The worst version of myself.

Sep2

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On one of my favorite chick flicks, You’ve Got Mail, at one point Tom Hanks’s character asks, “Do you ever feel you become the worst version of yourself?”

Oh, boy, Joe, do I ever.

I am exhausted much of the time.  I am pregnant quite a bit, too.  Even on a good day, my brain has four separate threads dedicated to each one of my four-and-under children, making sure they aren’t drowning in the toilet or secretly acquiring diaper rash.  If you’re lucky, my kids are elsewhere or amusing themselves happily so that I can sit down and have a nice conversation with you… more likely, though, my kids are crawling all over the place (and probably in cahoots with your kids, should you have any), and 75% of my mental powers at any given moment are completely dedicated to watching them.  But even if they’re being little angels (or absent!), my brain is just not used to grown-up conversation anymore. I’ve gotten really good at repeating myself, and my memory has officially gone on vacation.

In other words: I am one of those horribly rude Mommy-people who occasionally leave off in the middle of sentence, and never return; who talk a lot about poop and throw-up, regardless of whether or not you are also a Mommy who likes to talk about such things; who struggles to talk about current events (what are they and why on earth should I even care?); who struggles to talk theology because right now I’m clinging to all my might with the nitty-gritty of the Gospel that even a five-year-old can recite… and that’s probably not what you were hoping I’d contribute to your Bible study.

In short, I think I probably come off really self-absorbed, because I probably talk a lot about myself, my family, and whatever current child-rearing adventure has reared its head, and because I have an almost complete inability at this point to actually pay attention to any kind of real, linear conversation.

I feel like I have become the worst version of myself.

At least I hope this is the worst.  I’m forever plumbing new depths of how fallen I can be.

Exhaustion, in particular, has been a really profound learning experience.  I can even be kind of psycho, at the end of week of stomach-bug-induced sleeplessness followed by a week of trying to restore some kind of order to our house.  Or at the end of two months of relentless morning sickness surrounded by toddlers watching my every heave.  I didn’t know I could be such an unreasonable person—surprise!  Sleeplessness is the mirror that shows us our wretched selves.

I’ve begun to look at it like this is when I am having trouble not sinning.  This is when I have trouble not being quick to anger.  This is when I have trouble keeping my mouth shut.  This is also when I have trouble stringing together a coherent sentence.  This is when I have trouble listening sympathetically.  This tiredness, this distractedness… this is making my sin real.  It makes it come out to play.

So I find it to be a law that when I want to do right, evil lies close at hand. For I delight in the law of God, in my inner being, but I see in my members another law waging war against the law of my mind and making me captive to the law of sin that dwells in my members. Wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death?
(Romans 7:21-24 ESV)

It’s always good to be thrown helplessly into the arms of grace.  I appreciate that it makes me appreciate my Savior, appreciate my own inability.  It’s pretty easy to pass for a nice person when we’re refreshed and happy all the time, isn’t it?  It’s hard to be a nice person when we’re grumpy and tired.  It’s hard to be kind.  It’s hard to be a good friend, even; it’s much harder still to be a good wife and a good mother.  It’s like a pot with tiny flaws being constantly held up to the light so they can’t escape notice.

Maybe one day I won’t be tired and distracted anymore, and I’ll be able to do a better job of hiding away all these flaws that are magnified right now.  In the meantime, I’ll keep struggling with them, and struggling to improve them, to “depart from iniquity” and become “useful to the master of the house, ready for every good work” (2 Tim 2).

And feel free to tell me I’ve talked enough about poopy diapers for the day, and help me talk more about the things that matter.  My brain might relearn old paths and I might be able to speak intelligibly again. Smile

The Mom I Want to Be

Aug23

When I read this on Raising Arrows this morning, I thought it was a really good, thoughtful idea.  So, here’s the mom I want to be:

  • I want to teach the things that are essential.  I want my children to be equipped as saints.  Period.  Part of this incorporates many things that may at first seem unrelated (like, say, math), but this, in the end, is the only important thing.  If it isn’t helpful as a Christian, if it doesn’t glorify God, then I don’t want to waste our time.  I want them to eat, breathe, and sleep about Jesus.
  • I want to raise adults.  Not children.  I don’t want to teach them how to be good children; I don’t want to teach them obedience merely to make my own life easier; I don’t want to force them to do everything “my” way.  I want to teach them the skills to be grown-ups.  I want them to start turning more and more into grown-ups with every passing day.
  • I want to treat them as fellow beings made in the image of God.  I want to treat them with respect.  I want to recognize their personhood.  I want to speak to them kindly.  I want to love them with patience and understanding.
  • I want to train them to be good stewards of the world.  Even if they are not called to Christ, I want them to treat others with dignity, to live wisely within the environment, and to see the inherent good in social good works.  I want them to have a heart for the hungry and kindness for the downtrodden.  I want them to reflect the Gospel and the goodness of God even if they reject it.
  • I want to hold them loosely.  The Lord gives and the Lord takes away; blessed be the name of the Lord!  I don’t want to idolize my children.  I don’t want to even fear losing them; I want to trust in Him and in His goodness and in His grace.
  • I want them to see in me what it is to be a good wife.  Which means, of course, that I want to be one.

 

I’m sure this list will change as time goes on, but these were the first things that came to mind.

God of Monsters

Mar25

Our house has recently suffered a monster infestation.  Apparently, there are monsters in the garage, monsters in the bathroom, even monsters in the living room.  Or so our two-year-old tells me.  She is deeply afraid.1007389_monster

Every time she exclaims,”but there’s a monster!” and refuses to go into a room (or refuses to be left alone in one), the nice, pat answer pops into my head: there’s no such thing as monsters, sweetie.

But really, by what definition is that true?  No scary beasts? What are pythons, hippopotamuses, whales, sharks, cobras, or hyenas? No invisible, silent killers? Like viruses?  Nothing supernatural, profoundly evil, and devious? There’s fallen angels and demons.  Rare but human evil? Serial killers, child molesters, genocidal dictators.  Nothing commonplace and evil? We need look no farther than the mirror.  I can’t tell her monsters don’t exist.  It’s not outside of the sovereignty of God that there could indeed be a murderer lurking in the closet, after all.

So what can I say?  I can dutifully go and look, and inform her that there is nothing there.  But lately we’ve been working through our own little monster catechism: Who is bigger than the monsters? God.  Who is in control over the monsters? God.  Who created everything, even the monsters? God.  Who is the only one Who can keep you safe from the monsters? God. Who is always with us, always watching us? God.  So should you be afraid?  No.

I’m struck by the questions that are missing from our little rehearsal. There’s no promise of safety, no promise of a monsterless room, no promise of protection.  This is one of the times when I’m deeply feeling the difference between being a Christian parent and being a lost one.  I’d like to tell her some empty platitudes about how everything is going to be all right, there’s no such thing as monsters, that Mommy’s going to keep her safe.  But that’s not true, and I’d rather teach her that there is One who is completely capable of keeping her safe, One who is perfectly good—and teach her that she can depend on His goodness and mercy whether there’s a monster in the next room or not, whether the monsters are banished or whether they have her for supper.

She’s beginning to grasp some of this.  “I can go upstairs because God will be with me?” Yes. “I don’t have to be afraid?” Yes.  She recites our little litany herself now, and it actually works.  While I can’t persuade her with promises of chocolate (yes, I’ve tried), she apparently can be persuaded by the very idea of an invisible God.  It’s thoroughly cool, and also terrifying, because I want her to have a right vew of God, and it’s so hard to explain Him to a two-year-old.  Has she noticed that I haven’t promised that God would keep her safe, only that He can? Is her idea of God like a cosmic Santa Claus? Am I communicating also the incredible depth of the justice and righteousness of God? His fearsomeness? That He is, in fact, more worthy of fear than any monster that could ever haunt her dreams? It’s complicated to communicate all this to her.

For Mommy, though, this has all been a really good reminder.  I shouldn’t be brave because I’m grown-up enough to think that the monsters don’t really exist.  Whether the monsters are imaginary ones lurking in the garage, or real ones lurking on street corners, I should be brave because God is God over them as surely as He is God over me.

Three under three, and HOME ALONE.

Mar17

If you had told me when E was just born—and I hardly knew how to make it through Seth’s 12-hour shifts alone by myself—that I would one day be watching three children aged two and under all by myself for a week, repeatedly, I would have told you you were crazy.  (Primarily because I was a brand-new mom with no idea of how easy I had it, but that’s another story!)

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[E, 2 years; R, 1 year; L, 2 months]

But as it turns out, Seth’s job has turned into one with a good deal of long business trips, which leaves me home with the munchkins all day and all night for days.  We survive, and honestly I enjoy the change of pace every once in a while.

Continue reading →

Crazy faith.

Mar4

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We tell our children stories—bedtime stories, childhood stories, true stories, moral stories, all kinds of stories.  One of my favorite quotes in the context of parenting is of G.K. Chesterton: “Fairy tales do not tell children that dragons exist. Children already know that dragons exist. Fairy tales tell children the dragons can be killed.”  There’s an important role for fairy tales.

But we tell some other crazy insane unbelievable tales in this house, too.  We talk about fire raining down on a city, dead girls coming back to life, young men being thrown in a furnace, chariots of fire, old ladies having babies, a great King on a horse, streets made of gold, eternity made of fire, a land with no need for a sun, dead people walking around, food falling out of heaven, rivers turned to blood, oil that never runs out, young boys slaying bears and giants, men walking on water, donkeys that talk, and of men thrown to lions.  And every time I tell one of these stories, I’m struck by just exactly how fairy-tale-like they are.  Hansel and Gretel sounds downright factual in comparison.

But they’re true.  Does it hit you, ever, how utterly crazy our faith must seem?  If I heard of some remote tribe that believed all this stuff, I’d think, wow, they’re really superstitious suckers.

I want our children to believe in this world that must seem like make-believe to the outsiders; I want it to be as natural to them as breathing.  I want them to believe in miracles, to trust with all their hearts that God is sovereign over the food they ate for breakfast, the paving-stones their feet fall on as they walk to class; the moment of their awakening and the moment of their slumber.

I want them to know the True Stories, to know them inside and out and know that the craziness isn’t make-believe, that it’s all real, that we’re real children of a real King, with real justice and real mercy and a coming real kingdom.

For the word of the cross is folly to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God. For it is written,      
 
    “I will destroy the wisdom of the wise,
        and the discernment of the discerning I will thwart.”
 
Where is the one who is wise? Where is the scribe? Where is the debater of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world? For since, in the wisdom of God, the world did not know God through wisdom, it pleased God through the folly of what we preach to save those who believe.
(1 Corinthians 1:18-21 ESV)

Maranatha

Mar3

SONY DSCI find myself perplexed as I consider E’s increasing understanding and curiosity about spiritual things.  Like I said in an earlier post, there are tiny little pieces of the Gospel that she grasps.  And like the very title of my blog attests, she’s already a sinner.  She already needs Jesus.  She’s rebellious, and I dare say that her behavior is already worse than I would hope for in a regenerate child.  So, if Jesus came back today, is our wonderful little two-year-old already set for hell?

I honestly don’t spend very much time pondering the subject. I know that God is both gracious and good, and that the ultimate course of her life is already written and wholly unalterable by me. I know that in heaven I won’t struggle to praise Him for sending even those nearest to me into an eternity of judgement and pain.  But I do find my heart sharply pricked by one little phrase in Scripture: come, Lord Jesus! Part of me–still a sinner!–wants to temper that cry with a “not yet.”  Don’t come back until our children are Yours, Jesus.

It doesn’t seem like a terrible error.  I can still scoff at people who say foolishness like “but I want to get married before I go to heaven,” right?  After all, I’m not putting some vain earthly pursuit ahead of my earnestness for Christ, this is my children’s salvation I’m talking about. And it’s not like I’m not still looking forward to Christ coming back, I just want our kids to be out of limbo-land first.

I was really convicted yesterday about this. Eternity is about Christ, not who else He brings there, and nothing must stand between me and my longing for that day, longing to see His face, longing for His glory to be made known from the furthest reaches of space to the depths of the earth.  I should want our children’s salvation so that their voices would add to His praise, not because I want to hold onto them.

I never cease to be amazed by my ability to be distracted from Him.

My favorite bouncer.

Mar3

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Yes, it’s another product review.  I just honestly have been so impressed by this bouncer that I had to share. Smile  Someday I’m going to write an entry about pacifiers and breastfeeding, too, and then I think I’ll be all product-ed out.

Fisher Price makes “rockers” that convert from a stationary bouncer to a sort of rocking chair for toddlers.  This is what I asked for, and received, at the baby shower for our first child, and I’ve been very happy with it—it has made it through three children (often more than one at once) with aplomb.  It’s still going strong.  I had another bouncer, a much cheaper second-hand item, that I kept on the other floor, though, and it was biting the dust.

I should perhaps add here that I’m not a fan of swings.  A baby that’s happy in a bouncer will be equally happy on a pile of blankets at someone else’s house, or in a carseat; a baby that’s happy in a swing will be happy… in a swing. That’s my experience, anyway, and so this time around we aimed our two swings at the dumpster and decided to invest in a second bouncer instead.

This is not my kid.I seriously considered getting a second one exactly like the first, but then I saw this one.  It’s a little more expensive, maybe simply because it’s newer, but I loved the idea that the toy bar swung out of the way, and also that the bouncer itself folds up for easy transport and small storage.  I was a little worried about its plastic construction—the cheaper bouncer-rocker is made out of metal—but it’s still rated for forty pounds, which means it can still easily handle our toddlers if they rebelliously venture into it. It’s also a little more matchy with our living room than the blue one is.

So I ordered it, sight unseen, and very excitedly pulled it out of the box and put it together.  We love it.  Baby and I, I mean.  What you can’t really tell from the picture is that it’s very broad.  It doesn’t seem to take up more floorspace than the other bouncers I’ve used, but it’s a lot more bed-like and supportive.  It has a pretty good range of tilt to the seat, too.  It’s also a lot more sturdy than I expected it to be, and the legs work well.  You can definitely drag it across the floor without the legs folding under, but it also has enough grippiness that it stays still when one of the girls knocks into it.  The toy bar folding away is every bit as convenient as I hoped it would be, and honestly I’m kind of glad that it doesn’t make a lot of noise like most bouncer bars!  (It doesn’t make any noise at all, in fact.)  The toy creatures are a little frightening—child the eldest asked why the bugs had so many eyes—but bright and colorful and positioned at a good height.  The whole thing is a little brighter than it looks in the pictures, honestly, which is one of the few negatives since I was hoping it would blend with our décor.  Also not obvious from the pictures is that the bouncer is quite low to the floor, much more than the other bouncer-rocker.  This too is a good thing with toddlers around the house: it would be really hard for them to purposefully or accidentally knock the bouncer over, but it’s still high enough and sturdy enough that they’re unlikely to fall into the bouncer the way they do with a regular, close-to-the-floor bouncer.  (Our first daughter occasionally flipped over her sister’s bouncer—happily I caught it and no damage was ever done to said sister—it was scary, though!)

In short, this is the perfect bouncer to have around when you have two under two, or three under three.

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