fighting at all times to do the things that need to be done. To clean the house, to constantly keep my daughter entertained. To keep my son stimulated so he doesn't turn into a blob. To keep up my realtionship with my husband so he doesn't find somebody cuter, funnier...or somebody who doesn't smell like baby lotion because she ran out of Victorias Secret lotion over a month ago.
Cause that's what we are supposed to be right? We are supposed to be bombshells in our aprons and heels. We are supposed to be the soccer mom, the PTA mom, the mom who makes the best cookies and never raises her voice. The hot mom who seduces her husband often and with great creativity.
We are supposed to love staying home, to not find it tedious. We are not supposed to long for adult conversation or a martini or a hot meal. We are supposed to sacrifice. We are supposed to give all.
But let me ask you something. If you give all to everyone else...what's left? And if you deplete yourself...who takes care of everyone else when you tank? Vicious cycle.
We aren't supposed to be honest about the loneliness. We aren't suppposed to talk about how caring for children can be sort of like an abusive realtionship- put all of your love and care into someone who is not invested in giving anything back to you. We aren't supposed to say "IF I HEAR BARNEY ONE MORE TIME I AM GONNA FIND HIS PURPLE ASS AND MAKE HIM DISAPPEAR!!!!" or "Dude, I have had people hanging off of me all day. Please don't touch me." or " I want to run away."
We are supposed to be perfect, all sacrificing martyrs.
Screw that.
I have worked since I was 13. I spent 16 years taking care of other peoples children. I worked hard...very hard. AND THIS IS HARDER BY FAR.
I am responsible for getting 2 little people into adulthood without any psychosis or permanent injuries. I have to be 2 steps ahead at all times. In see the accidents waiting to happen, the creepy guy at the park. I see the unlocked medicine cabinet and the unhelmeted head. I weigh safety at all times. I am constantly on the lookout for death.
IT IS HARD. AND IT IS 24/7. AND IT IS EFFING THANKLESS.
Perfection is not possible. And striving for it is an exercise in futility.
So I say the new perfection is this- if I make it thru the day and nobody is bleeding, if everyone is fed and has had at least one veggie and fruit, if there were hugs and kisses and I love yous, it is imperfectly perfect.
I may be the mother at the park yelling at her kid, I may prop my sons cereal bottle just to get five minutes to do laundry, I may feign sleep to get out of sex...but I am doing the best I can.
And I bet you are too. So let's rebel agaist this idea of perfection together, shall we? I'll be the one at the park giving my daughter easter Peeps and gatorade for a snack because I forgot to pack a healthy one. You will be the one with spitup on your shirt and peaches in your hair.
And neither one of us will be ashamed.
Meet ya there. :)
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Friday, April 2, 2010
Pieta
Holy week this year has been very different than any other year for me. I have been thinking alot about Christ and the path he took. How each day of Holy Week has such different meaning, and the whole of the week holds the entire scope of the human experience.
Obviously, Good Friday is by far the most physical suffering Jesus endured. But can you imagine how he felt, just the night before, breaking bread with his apostles and knowing he would be betrayed? Or, and my eyes always fill with tears at the image...of Christ kneeling to pray in the garden of Gethsemane and turning to find his apostles had fallen asleep when he asked them to stay awake and pray? The deep ache and loneliness, the despair as he cried out to God and asked to be spared. Scripture says an angel came to comfort him, as he sweated great tears of blood.
Can you imagine?
He came to be fully human and walk this earth as we do. He was, at the same time, fully divine. A mystery our human minds cannot encompass. But he experience the very depth of despair we can. He felt it all...he was betrayed, left alone, mocked, belittled... anything and everything we can go through. He felt it all.
This is the beauty of Christianity. We love a God who knows, intimately, every aspect of our lives. He has felt it all, experienced it all. He knows our struggles and forgives our iniquities. He accepts us back when we fall. He gave himself to the world, knowing he would have to be sacrificed. He sat in the garden, alone, praying to God. He asked to be spared, but also said "Thy will be done."
And then, then he was betrayed, arrested, and walked calvary. Was mocked and beaten. Spit upon. He carried his cross, he was crucified. He was raised among thieves, to die like a criminal.
And even then, he was Jesus. Even then he was gentle. He was already fulfilling the prophesy as he was in agony of death. When asked by the man next to him to remember him, he said, "Today you will be with me in Paradise". Already, he was becoming the bridge between God and man. In his own human agony, he was saving humanity. As the blood that saved the world was being shed, he was already saving. He asked his Father in heaven to forgive.
And then, he died. The temple curtain was torn, the world plunged into darkness. The centurions at the foot of the cross declared that he must be the son of God. The dead rose from their tombs.
And they took him down. The wrapped him and gave him to his mother. This image is what haunts me. His mother, who birthed him, who nursed him and loved him, who followed him every step of calvary...she was given his body. She knew who he was. She knew he was the son of God. But the agony of holding her dead son, her baby...takes me breath away. She had watched him suffer. She had watched him walk with a crown of thorns. And as she did, she must have been picturing his small hand in hers. She must have been remembering him teaching in the temple. She must have thought of the first moment she looked into his eyes. And she had watched him die.
We have seen many images of Christ being held by his mother after he was taken from the cross. But for me, the most beautiful, the most realistic depiction is Michelangelo's Pieta.
The first time I saw it, I didn't understand. This is her child, and she is not even holding him close. But now, as a mother, I see it differently. The horror of the moment, even though it was prophesied, even though she knew it was his destiny, it overcame her. She cannot even touch him, she cannot cradle him close. She can only reach one hand in supplication to God as she looks down at him. She cannot even look at his face, her suffering is so great. Michelangelo had great insight into the human mind. He depicted something so horrific and sad in such beauty.
So this is Good Friday. A day we mourn the suffering of our Savior, but also a day we look forward to what we know is coming- his resurrection. His glory. On this day, we were saved.
Obviously, Good Friday is by far the most physical suffering Jesus endured. But can you imagine how he felt, just the night before, breaking bread with his apostles and knowing he would be betrayed? Or, and my eyes always fill with tears at the image...of Christ kneeling to pray in the garden of Gethsemane and turning to find his apostles had fallen asleep when he asked them to stay awake and pray? The deep ache and loneliness, the despair as he cried out to God and asked to be spared. Scripture says an angel came to comfort him, as he sweated great tears of blood.
Can you imagine?
He came to be fully human and walk this earth as we do. He was, at the same time, fully divine. A mystery our human minds cannot encompass. But he experience the very depth of despair we can. He felt it all...he was betrayed, left alone, mocked, belittled... anything and everything we can go through. He felt it all.
This is the beauty of Christianity. We love a God who knows, intimately, every aspect of our lives. He has felt it all, experienced it all. He knows our struggles and forgives our iniquities. He accepts us back when we fall. He gave himself to the world, knowing he would have to be sacrificed. He sat in the garden, alone, praying to God. He asked to be spared, but also said "Thy will be done."
And then, then he was betrayed, arrested, and walked calvary. Was mocked and beaten. Spit upon. He carried his cross, he was crucified. He was raised among thieves, to die like a criminal.
And even then, he was Jesus. Even then he was gentle. He was already fulfilling the prophesy as he was in agony of death. When asked by the man next to him to remember him, he said, "Today you will be with me in Paradise". Already, he was becoming the bridge between God and man. In his own human agony, he was saving humanity. As the blood that saved the world was being shed, he was already saving. He asked his Father in heaven to forgive.
And then, he died. The temple curtain was torn, the world plunged into darkness. The centurions at the foot of the cross declared that he must be the son of God. The dead rose from their tombs.
And they took him down. The wrapped him and gave him to his mother. This image is what haunts me. His mother, who birthed him, who nursed him and loved him, who followed him every step of calvary...she was given his body. She knew who he was. She knew he was the son of God. But the agony of holding her dead son, her baby...takes me breath away. She had watched him suffer. She had watched him walk with a crown of thorns. And as she did, she must have been picturing his small hand in hers. She must have been remembering him teaching in the temple. She must have thought of the first moment she looked into his eyes. And she had watched him die.
We have seen many images of Christ being held by his mother after he was taken from the cross. But for me, the most beautiful, the most realistic depiction is Michelangelo's Pieta.
The first time I saw it, I didn't understand. This is her child, and she is not even holding him close. But now, as a mother, I see it differently. The horror of the moment, even though it was prophesied, even though she knew it was his destiny, it overcame her. She cannot even touch him, she cannot cradle him close. She can only reach one hand in supplication to God as she looks down at him. She cannot even look at his face, her suffering is so great. Michelangelo had great insight into the human mind. He depicted something so horrific and sad in such beauty.
So this is Good Friday. A day we mourn the suffering of our Savior, but also a day we look forward to what we know is coming- his resurrection. His glory. On this day, we were saved.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Lily
Dear Lily,
I am struggling to explain the world to you right now. I am trying my best to show you life as it is, not sugar coated, not overly coddled. I want you to know that there is safety in our home. There is trust, there is love, and there is knowledge that you will never be hurt.
But the world is cruel sometimes, and already you are getting a taste of that. Yesterday at the park, a big boy pushed past you to get to the slide. You looked at me immediately with bewilderment. I smiled. You smiled back, tentatively, and went on your way. But at that moment, I felt my heart drop.
You didn't defend yourself. Instead, you looked to me. And maybe, at your age, that is appropriate. But it fills me with fear for the day that I may not be there when you look for me. I want you to stand up for yourself, to be strong. I want you to be a tough little girl who doesn't get bullied or pushed around.
But how can I teach you this without you losing your gentle and loving spirit? The spirit that causes you to tell everyone that you love them, to kiss and hug your friends over and over? Hoe can I teach you the balance between tough and tender?
I want you to view this world in a way that keeps you safe and sane. To make your way without stumbling. I want to protect you, but at the same time, I want you to fly on your own.
You have the dearest heart, my love. You are kind. You are so loving. You are so gentle. And you teach me, everyday, that life in the moment is what matters. You teach me that love saves. You teach me that family is everything.
So I cannot promise you the world will never be cruel to you. I cannot say you will never be pushed, or hurt. I can't tell you that sometimes you won't feel sad or troubled. Life is difficult.
But I can promise you one thing, baby girl. I will always be here. When you are sad, come to me. When the world has hurt you, let me comfort you. When nobody is on your side, I will be your cheerleader. When you are rejected, I will open my arms to you and show you shelter. I will cry with you, I will celebrate your victories. I will be the one who steps forward when nobody else does, or the one who steps back to let you shine.
I love you, and I love your good heart. I am proud you are beautiful, and proud you are smart. But I am most proud, my dear sweet love, that you are good and kind. I pray I can help you keep those qualities, even when the big boys of this world push you aside.
Love,
Mama
I am struggling to explain the world to you right now. I am trying my best to show you life as it is, not sugar coated, not overly coddled. I want you to know that there is safety in our home. There is trust, there is love, and there is knowledge that you will never be hurt.
But the world is cruel sometimes, and already you are getting a taste of that. Yesterday at the park, a big boy pushed past you to get to the slide. You looked at me immediately with bewilderment. I smiled. You smiled back, tentatively, and went on your way. But at that moment, I felt my heart drop.
You didn't defend yourself. Instead, you looked to me. And maybe, at your age, that is appropriate. But it fills me with fear for the day that I may not be there when you look for me. I want you to stand up for yourself, to be strong. I want you to be a tough little girl who doesn't get bullied or pushed around.
But how can I teach you this without you losing your gentle and loving spirit? The spirit that causes you to tell everyone that you love them, to kiss and hug your friends over and over? Hoe can I teach you the balance between tough and tender?
I want you to view this world in a way that keeps you safe and sane. To make your way without stumbling. I want to protect you, but at the same time, I want you to fly on your own.
You have the dearest heart, my love. You are kind. You are so loving. You are so gentle. And you teach me, everyday, that life in the moment is what matters. You teach me that love saves. You teach me that family is everything.
So I cannot promise you the world will never be cruel to you. I cannot say you will never be pushed, or hurt. I can't tell you that sometimes you won't feel sad or troubled. Life is difficult.
But I can promise you one thing, baby girl. I will always be here. When you are sad, come to me. When the world has hurt you, let me comfort you. When nobody is on your side, I will be your cheerleader. When you are rejected, I will open my arms to you and show you shelter. I will cry with you, I will celebrate your victories. I will be the one who steps forward when nobody else does, or the one who steps back to let you shine.
I love you, and I love your good heart. I am proud you are beautiful, and proud you are smart. But I am most proud, my dear sweet love, that you are good and kind. I pray I can help you keep those qualities, even when the big boys of this world push you aside.
Love,
Mama
Monday, March 22, 2010
Motherhood
Motherhood is a layering of miracles, a swath of experiences so profound that they cannot be explained. Words cannot be ascribed to something so primal, so deep. Very few things in this life penetrate all layers of self- physical, spiritual, mental- like being a mother.
Motherhood is a great equalizer. Sit in a room full of other mothers and all of the extraneous baggage falls away. It is no longer about what car you drive, how big your house is, who you were before birth, your job, your husband. It becomes about your little people, about you as a mother. Nothing else takes precedence over that.
I will never be able to articulate what motherhood is to me. It is beyond words, this feeling. This love that knows no bounds. This sacrificing of self. It is love and beyond love. It is devotion and a laying down of everything that is about me, and becoming what is about them.
Some people would argue with me. Some would say you must fight to keep your sense of self. But for me, personally, my sense of self is all wrapped up in my ability to mother successfully. If that is wrong, then it is wrong. If I am doing myself a disservice, fine. I'll deal with that later. For right now, this is all I know how to be. A mother, first. All else second.
I count myself so very lucky. I know what the other side looks like. I know the darkness and twisted path that motherhood can take. I have seen the blood, I have felt the blows. I know where I do not want to set my feet. I know there is no force on earth that could take me there- none.
And so my days are filled with doing for others- with rocking and singing and playing and consoling. My life is full and busy. My world is my family and my home. And in it, I see holiness. I see God in every action. I see this house and this life as a shelter from the rest of the world- and I am determined it should always be so.
So I will continue to see the holy things in the mundane. I will see the cross in the clothespin, the parable in the chaos. I will love, and be loved. I will give even without getting back. I will sacrifice all that I am for all these two little people will be.
And through it all I will know that I am healing all of the brokenness in myself. I am sealing the wounds. I am staunching the bleeding that the past has created. There is nothing in this world that can heal me like motherhood. Nothing that can bring me more peace, or more fulfillment. As the years go on I will watch the past fade and soon, very soon, I will think of it not with anger or sadness...but with the resignation that comes with total forgiveness.
Motherhood is a great equalizer. Sit in a room full of other mothers and all of the extraneous baggage falls away. It is no longer about what car you drive, how big your house is, who you were before birth, your job, your husband. It becomes about your little people, about you as a mother. Nothing else takes precedence over that.
I will never be able to articulate what motherhood is to me. It is beyond words, this feeling. This love that knows no bounds. This sacrificing of self. It is love and beyond love. It is devotion and a laying down of everything that is about me, and becoming what is about them.
Some people would argue with me. Some would say you must fight to keep your sense of self. But for me, personally, my sense of self is all wrapped up in my ability to mother successfully. If that is wrong, then it is wrong. If I am doing myself a disservice, fine. I'll deal with that later. For right now, this is all I know how to be. A mother, first. All else second.
I count myself so very lucky. I know what the other side looks like. I know the darkness and twisted path that motherhood can take. I have seen the blood, I have felt the blows. I know where I do not want to set my feet. I know there is no force on earth that could take me there- none.
And so my days are filled with doing for others- with rocking and singing and playing and consoling. My life is full and busy. My world is my family and my home. And in it, I see holiness. I see God in every action. I see this house and this life as a shelter from the rest of the world- and I am determined it should always be so.
So I will continue to see the holy things in the mundane. I will see the cross in the clothespin, the parable in the chaos. I will love, and be loved. I will give even without getting back. I will sacrifice all that I am for all these two little people will be.
And through it all I will know that I am healing all of the brokenness in myself. I am sealing the wounds. I am staunching the bleeding that the past has created. There is nothing in this world that can heal me like motherhood. Nothing that can bring me more peace, or more fulfillment. As the years go on I will watch the past fade and soon, very soon, I will think of it not with anger or sadness...but with the resignation that comes with total forgiveness.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Well, hello there...
Anybody miss me?
No?
Errrr okay. Awkward....
Anywho, I have bee on a sort of unplanned blog haitus. Which means, in truth, I have been held hostage by this little monkey:
But all in all he has been a humane captor. With the exception of taking me from this ( . )( . ) to this ( o ) ( o ). Which would be great if they also didn't nearly touch the floor. Sheesh.
Anywho, let's catch up. I had a baby about 2 months ago. Ummmm....and that's about it.
We are all adjusting much better. You want proof- get a load of my new header photo. And there's also this-
See?
I'd show you a current pic of me, but let's wait until the bags under my eyes and the spit up on my shirt is remedied shall we? Mmmmmkay.
Things are going well most days. We have our moments, but I can say that we are adjusting to life as a family of four. The hardest part for me is just the intense amount of preparation it takes just to get out of the house. Nurse, change diaper, put toddler on potty, pack diaper bag, nurse, put toddler on potty, change my shirt, make grocery list, nurse, burp, deal with a meltdown, etc. By the time we do all that, most days it's 11 AM, and I am too pissed off and tired to even actually leave.
But all of that pales and fades away when I look at my two babies. I am utterly in love with them. Totally head over heels.
And even more, I know I was born to this. I am a good mother. I am strong and kind and I love them and sacrifice for them. I am what I was born to be, in this very moment I am living God's plan for my life- to raise these two special creatures. It is a privledge and a joy and I am honored.
I think alot these days about how far I have come. How life can change and meld into something you could never have expected. How the eternal things ecome so much more important as the years go on. Family is everything, love is paramount. Everything else is just icing.
And love- well we have that in abundance around here these days. Love, grace, laughter, joy...all of these things surround us.
I wish you the same.
No?
Errrr okay. Awkward....
Anywho, I have bee on a sort of unplanned blog haitus. Which means, in truth, I have been held hostage by this little monkey:
But all in all he has been a humane captor. With the exception of taking me from this ( . )( . ) to this ( o ) ( o ). Which would be great if they also didn't nearly touch the floor. Sheesh.
Anywho, let's catch up. I had a baby about 2 months ago. Ummmm....and that's about it.
We are all adjusting much better. You want proof- get a load of my new header photo. And there's also this-
See?
I'd show you a current pic of me, but let's wait until the bags under my eyes and the spit up on my shirt is remedied shall we? Mmmmmkay.
Things are going well most days. We have our moments, but I can say that we are adjusting to life as a family of four. The hardest part for me is just the intense amount of preparation it takes just to get out of the house. Nurse, change diaper, put toddler on potty, pack diaper bag, nurse, put toddler on potty, change my shirt, make grocery list, nurse, burp, deal with a meltdown, etc. By the time we do all that, most days it's 11 AM, and I am too pissed off and tired to even actually leave.
But all of that pales and fades away when I look at my two babies. I am utterly in love with them. Totally head over heels.
And even more, I know I was born to this. I am a good mother. I am strong and kind and I love them and sacrifice for them. I am what I was born to be, in this very moment I am living God's plan for my life- to raise these two special creatures. It is a privledge and a joy and I am honored.
I think alot these days about how far I have come. How life can change and meld into something you could never have expected. How the eternal things ecome so much more important as the years go on. Family is everything, love is paramount. Everything else is just icing.
And love- well we have that in abundance around here these days. Love, grace, laughter, joy...all of these things surround us.
I wish you the same.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Babies don't keep
I am struck with gratitude this morning. I am tired, I am worn out, and I am grateful. I get to hold my sweet babies. I get to watch my babies grow. I get to see Lily ride her bike, and watch Samuel nurse and begin to smile.
Some other parents are right now letting go of their children, giving them up to heaven. They are holding their child's hand, whispering words, sitting silent. They are crying, weeping. They are praying. I cannot imagine.
So many times I get caught up in the stress of my day. I look past the sweet moments and see the piles of laundry. I miss the chance to hug, kiss, cuddle...because I am too busy. I am not in the moment as often as I should be. I am, instead, making lists in my head of what I should be doing.
Truth be told, what I should be doing is loving my babies. I should be taking every opportunity to kiss and cuddle and read books and play play-dough and talk and laugh. I should stop getting caught up in what is not getting done, and focus on what I CAN do, right now, in this moment.
I found a blog yesterday. It is heartbreaking and beautiful. It made me think. It made me cry. And most of all, it made me make the decision to be in the moment, right now, with my children.
Dust can wait. Laundry can pile up. E-mail can go unanswered. One day my children will not want to spend time with me. They will not want to be picked up or read to. They will want me to fade into the background.
So today, I will not rush. I will not spend each moment of a feeding with Samuel thinking about what I could be getting done. I will not rush through a book with Lily so I can return a phone call. I will love, and pay attention, and give, and let the mundane details of life wait.
Hug your babies today. Love them, and SEE them. Do it for those parents who cannot.
Fly high, sweet baby Layla.
http://laylagrace.org/?p=392
Some other parents are right now letting go of their children, giving them up to heaven. They are holding their child's hand, whispering words, sitting silent. They are crying, weeping. They are praying. I cannot imagine.
So many times I get caught up in the stress of my day. I look past the sweet moments and see the piles of laundry. I miss the chance to hug, kiss, cuddle...because I am too busy. I am not in the moment as often as I should be. I am, instead, making lists in my head of what I should be doing.
Truth be told, what I should be doing is loving my babies. I should be taking every opportunity to kiss and cuddle and read books and play play-dough and talk and laugh. I should stop getting caught up in what is not getting done, and focus on what I CAN do, right now, in this moment.
I found a blog yesterday. It is heartbreaking and beautiful. It made me think. It made me cry. And most of all, it made me make the decision to be in the moment, right now, with my children.
Dust can wait. Laundry can pile up. E-mail can go unanswered. One day my children will not want to spend time with me. They will not want to be picked up or read to. They will want me to fade into the background.
So today, I will not rush. I will not spend each moment of a feeding with Samuel thinking about what I could be getting done. I will not rush through a book with Lily so I can return a phone call. I will love, and pay attention, and give, and let the mundane details of life wait.
Hug your babies today. Love them, and SEE them. Do it for those parents who cannot.
Fly high, sweet baby Layla.
http://laylagrace.org/?p=392
The walk
Lots to say. Lots of thoughts and feelings to convey. But the words are a bit lost, buried beneath the busy-ness. Thoughts get swept away with the crumbs of lunch, deep meaningful conversations are given up to sleep. We are living life in the moment here, in our little house. We are getting through it all second by second.
It occured to me that I hadn't spoken to God in nearly a week. All of my words and thoughts and time go to my two little people. There is not much left for anyone else, and God has gotten lost in the shuffle. So last night as I sat up nursing Samuel, I apologized to Him. I got a bit teary eyed- I miss those times of silence and peace and the give and take of love. But then I looked down at Samuel, and it was as if God had spoken directly to my soul- with every moment of care, every kiss and cuddle and diaper change, I am worshiping my Savior. With every moment I put Lily's needs before my own, every time I struggle with how to give her all the attention she needs, with every time I hold her and rock her and make sure she is happy, I am doing God's work.
He put me here to mother. He created me to carry these babies. I was born to raise these children, and right now, at this moment, I am fufilling a destiny He created for me.
What we do as moms is not glamorous. It is thankless at times. It is tough. It is busy. It leaves little time for ourselves. But it is so sacred. It is beautiful. We are creating a little bit of heaven here on earth- a place of peace, of love, of acceptance and affection. We are the face of God for our children.
So I am walking this line right now. The one where I can do it all, and where I cannot. I have cried many times these past weeks, and laughed and felt more joy than ever before. But I know with every step, God is with me. He is helping me to see the divine in the mundane, to create love and laughter and memories, and to give more of myself when I feel there is nothing left. He is opening me, teaching me. And He is inviting me to lean deeper into Him, to draw strength from Him. He is asking me to love more, yell less, look deeper, give more, speak less and listen more. He is inviting me into a deeper walk with Him, just by mothering my babies.
And I am listening, and loving, and finally living the life He intended me to.
It occured to me that I hadn't spoken to God in nearly a week. All of my words and thoughts and time go to my two little people. There is not much left for anyone else, and God has gotten lost in the shuffle. So last night as I sat up nursing Samuel, I apologized to Him. I got a bit teary eyed- I miss those times of silence and peace and the give and take of love. But then I looked down at Samuel, and it was as if God had spoken directly to my soul- with every moment of care, every kiss and cuddle and diaper change, I am worshiping my Savior. With every moment I put Lily's needs before my own, every time I struggle with how to give her all the attention she needs, with every time I hold her and rock her and make sure she is happy, I am doing God's work.
He put me here to mother. He created me to carry these babies. I was born to raise these children, and right now, at this moment, I am fufilling a destiny He created for me.
What we do as moms is not glamorous. It is thankless at times. It is tough. It is busy. It leaves little time for ourselves. But it is so sacred. It is beautiful. We are creating a little bit of heaven here on earth- a place of peace, of love, of acceptance and affection. We are the face of God for our children.
So I am walking this line right now. The one where I can do it all, and where I cannot. I have cried many times these past weeks, and laughed and felt more joy than ever before. But I know with every step, God is with me. He is helping me to see the divine in the mundane, to create love and laughter and memories, and to give more of myself when I feel there is nothing left. He is opening me, teaching me. And He is inviting me to lean deeper into Him, to draw strength from Him. He is asking me to love more, yell less, look deeper, give more, speak less and listen more. He is inviting me into a deeper walk with Him, just by mothering my babies.
And I am listening, and loving, and finally living the life He intended me to.
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