When I Don't Like the Mother I'm Being

I'm kind of in the 'home stretch' of my first year of homeschooling. 

It's almost May and I am SO ending when the public schools end in June. I need the break. 

It's been quite the year, juggling the management of so many things: my two daughters' education; their relationship as siblings that are together so much; their emotional lives; their spiritual growth; their development in this year in their femininity; the balance between how much they play, work, see other people, do chores, learn to pursue other interests; my OWN emotions, spiritual growth, development in femininity, balance between how much I rest, work, pursue other interests; the housework and all that goes into maintaining and growing in caring for a house; my relationship with my husband...the list goes on and on and ON.

And oftentimes...I feel like I'm being crushed under the weight of it all. Multi-tasking it all. Doing so many things at once. And the mental to-do list never gets smaller. 

And when I feel like I'm being crushed, I go through my day feel overwhelmed...and often downright irritable. I'm grumpy toward my kids. I'm short with them and their problems. I mutter under my breath. I bark at my daughters. It's NOT very pretty. 

And I don't like myself like that. I don't like feeling like the weight of the world is on my shoulders, let alone the weight of our household. I don't like muttering under my breath. I don't like barking at my girls.

(Quick disclaimer that I WISH I could explain easily and quickly, but I probably can't <WAH!!>: I DON'T like barking at my girls out of frustration...but I DO like (or am LEARNING to like) leading my girls WITH STRENGTH....which sometimes, to an outsider, doesn't look all that different. Somewhere in Christian parenting, we've gotten the idea that we must be NICE to our kids, must be only KIND and SWEET to our kids, to be righteous. I sure have had that idea. We think that IF ONLY WE COULD BE NICER, less angry, less frustrated, more patient, more NICE, we'd be better parents. And our kids would suffer less. But that's really not necessarily TRUE. This is pretty much what I want to say below, but I'll say it quickly here: most of our kids DON'T REALLY NEED MORE NICE. They need a STRONG, Spirit-filled, boundary-setting parent leading them. They need your Holy-Spirit-Filled-Strength. Not your wishy-washy, smiley (fake, suppressed) niceness. 

But they also don't need you barking at them. And I find that tension, that line between the two kind of complicated.)

God has been quietly whispering to my spirit over and over and over again since 2016 turned into 2017 that the next step for me is to value and honor and prioritize DAILY the habit of getting away and having time with Him.

It's like this: it's like there's this little cracked cup, and I'm dying of thirst, and the cup has three drops of water in it, and I keep going back to it to try to tip it into my parched mouth to try to quench the burning thirst.

But there's a waterfall that I could be standing under of fresh, drinkable water, or a lake of sweet, sweet water I could just dive into. 

But I keep going back to the three drops in the cup.

For whatever reason, I've heard that invitation of God to come to His waterfall, His lake, His fountain, but I keep trying to make it through my days on the three drops of: what exciting food I'll be eating today! What book I could sneak in a few minutes to read! What moments of sleep I can get! What break from tasks I can find! What tasks I can checkoff my to-do list! 

And it leaves me irritable and muttering under my breath, and I don't like myself.

But do you know where the waterfall would leave me? Changed. From what I am currently not, to what I am being renewed into. I am being made new, from what I am in my own strength, to all the things God promises that He, in His power and His grace and His love will sanctify me into...but how can I be renewed, be changed, be made new, if I am not daily before Him, with Him, under the waterfall?

So I sat my daughters down this morning, and I apologized to them for snapping at them yesterday when I was doing too many things at once: trying to keep my already-swept floors clean, cook dinner, bake cookies with them while simultaneously 'homeschooling' them by teaching them about measuring and following a recipe. I ended up barking at them about 'not spilling one single grain of brown sugar on the floor'...and it was ridiculous. 

It reminded me of the story of Martha and Mary in Luke 10, where Martha is 'very busy and distracted with all her serving responsibilities,' and she's bitter inside of her heart. Jesus doesn't commend her for her work. He commends Mary, who's getting NO TASK DONE, but He says that she has chosen 'what is better, that which is to her advantage.'

I told my girls today that sometimes they find me to be grumpy and worried about too many things, because I haven't spent time in the waterfall, and I'm asking the three cup-drops to fill me up for the day.

And I also told myself that today will be the end of hearing the Father's invitation to the waterfall, and hesitating. Or trying again to make it through with just the cup. My girls need me, my husband needs me, the world needs me, I need me, to make the decision to set aside time to dive in daily. 

Courage Dear Heart

I celebrated my 29th birthday last weekend. Eek! I can’t believe it. My husband planned a sort of progressive celebration, beginning with breakfast at our house with my parents and siblings. Growing up when it was one of our birthdays we would have a time of “words of encouragement” as we called it, where we all went around and said something kind and encouraging to the birthday person. We have held on to this tradition even into adulthood, and so there I sat in anticipation. It is always such a meaningful time to a big words person like me. We have long since moved past the “I love you because you are nice, and I hope you have a good birthday” of our childhood and are really able to speak into each other’s lives. Nobody coordinates with each other what they are going to say, so it’s interesting to see how themes develop from what everyone says. This year what stood out to me was courage.

It came out in things that different ones said. I was encouraged to be in the moment, having the courage to embrace the seemingly mundane aspects of life as a mom because God is in it. I was encouraged to be myself, having the courage to fully be who God made me and to do what He has called me to do. I was encouraged to not be afraid of taking risks in my friendships, having the courage to not hide or apologize for my convictions. All of these were spoken by my husband and family, however, what blew me away this year was the fact that all of these seemed to coincide with what I have felt God to be speaking to me over the last few weeks.   

I have written before about some of the challenges of this last year for my husband and me, one of which was his medication change and hospitalization in the fall. During that season it took all my strength to hold on to truth and not allow my mind to endlessly scroll through lists of terrible possibilities in my head. What is interesting to me though is that the faint whisper of “have courage and stay alert” comes to me now and not then. Why? It seems more apropos that this pep talk would come during a season of pain, right?

I am realizing in my relationship with God though that He loves to build a history with me. Although there is plenty of His presence and insight during times of struggle, He doesn’t leave or grow complacent in His teaching or preparing me during “peacetime,” even if it might be my tendency to want to coast during better circumstances. The combination of His voice and the memory of His presence with me in the past are an anchor for my soul during tumultuous times.  

There is an excerpt from Voyage of the Dawn Treader by C.S. Lewis that I love. Lucy along with her brother Edmond, her cousin Eustace and Prince Caspian are sailing along toward an island in the distance. The farther they travel, the darker and darker it becomes. They can’t see their way and lose sight of where they are going. In the midst of the fear and uncertainty, Lucy calls out to Aslan for help. The darkness does not lessen, but light appears and then this happens:

“Lucy looked along the beam and presently saw something in it. At first it looked like a cross, then it looked like and aeroplane, then it looked like a kite, and at last with a whirring of wings it was right overhead and was an albatross. It circled three times round the mast and then perched for an instant on the crest of the gilded dragon at the prow. It called out in a strong sweet voice what seemed to be words though no one understood them. After that it spread its wings, rose, and began to fly slowly ahead bearing a little to starboard. Drinian steered after it not doubting that it offered good guidance. But no one except Lucy knew as it circled the mast it had whispered to her, ‘Courage dear heart,’ and the voice, she felt sure, was Aslan’s, and with the voice a delicious smell breathed in her face.”

I have been through seasons of longing for His voice, perspective and peace when my circumstances were scary and shadowed by uncertainty. However, the tenacious chasing after God shouldn’t stop when things get better, but continue. God invites us to continue on the adventure of building a history with Him both during the difficult times and the times of rest, during times when it feels like we are trying to keep our heads above water and “smooth sailing,” when we are fighting for survival or fighting complacency. The daily cultivation of His presence in our lives and identities rooted in who He says we are, are anchors for our soul when adversity does come.

So seize the day because“…This is the day the Lord has made…!” No matter what the season, embrace the mundane because God is in it; be yourself because God made you beautifully; take risks because there is grace abounding. Whether you are in the darkest storm of your life or just coasting on the other side, “Courage, dear heart.”  Stay alert, stay close to Jesus and run hard.   

Finding Common Ground

It’s amazing to me how much we all agree on.  By “we”, I mean Protestants, Catholics, Eastern Orthodox.  We agree on salvation through Jesus’ death and resurrection.  We actually agree, officially, on many doctrines and a huge chunk of theology.  We have different traditions, and a history of conflict, but today, the word “Christian” is more encompassing (globally speaking) that ever before.  That’s the macro view.  

At the same time, I’m amazed at how fractured we are.  Within my own social circle, I know that there are hard-line disagreements about a wide variety of subjects and theologies.  While our oneness is on display on Sunday morning, it doesn’t take much to shine a light on what divides us.  Here’s a simple experiment: state your opinion about our President to a group of Christians.  I guarantee someone will disagree with you, and might just get mad that you feel the way you do.  How about creationism or evolution?  How about small church or mega-church?  And we judge each other accordingly.  That’s the micro view.

What is it that we get so right on a global scale that we miss on a micro scale?  If I meet a fellow believer in a foreign country, we might celebrate our common faith, our common love for Jesus.  We probably won’t get into doctrinal disputes or political arguments.  We are comfortable being brothers and sisters.  Ironically, the closer we get to our own sub-group, or sub-sub-group, of believers, the easier we find it to dismiss each other for our differing beliefs.  How can they be a Christian if they believe… that?

Now, don’t get me wrong.  I’m not saying discussions and disagreements are a bad thing.  In fact, I love debate and discussion among friends.  The problem is when we elevate important, but secondary, issues to the level of primary issues.  When the things that are not at the core of our faith become the things that we judge each other on.  Instead, when we focus on the primary issues, the fractures fade.

Here’s the problem - we love our secondary issues.  Sometimes we love them more than the primary ones.  We are quick to judge the authenticity or validity of someone’s faith by their position on any number of issues.  The Easter season helps to reorient us to the primary reasons we believe what we do.  It’s not about evolution, Calvinism, doctrines of this or that, it’s about the death and resurrection of our Savior.  It’s the grounding that we often need in our lives full of religion and politics, theology and party lines.  We all have secondary issues that we feel strongly about, but these tend to serve as distractions. Easter is a something we all agree on, something that can unite us, and it also happens to be at the center of our faith.  

Flunking the Test

I failed it, I’m sure.

And I hate failing tests—especially this one. You would too if you were me.

If you are genetically tied to someone with Alzheimer’s like I am, you’re already on to me. You know what test I’m talking about. It was all over Facebook several months back. Maybe you’ve tried it too. Have you heard about it? It’s the Peanut Butter Test, a new way to predict if you’re likely to get Alzheimer’s. Lovely. Just what I want to know.

It’s something about not being able to smell peanut butter out of your left nostril as well as you are able to with your right nostril.  The instructions directed the test-taker to open a jar of Skippy, close his eyes, his mouth, and one side of his nose then sniff away. After 90 seconds, he repeats it with the other nostril. Apparently, whichever one smells the peanut butter better quite accurately indicates one’s destiny. Skeptical but curious, I grabbed the jar and gave it a shot.

I couldn’t smell anything with either! What on earth does that mean?

Now, of course, I have thought of every reasonable explanation for this failure. It’s my spring allergy time. My peanut butter is old. I’m nervous and trying too hard. I should try Jif instead of my cheap generic brand. Maybe I didn’t do the test just right. Maybe I’m catching a cold. Maybe it’s true. I’m doomed.

But isn’t that what you think anyway? Isn’t that paralyzing fear lurking at the fringe of your consciousness every waking moment of your day? It is a nagging dread, a strange heaviness, a dark shadow, a threatening cloud that clings to you, smothers you, and never ever goes away. You might call it the elephant in the room. You know. The ugly beast you try to shove in the closet; the one everyone else gingerly tiptoes around. You watch them avert their eyes when you repeat a story. You see them glance quickly and knowingly at each other when you can’t find your keys or forget something they insist they told you. You see the elephant grin yourself when you walk in a room and can’t remember why. You want to kick him. Sometimes you just want to cry.

Oh, I have explanations for all those things too. Medications, busyness, being blonde, lack of sleep, preoccupation, my thyroid, menopause…you name it, I’ve grasped the excuse. My Mama used to say she had just lived too long and her brain was full. I’m starting to think that makes a lot of sense. Deep inside, though, I really think I will be next. I will have Alzheimer’s. If you also have a parent with it—or a grandparent, aunt, uncle, or sibling—I’m sure you think you will too. It comes with the territory.

So what can you do? That elephant is quite the hefty burden to bear. He crowds out joy. He tramples peace. He’s messy and greedy and demanding and BIG. He has to go. Maybe if I would stop feeding him, he’d move on. But it seems every single day something happens that makes me suspicious that I am losing it. I can’t find the remote, I miss somebody’s birthday, I don’t remember I already put the books where they belong…feed for that smirking elephant!

I’m a huge proponent of living my life one day at a time. I can’t worry about what tomorrow will bring. I need to focus on what I need to do today, to be fully present in these circumstances, to accomplish the tasks at hand. Dwelling on and wrangling over fears and concerns about the future simply sap me of the strength and energy I desperately need for today. I must not entertain the beast. I can’t afford to.

Instead of feeding my fear of Alzheimer’s, I need to feed my heart and mind. Preach truth to myself, the facts I know. In Jesus Calling, a little devotional by Sarah Young, I read this. It is written as if Jesus is speaking directly to me. I love that.

“Do not be afraid, for I am with you. Hear Me saying Peace, be still to your restless heart. No matter what happens, I will never leave you or forsake you. Let this assurance soak into your mind and heart, until you overflow with Joy. Though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, you need not fear!

“…tune in to the living Word—the One who is always the same. Let Scripture saturate your mind and heart, and you will walk steadily along the path of Life. Even though you don’t know what will happen tomorrow, you can be absolutely sure of your ultimate destination. I hold you by your right hand, and afterward I will take you into Glory.”

The truth I need to embrace is this: I am not alone. Jesus is with me. And because He is, everything in my life is different—no matter what happens. Wayward kids, financial debacles, marriage woes, relational nightmares, miserable bosses, failing businesses, church crises, frightening medical reports, unwelcome life changes, parenting parents, achy joints, unexpected deaths, an Alzheimer’s diagnosis…no matter what I am facing, I am not facing it alone. Life is filled with uncertainties, problems, and needs. My Jesus is holding my hand.

Jesus’s nearness lifts the heaviness and uncertainty from my heart as I rest in His care, guidance, and strength. He encourages me to transfer all my fears and worries to Him because He loves me (1 Peter 5:6-7). In another part of my Bible where He reminds me not to be anxious and give Him ALL my requests, He says He will give me His peace to guard my heart and mind from those insidious fears that creep in (Philippians 4:6-7). He was with me every day as I cared for my Mama. I can gratefully attest to that fact. I am certain He is with me now. And I trust His promise that He will be with me then…whatever the then means. I can rely on Him.

That’s a great truth to feed on, isn’t it? It’s for you too.

So what do I do with that elephant? I think I’ll give him my peanut butter.

Let him fail the stupid test.