The list in my head starts very early in the morning.
Do the dishes.
Pick up the toys.
Make breakfast.
Clean up from breakfast.
Play.
Keep the TV off.
The exhaustion creeps into my bones.
Pay the bills.
Remember the bills due today that you forgot about.
Frantically search to see if you can pay them online.
Find out you can't.
Decide to pack the kids up to go pay bill.
Stand in line with two tired, hungry cranky kids.
Realize you left the house without your wallet.
Decide to leave.
This is when the Voice starts to whisper into my heart, "You are not enough"
Make it home.
Change diapers.
Hurriedly make lunch.
Feed the kids lunch on the floor.
Worry that you didn't feed them enough.
Realize that you have a drainer full of dishes to be put away...and another sink full to wash.
Again.
Look around. See the toys. Realize you need to pick up.
Again.
The Voice says in a sinister way "You are failing."
A still smaller voice whispers into my heart "I Am enough for you."
That second voice is so very hard to hear.
Turn n a movie.
Toddler cries because its not the right movie.
Get impatient.
Yell, spank out of anger.
Cry when she cries.
That menacing voice says "You are a bad Mother."
That tiny voice insists "I have give you a gift, treasure them."
Realize your toddler has been begging you all day to play with her.
Realize you haven't played in the floor with your children.
Realize that you haven't read your Bible or prayed.
Waves of guilt and shame wash over you.
Cry silently while you hold your children.
The harsh voice starts to say "What a horrible person you are-"
And that still quiet voice becomes a roar in my ears, crashing into my heart, drowning me in Grace screaming, yelling, willing itself to be heard
"I. Love. You. Right now. Right here. I love you. I love you when you forget bills and yell at your kids and forget your wallet when you leave the house. I love you at 3 AM when your son is not sleeping and you are angry. I love you when you lose patience. I love you when you worry and stress. I love you. Right here. Right now. Right where you are."
And I let the list go. And I sit quietly with my girl. And I tell that first voice that is has. no. power. here. And I listen to that still small voice that tells me Grace is new every minute. That tells me that I am Enough in Him. And I let that voice seep into my bones and heart.
And I am thankful for it.
Monday, June 5, 2017
Thursday, June 1, 2017
Only Love
Motherhood finds me in the strangest places.
The cries of a son who doesn't sleep well. Groans as I force myself out of my bed to his crib. He stands there now and the tears fall from his face and the exhaustion is so real and potent that the compassion I should feel is evaporated. I hold him, and rock him, remind him that I am indeed there for him.
At least once a night now I hear the smallest pitter patter of feet, the slightest creaking of my door. My daughter crawls into my bed with her baby elephant and her green worn blanket. She snuggles into my arms and I can feel her breathing get calmer, slower. I close my eyes and turn my face away from her wispy hair. I can feel her become more and more peaceful. Until she crawls back into her bed, snuggled up with her animals, quiet, still.
I alternate between hating and loving these routines. Smiling at the power I have to help calm their little worlds. Crying in anguish over the messes and lack of sleep. The deep desire for everything to run smoothly, to have time to do EVERY THING I want to do. The list in my head grows and grows, constantly present. It is often put on pause.
Little hands pull at my pants legs. Little feet run back and forth in our tiny house between her room and the kitchen. I encourage the running. She has so. much. energy. Selfishness creeps into my heart, I want to sit and create. I want to make messes on paper with colors and shapes. I want to practice more and more. I want studio time. I long for quiet. I love for time alone. Joy is stolen by selfish desire.
My children Need Me. Constantly Need Me. My arms scoop them up when they are hurt, my kisses ease their pain. In the deepest black of night they long for me and only me.
There is a power in that. Quiet and strong. Of all the people in the world, and people who truly love them, my children long for and need...me.
As inadequate and selfish as I am, they need me. All my insecurities and hurts and failings fade when I hold them in the dead of night. I rock my son, his head tucked under my chin and I feel important. I snuggle my daughter close to me, my hand on her chest, her heart beating slowing from its erratic pace and I know I am loved.
Motherhood has taught me more than I will ever be able to explain. And yes, I write about it a lot. Why wouldn't I? We all have our jobs and passions. I am passionate about the job I have been given. These hard days with my children. These beautiful moments where they teach me about the self I want to be.
They don't know what time it is, they don't know about financial stresses, they don't know that I am completely and utterly exhausted two thirds of the time. They don't know what time we have to get up, they don't know what appointments we have. They only know Love.
And that I know I can give freely.
The cries of a son who doesn't sleep well. Groans as I force myself out of my bed to his crib. He stands there now and the tears fall from his face and the exhaustion is so real and potent that the compassion I should feel is evaporated. I hold him, and rock him, remind him that I am indeed there for him.
At least once a night now I hear the smallest pitter patter of feet, the slightest creaking of my door. My daughter crawls into my bed with her baby elephant and her green worn blanket. She snuggles into my arms and I can feel her breathing get calmer, slower. I close my eyes and turn my face away from her wispy hair. I can feel her become more and more peaceful. Until she crawls back into her bed, snuggled up with her animals, quiet, still.
I alternate between hating and loving these routines. Smiling at the power I have to help calm their little worlds. Crying in anguish over the messes and lack of sleep. The deep desire for everything to run smoothly, to have time to do EVERY THING I want to do. The list in my head grows and grows, constantly present. It is often put on pause.
Little hands pull at my pants legs. Little feet run back and forth in our tiny house between her room and the kitchen. I encourage the running. She has so. much. energy. Selfishness creeps into my heart, I want to sit and create. I want to make messes on paper with colors and shapes. I want to practice more and more. I want studio time. I long for quiet. I love for time alone. Joy is stolen by selfish desire.
My children Need Me. Constantly Need Me. My arms scoop them up when they are hurt, my kisses ease their pain. In the deepest black of night they long for me and only me.
There is a power in that. Quiet and strong. Of all the people in the world, and people who truly love them, my children long for and need...me.
As inadequate and selfish as I am, they need me. All my insecurities and hurts and failings fade when I hold them in the dead of night. I rock my son, his head tucked under my chin and I feel important. I snuggle my daughter close to me, my hand on her chest, her heart beating slowing from its erratic pace and I know I am loved.
Motherhood has taught me more than I will ever be able to explain. And yes, I write about it a lot. Why wouldn't I? We all have our jobs and passions. I am passionate about the job I have been given. These hard days with my children. These beautiful moments where they teach me about the self I want to be.
They don't know what time it is, they don't know about financial stresses, they don't know that I am completely and utterly exhausted two thirds of the time. They don't know what time we have to get up, they don't know what appointments we have. They only know Love.
And that I know I can give freely.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)