I am far from perfect. I'm so far from perfect, I can't even tell you what perfect looks like or where it's located. I yell, more when I'm tired or hormonal. I use the TV as a babysitter when I shower (or blog, thanks Jake and the Neverland Pirates). Sometimes, I let my kids eat those nasty little powdered sugar donuts because they were good while we went grocery shopping. I'm sure there's a million other things I do wrong, but I'm going to stop listing them because it's making me a bit depressed. Anyway, I'm not perfect, but there is one thing that I've gotten pretty good at over the last 3 years and 8 months of my life. Let me explain it to you.
I once read the first four pages of a book called "
Do Hard Things" by Alex and Brett Harris (you know, the little brothers of Joshua Harris). I only read the first four pages because, at the time, I was 24 and had no kids and therefore no cares in the world so accomplishing monumental tasks in my life consisted of making sure I was at work before 9 (or 9:30, let's be honest here) and that my grad school papers were in on time (I know there are a myriad of people who have accomplished a lot of amazing feats by the time they're 24-- including having children, but I wasn't one of them). Anyway, the premise of "Do Hard Things" involves challenging young people to defy current cultural expectations of their generation and work hard, cast off any sense or feelings of entitlement, set one's goals SUPER high, and go after and achieve those goals-- whether that be climbing a mountain or starting a business or going to college, etc. At 24, I had accomplished some wonderful things-- I had a job I loved, an amazing husband that God had given me, a house, etc. Yet I had a fear of failure, as many people often do, and therefore I never set a goal that I didn't already know I could achieve. I didn't really quit things, I just never did anything very difficult in the first place.
Then we decided to start our family.
If you've read my blog before, you're probably familiar with
this post where I share our experiences and struggles with having children. We have been so, so blessed and are very humbled that God has chosen to give us these two amazing boys, and we pray that someday (really, any day now would be okay, Jesus.... :) he would choose to grow our family. If you have kids, or have been around kids, or have been a kid, you know that they're an awful lot of work. And here's the thing about them-- you don't really get to give up. When I first had Silas, my oldest, I was overwhelmed and terrified and probably had more than a touch of PPD, in retrospect. I felt incredibly incompetent and relied heavily on my God, my mother, and my friends for support, guidance, and love. It was SUCH hard work, and it was, hands down, the hardest thing I had ever done, both physically and mentally and spiritually. There were times I went down into the basement in the middle of the night and screamed as loud as I could (don't worry, I didn't startle anyone, as Silas's screams were still louder than mine). There were times I stuck him in his swing and let him cry himself to sleep as I stared at him because
I didn't know what else to do. So many times, even though I loved him more than my own life, I felt defeated because I just didn't know how to handle this tiny, wrinkly human being-- and my friends were juggling 3 or 4 kids with what seemed like ease.
When Silas was about 10 months old, I went to a week-long Bible camp with my friend Amy. I'd been to the camp several years before, and always came away refreshed and renewed and excited by the Word of God. Every other year I had looked forward to it eagerly. This year, however, I was dreading it. Why? Because of Silas. I had to take my still not sleeping through the night 10 month old baby to a dorm room on a not-baby-friendly college campus in a town 2 1/2 hours from home,
by myself. I almost didn't go (seriously, I couldn't even handle a Wal-Mart trip with the kid by myself), but something told me I should power through. So I did. I hauled my kid, myself, the pack n play (which ended up being a waste of space because of course he could only sleep ON TOP OF me the whole time, super restful if you're wondering), and ton of other baby junk to Pella, Iowa for a whole week away from my husband and family. The week I was dreading (I cried on the way) ended up being one of the best experiences of my life. Not because it was easier than I thought it would be (if anything, it was harder), but because God used the pastors (shout out to Lew and Dave Miller!) to tell me exactly what I needed to hear, not necessarily what I wanted to hear.
The message? Do. Hard. Things. Well, not that exactly, but the words the pastors spoke about God leading the Israelites through the wilderness, and how we, as believers, may live in the wilderness indefinitely-- and we need to
praise God anyway- and not just anyway, BECAUSE we are in the wilderness. The wilderness is where God teaches and refines us. He draws us to our knees and humbles us and then pulls us back up stronger and more reliant on him. 2 Corinthians 2:10 is a verse many of us are familiar with- "Therefore I take pleasures in infirmities, in reproaches, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses for Christ's sake: for when I am weak, then I am strong." I knew this verse, but I had never experienced it. I was most definitely in the wilderness, with this whole motherhood thing. I was running away and looking for excuses and reasons to be my "old" self-- my childless self, my selfish self. But God had chosen me to be a mother, and that self was GONE, whether I liked it or not. And what I learned at camp was that God was pulling me through the wilderness (I wasn't going willingly) to make me a mother who raises her children in his image, truth, word, and love. Having and raising my family is hands down the hardest thing I've ever done (and I detassled for five years, folks). Instead of shying away from the exhaustion and utter fear I was experiencing, I need to cry out to Jesus and embrace it.
At camp I remembered the title of that book, and realized that God was calling me to do hard things--
the hardest thing-- and give up myself, my expectations, my hopes and dreams and fears, and dive headfirst into his calling for me, at this moment in time-- being a mother. As I laid wide-awake in bed that night, my back aching and my breath short because my 10 month old was sound asleep on my chest, I decided that I would not turn away from the challenges God was calling me to. I would embrace every difficulty as an opportunity to teach as well as learn, a place to plant seeds in my child(ren) as well as grow myself. I would trust God even when things were unimaginably hard-- that he had a purpose for this circumstance and would eventually work it for good.
I can honestly say that from that moment on, my life has been different. The Holy Spirit completely changed my attitude, my mind, and my heart. I still get frustrated and angry and lose my temper. Yet I honestly look at every challenge I face as a mother-- from big things like how to raise my children to love truth and righteousness, to small things like how to get them to stop spitting on each other-- I always have a peace that comes from God. I know that even if this is taking a loooong time (and with little ones, EVERYTHING takes a long time) that there is a purpose for it. I know and understand that anything worth doing is hard. "And whatever you do, do it heartily, as to the Lord and not to men, knowing that from the Lord you will receive the reward of the inheritance, for you serve the Lord Christ." -- Colossians 3:23-24
I may never climb a mountain, or run a marathon. I may never get my PhD or write a book. But I know that I will rely on the Lord to raise my children to know him, serve him, and love him. And that, my friends, is the hardest, most rewarding, and most important thing of all.
Now if you'll excuse me, my children are both yelling because, apparently, they're both trapped in Oliver's crib. I best investigate, or else they'll both be soaked in spit momentarily (that "how to get them to stop spitting on each other" thing is a real problem).
This is a picture of Silas at around 6 months old.
This also is a pretty accurate representation of how I felt the majority of Silas's first year of life.
