I know that a lot of us don't even want to read anything these days that rubs against what we already believe. We've lost the emotional energy. So I want to be straightforward about this: I am a moderate, thirty-something woman. Politically, I don't really open my mouth lately because I don't want to get my head bitten off. We are in a climate of extreme polarization, and I like to like things about people and political parties, and dislike other things. I bet a lot of you are the same. And it is a no-man's land
Have you caught it? The discontentment bug that is going around? It is especially infectious for women, mothers, wives.
It starts with a tug on your heart to do some things to better yourself, your life. It pulls you along on an internet search, finding resources and books – honing your mind in on exactly what you need. For me, this week, it started with the scoping out some happiness/goal setting/tracking journals. I've also been thinking about travel. Then, this evening I announced to my husband that I want us to find a babysitter. Someone we could rely on to come watch the littles, so we can do more with the bigs. Do more projects. Be more. Aspire to more. More, more, more. Discontentment.
Don't I have enough?
Don't you have enough?
Do we even do a good job with what we've been entrusted? My beautiful life right now would look like
I wanted to have something to write about. Something revolutionary for women. I wanted to stand on a stage and be cute and fun, and have every woman in the audience want to be like me- and then I would blow their minds and lead them to Jesus.
I was heading on about 5 years of seriously struggling with various aspects of my life- fear, happiness, emotional stability.
Please have patience with my son. I know that you see him as a strong man, and he loves showing off for you. This precious little boy was once my everything. My days were consumed with care for him. I watched him run around and play, and I kissed his boo-boos when he was hurt. I trained him to pick up his toys, share, be kind, use the potty and eat his vegetables (the best I could, anyway). There were days when I wanted to ship him off for someone else to deal with, and other days when my heart felt so much love for him I thought it would pop. I watched his little face asleep, and dreamed of who God made him to be. As he got older, I had to give him a little more freedom, let him make some mistakes and fight for him moor on my knees. I wanted him to love God more than anything and make the right decisions in light of that. I still want that- but he is human and a sinner just like we all are.
I'm writing this letter to you because I want you to know a few things:
There is true freedom in Christ. It seems strange or backward, but it is real. You would expect that trying to live up to the high standards of Christ would bring so much restriction and repression, and that it would look unappealing to those looking from the outside, and perhaps it does sometimes. But when I am in the presence of friends who have
I listen to a mom next to me at gymnastics, as she goes on and on about herself; her kids, her family endeavors, all of the activities her children are involved in, which of her children had acid reflux, which cousins had birthday parties this past month. I'm not even part of the conversation and I know more about this woman in 5 minutes than I know about some of my relatives. Every time one of the other two women in the conversation
It happened today. One of those Sundays where you are going about your business, your day, your Sunday routine- sitting in the church pew listening and nodding- not expecting anything for me. Then it started to hit me. The tears welled up hot in my eyes and somehow I knew what was coming next, Was. For. Me. Not only me- but like listen up, girl, I am about to speak to you right from my word. I was laser-focused in as my pastor read the words of Psalm 73, and they washed over me and made sense of my feelings, and my mess.
As humans, we don't have the capacity or the mental ability to order and make sense of all of our feelings and latest struggles. And as moms, sometimes our brains just feel like mush at the end of the day. But lately I've had a very specific struggle with Instagram
Oh my heart today. As I sat in that little wooden half-dome in the pay room, and watch T walking around with his "tool", trying to "fix things" for me.
Oh my heart is splattered. This responsibility of being a mom to this boy- all the boys; my heart throbs and I don't want to mess it up. I don't want to go into a numb funk and forget this important focus:
The heart of my boys, my husband included, loves to serve me!
They want to see me smile big and proud and say things like, "Great job!!" and "Thank you SO much!!" and "Wow, you are so strong and so good at that."
I know because as I say those things my two-year-old runs quickly to the next thing to "fix it" as fast as he can. And he says, "I fix for you, Mom." My. Heart.
I know because my oldest son tells me for almost