For those of you with children (and, yeah, the rest of y'all can relate as well)...
Savannah was fussing the other day. After several attempts to soothe her, I had placed her in the swing. She's started this new thing where she purses her lips and makes a grunting noise when she is tired. So she was doing that and just acting overall miserable. It was then that it dawned on me to finally try the one thing that always works.
It's funny how as parents we can get so lost in the day that we forget the things that our children respond to. It hit me as a smack on the forehead (duh!) when I finally wrapped her up tightly in a light blanket, gave her her teddy, and rocked her while held securely in my arms.
It's the same way with us, of course. Sometimes at our most discontent we complain, groan, yell, pout, throw dishes--choose your flavor or even add one under the "comment" section. We do everything that is fleshly and inherent in our sinful nature except go to our Father. He knows best how to soothe us.
I wonder sometimes if I just like to feel bad. It feels good to feel bad, right? Well, maybe for a short time when an anger is "justified" or when I just feel like having a down day. But when I go too far, I'm off in the danger zone of self-pity and self-destructive tendencies.
I am thankful that it doesn't take God a long time to realize what I need. And I am thankful that although I might fuss for quite a long time, he always knows how to deal with me. He will draw me to himself slowly, reminding me of how I've gone down that path before. Reminding me of how good it feels to rest in him. Reminding me whose child I am.
Curling up in secure, completing, and loving arms sounds like a good ending or beginning of any day to me.
O Lord, you have searched me and known me! You know when I sit down and when I rise up; you discern my thoughts from afar. You search out my path and my lying down and are acquainted with all my ways. Even before a word is on my tongue, behold, O Lord, you know it altogether... If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me. Psalm 139:1-10
Sometimes I wonder if I should really stay at home.
Yesterday, for example, was a mess. Baby Savy kept waking up during the night and during the day would hardly nap. Baby Blayke (I am watching another infant, four days younger than Savannah which makes it difficult to get out of the house) was only happy if I held her upright (apparently the Grandparents that watched her all weekend forgot that babies DO need to be put down to play on their own). By late afternoon, I had to take a mini break during a double-crying fit and shut myself up in the bedroom for a couple of minutes. I just keep saying, "God, please help me!"
Today has been much more relaxed, and I feel accomplished having cleaned the apartment and taken care of some business. But, like I said, there are many days when I wonder "what if?" What if I had chosen to work outside the home? What if I had ventured on a new career--found something I truly enjoyed? These questions come because the days do indeed run together when you are pent up inside all day. When I was working, I couldn't wait for the time when I'd get to relax all day with my little bundle of joy, cleaning house a little, learning how to cook a little more (which is still very much a work in progress). But now I will do almost anything to go run an errand late at night while Chaz watches Savannah just so I can get some alone time--even if it is with a hundred other people at Wal-Mart.
I wonder if I am really cut out for this job. The thing is, I never got so worked up when I was working. Sure I would get stressed out at times and I hated taking work home with me and I complained ad nauseam about how the impromptu pep rally ruined my lesson for seventh period. But it was a world in which I felt comfortable. It was always changing but within a sphere of predictability, which I loved. Sometimes I think I enjoyed the control I had as a teacher more than anything (which is not good). As a stay at home mom, I have routine and predictability but to an almost depressing degree. Sometimes the most surprising thing that happens is what kind of poop Savannah has in her diaper.
After Savy came, I thought I would enjoy being a stay-at-home mom without question, but it is very hard. Not hard in the sense of duty but hard because for the first time in my life I have to meet the demands of someone else before I meet my own demands. I'm not saying that I feel burdened by motherhood, but it is definitely not all that I had expected.
I know that in reality I would be a very poor working mom. The standards I place on myself would not endure perfection in three categories (i.e. teacher, wife, mom). And by and large these feelings I have mentioned are mostly fleeting. Mostly I think I am still working out the kinks of my new job. I don't give myself enough credit for what I do or enough grace for mistakes. I believe that is a fault in all moms--working outside the home or not--that we need to correct. If we believe in a God who is merciful beyond our comprehension then we should try to take a lesson in mercy for our own hearts.
I have always heard that being a parent will give you greater insight on God's love toward us. One of the lessons I see at work in myself is that while I still have times of selfishness (and always will), it is becoming easier to give up what I want in order to meet the needs of my daughter. Being a stay-at-home mom does have its moments of grandeur--these moments just come in smaller packages. For example, Savannah's new venture is rolling from back to belly all day long. She's just having trouble getting from belly to back. I am thankful that I have chosen to be the one who always gets to show her how to set herself right again. For that, some boring and mundane moments in my day are easy sacrifices.
So, we've officially moved into our little apartment. Let the savings begin! It really is quite small--750 square feet to be exact. Thank God for storage facilities. However confined I might feel, though, I am beginning to enjoy some aspects of the smallness:
1. Less to clean! Need I say more?
2. No need to run up and down the stairs a bazillion times a day. Savannah's room, our room, the laundry nook, and kitchen are all within my view. I just have to stand in the middle of the apartment to see into (and most of) each area!
3. Less stuff. This is the one that has kept me thinking the past few days. If an interior decorator were to come to my living room, she would have a conniption; everything is mismatched. Dark wood desk and bookcase go together from our loft area in the house; cherry end table from living room; dark green couch; beige and honey wood glider from Savy's room; and big ol' TV on a small table that is older than Chaz--we sold our old TV stand that matched the desk and bookcase because we thought we wouldn't need it. I have no idea how to make the room easier on the eye.
So, if I can't change what we have then I am left with two options: complain for however long we live here (which could be years) and make my husband a grump who, in turn, complains to his buddies how ungrateful his wife is; or I can change my perspective.
You see, we really do miss our house. It was us and we worked hard to make it look beautiful and reflect our tastes. But a house and possessions cannot define a person. While this move was intended solely to save us money so that we could become better stewards, it is also forcing us (or me more accurately) to give up the cyclical doom of "keeping up with the Joneses." I am not saying that you could have put our lives in Pottery Barn catalog, but I was always keeping tabs on the lifestyles of my friends and acquaintances in Suburbia. In short, this move has been humbling in many ways. My favorite motto is "It could always be worse," and I certainly agree with that in this situation. We are so thankful for all that we have. But I need to face the fact that I've taken a big blow to my pride and to the control over my life that I once thought I had.
Jesus said, "Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal, but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also" (Matthew 6:19-21). I'm beginning to see this verse in a new way. I can admit that my lifestyle, instead of my relationship with Christ, was beginning to define me--at least that was the thorn beginning to form in my heart. When I look at where my life is now, I am disappointed. I'm not sure what I thought my life would look like at this point, but it didn't look like this.
But God's perspective is vastly different. He sees what I cannot see--the treasures we are laying up in Heaven. While I look around and focus on mistakes and regrets, God sees this moment as a small blip on my lifeline. He looks ahead to the plans he has for me and my family. Will I choose to trust him and continue to walk forward with the knowledge that "all things work together for good for those who are called according to his purpose"? (Romans 8:28). The answer is simple: I must. When he called me to himself, he put that trust in me and has been helping me to discover it ever since. I have to remember that what I do does not matter unless I do it "all to the glory of God" (1 Cor. 10:31).
It's funny how things are so opposite in the Christian life. While my life might look like a mess on the outside, God is forming it into something that is greatly pleasing to him. Lord, help me believe.
A time I remember feeling utterly out of control and helpless was when my mom was going through her first rounds of chemo. We were staying with my grandparents and each had our own list of chores. My chore was to wash the dishes after breakfast each morning. One morning, however, I slept in and missed breakfast. My grandpa ended up doing the dishes for me.
I completely freaked out and locked myself in the bathroom. I turned on the water and the vent and crouched on the floor and cried. I literally thought I was going crazy. My mom knocked on the door gently to ask if I was okay, and of course I lied. I always went to her treatment with her, but on that day my mom said I should stay home and record "The Young and the Restless" so we could watch it later together.
I didn't figure it out until much later. The reason I broke down that day was because the one, albeit small, thing I could control was taken from me. The dishes were "my" responsibility, and I took care of them perfectly. My mom was sick, and I couldn't do a damn thing about it. I could not make her feel better when she threw up; I could not keep her hair from falling out; and I could not, in any true sincerity, tell her that everything was going to be all right. I finally realized how fragile life was.
Several people I know, including myself, are dealing with uncontrollable illnesses in their families right now. Jesus is the One true Physician, and although my mom was sick until the very end, He welcomed her renewed in body and spirit into His kingdom. Please pray with me for family and friends who are dealing with illnesses. For those dealing with the illness, pray that God would show himself in the fullness of his grace to them through their illness. For family and friends, pray for the same thing. We all need the opportunity to see how fragile this life is and accept that there is One who will "wipe away every tear" and who is "making all things new" (Revelation 21:4-5).
Do you ever feel like you are going insane? I have felt that way several times during the past few weeks.
The stress of living out of our suitcases (or, rather, piles of clothes on a closet floor) will get to me in the most mundane moments of my day. For example: I walk upstairs for the umpteenth time to get a few diapers before I leave the house, but instead I go to the bathroom and then walk back downstairs sans diapers. For that little brain lapse I threw whatever was in my hand across the room... don't worry, it was just chap stick, not the baby.
Mostly I can look back on these moments (and trust me, the chap stick incident was tame compared to some of the others) and laugh at how silly and childish I behaved. But I think the Lord is trying to make me see these moments differently. My tolerance for anything that makes my life more inconvenient than it already is is very low which, in turn, makes my anger level high. The smallest things can throw me into a mini tantrum. I think that only my dog or Savannah and sometimes my husband see these tantrums, but when I added up all of these outbursts I noticed something big.
Sure the people who won't remember or who love me enough to forgive me see them, but God also sees, of course. But more importantly, what I realized is that even after I have recovered myself, that scar of anger is already there in my heart. I will always remember how good it felt to just let it out and not care who I affected. The problem is that all of those moments make up who I am--they mold my character. If I consistently and willingly allow myself to succumb to anger in a frustrating or overwhelming moment then that is my fault. It is not the fault of my circumstances--I am not a child.
The Lord continues to remind me to "take every thought captive to obey Christ" on a moment-to-moment basis, especially on bad days when I am frustrated by my lack of control (2 Corinthians 10:5). I am struck by the difficult work it takes to be a Christian and to fight these spiritual battles that most of us would rather ignore. We usually fight to change our circumstances, but we ignore the spiritual battles and deem them as something in that realm of the unreal. It is understandably difficult to even recognize the spiritual battles when our lives are lived in flesh and blood. But, of course, that is the Enemy's prerogative.
Paul, in defense of his ministry to the Corinthians, professes that "though we walk in the flesh, we are not waging war according to the flesh. For the weapons of our warfare are not of the flesh but have divine power to destroy strongholds. We destroy arguments and every lofty opinion raised against the knowledge of God, and take every thought captive to obey Christ" (2 Cor. 10:3-5). Every battle is truly in the mind--between who we will allow to control it. Wayne A. Grudem writes in the easy-to-digest theology book Christian Beliefs that "those who believe in Jesus should realize that through death, Jesus nullified the power of [the Enemy]" (p.56). In Christ we have power and authority to fight these spiritual battles and should fight them, confident of what Christ has already accomplished.
So in those times of frustration and anger I should remind myself what is at stake: the very character that Christ has been forming in me from the moment he saved me. It is worth fighting for, especially when you are on the winning team. By allowing his peace to cover me each day, I bring honor to his name.
