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Today was exhausting.
The past month has been filled with weddings. Last weekend we traveled to Springfield, to St. Louis, and back in the course of 4 days. Then Ambrielle got strep. Last night we had only a few hours of interrupted sleep last night due to Ambrielle waking up, waking Elias, and him being up for a couple hours. Oh, and did I mention we’re in the process of buying a house?
Needless to say, we are incredibly worn out. On top of the physical exhaustion, the past two days have been especially trying with Ambrielle. Since she has been feeling better she has been a bundle of overtired, rebellious, fit-throwing energy. Meanwhile Elias is learning to walk, which is crazy cute but adds a whole new level of intricacy to our daily life.
To be honest, on weeks like this week, I get to the end of the day and, in my exhausted, vulnerable-to-Satan-and-my-flesh state, I think to myself, “why? What’s the point? I don’t feel cut out for this. I feel like the wrong mom for this daughter. Did I do anything right today? Is her rebellion a reflection of my parenting? Is there more to motherhood than exhaustion, boredom, and stress, or is this it? Today felt like 5 days…and I get to wake up after another possibly sleepless night and do it all over again.”
Some days, I want nothing more than to book a flight to Jamaica for a week (at least). I love my children more intensely than I ever imagined, and yet sometimes I don’t think I can handle any more crying, whining, messes, spit, bugars, laundry, questions, play requests, backtalking, or anything in between. I don’t feel adequate for any of it. I know raising my children is an amazing job, but when I’m knee-deep in the daily, hard, messy mundane of it all, it doesn’t feel amazing – or like I’m making any progress.
It might sound like I am complaining (if I ended there, I would be and this would be a terrible post). I admit, I can have a rather yucky heart – even toward children and a job I wouldn’t trade for the world.
But don’t worry; we’re just getting to the good part.
When we put the kids to bed tonight, I sat next to Ambrielle for a few minutes in the dark stroking her hair while she tried to fall asleep and Elias rolled around in his crib jabbering. With the image of my beautiful, long-lashed, curly haired little girl peacefully sleeping in her bed before my eyes, and the joyful sounds of my precious, cheeky, bright-eyed little boy sounding in my ears, my heart melted. All the frustration, exhaustion, discouragement, questions of purpose, melted away for those few minutes. The Lord brought to my mind simple joys and precious moments from the day that I overshadowed with the negative.
This is what the voice, the Holy Spirit, whispered into the heart of this disgruntled mama,
This is why. Because children are blessings. I made them blessings. I gave them to you as blessings.
Your lap may not be big enough for both of them fighting for dibs on it. But my lap is big enough for your children. And it’s big enough for you to crawl onto, too.
You’re right – you don’t have enough patience to answer the same 3 year old questions over and over. But I do.
You don’t have the strength to play pretend and fold that last load of laundry on 3 hours of sleep. But I do.
You don’t have the wisdom to discipline Ambrielle rightly, with love and sensitivity and without squelching who I made her. But I do.
You don’t have the selflessness to love these children with every fiber of your being even when it comes at great personal sacrifice. But I do. And I already did.
Britney, you think you need a change of circumstances. You think your kids, or your role, or your personality, is the problem.
But you don’t need different kids. You don’t need better behaved ones, or ones that will fall asleep at night without getting out of bed 10 times. You don’t NEED a break, though that might be nice. You don’t need a different personality to do what I’ve called you to do.
What you need is me. You need a change of perspective and a heart like mine. A heart that welcomes children as blessings, as a reward from God. A heart that sees, despite their demands and their sinfulness, their preciousness. A heart that sees them as representations of how I want you to be – totally dependent on me, clamboring onto my lap, delighting in the simple things, with a childlike faith.
Stop for a second, dear child. Stop asking how you can do this. Stop fretting about where the strength and patience will come from. Stop assuming your children’s hearts are yours to change.
Look at them. Look at Elias gleefully tossing around in his crib as if he has no worries in the world. Do you know why he does that? Because he trusts that his mama is taking care of everything else so he doesn’t have to. He’s a blessing. He reminds you that you, too, can be filled with carefree joy. Not because you don’t care, but because you can give me all your cares. My yoke is easy and my burden is light, remember?
And look at Ambrielle. Look at her laying so peacefully on her pillow, breathing deeply as your hand rests on her head. Do you know why she does that? Because she believes that when you’re nearby, nothing can harm her. She feels secure. She can rest. She reminds you that you, too, can rest and be filled with peace. I’ve already met your deepest needs, haven’t I? I’ve called you by name, and you’re mine, and nothing–from your salvation to raising your children–is ultimately up to you, is it?
Repent, dear child, of your attempts to do this on your own and letting your limited earthly perspective trump mine. Repent of giving way to your flesh. Crawl on my lap, dear child, and let me fill you with strength and patience and love that only I can. Let me give you eyes to see your children as I see them – and as I see you.
In those few minutes, I realized what a change of perspective I need. When people brought children to Jesus, he didn’t turn them away. His disciples saw them as nuisances. Distractions. Obstacles. Much like I am tempted to see my children at times, as much as I hate to admit it. That’s not what Jesus saw. He saw precious blessings. Little souls. Representations of how one enters the kingdom of God–by becoming a child again through adoption by the Abba.
Psalm 127 calls children a heritage, a reward, and a blessing. Oh how I need that perspective. But to have that perspective, I need to stop thinking about my own needs and the worries of the day long enough to simply look at the precious gifts that my kids are. And I need to become childlike myself, crawling on my Abba’s lap, drawing from His love the kind of joy and rest I need to see my kids as the blessings that they are.
Image may be NSFW.
Clik here to view.
Image may be NSFW.Clik here to view.
