Hard Mommy Days: Musings on Mary

courtesy:  Jill Greenberg

Today would be classified as a "Hard Mommy Day". One of my first, and most assuredly not one of my last. VULNERABILITY WARNING: I'm sitting here crying over my open Bible and a glass of white wine. I am tired. So. tired. I even managed to nap today...but these dark circles under my eyes won't lie.

Daddy was gone, to begin with(can YOU guess that reference?).  That always complicates my day when there are errands involved. What could have been a highly productive day was completely sabotaged by my not-so-productive child (how dare she?!). I barely managed to make my Saturday morning coffee study(mind you, we were a whopping thirty minutes late). And Rosebud--though happy and typically quite joyful--couldn't survive very long past breakfast. It was naptime. She was tired and wanted to curl up in her warm, comfortable crib. But Mommy wanted to visit, and so we stayed, all the while rocking and swaying with a fuzzy blanket. Eventually she fell asleep and the momentary quiet came. I was thankful. I managed to make it through the first portion of my errands unscathed, but then the child stirred and my outing was thwarted. My child is phenomenally patient, though, and entertained herself well with her surroundings. But when her patience wore thin, she informed me--quite loudly, I might add. And soon, I was in the checkout line hastily rummaging through my items. We made it home and naptime ensued. Once again, my quiet came. I'm learning to lean into those moments because they're so rare.

Later, we strolled to the mall to meet up with a friend. Seems innocent enough, right? Rosebud was clean, full and happy. There were a few whiney moments spattered into our outing, but overall, she was carefree...until J. Crew. I'll have you know that store is not  stroller conducive. We got stuck several times, and I received some choice looks for even attempting to stroller shop in the store. But who says Mommy can't be fashionable? Oh, right. J. Crew. Because when you become a mom your sense of fashion flies out the window with your brain( okay, maybe I DO prefer yoga pants and a tank top, but STILL). I don't think it's intentional, because I noticed another stroller. I silently acknowledged my comrade and congratulated him for persevering through the tiny crevice that is that store. I did everything in my power to ensure the babe was content, but nothing worked. I tried to placate her with toys, but she got bored. When we began strolling around(unsuccessfully), the waterworks started.

Cue: Meltdown #1

It was deafening. And--had I not been used to the wails--I might have been embarrassed. My friend's enduring patience is a testament to who she is. When Rosebud cried incessantly in the men's section, she entertained her. When I apologized for having such a verbal, alert child, she assured me that Rosebud's motor skills are top-knotch. I'm forever grateful for friends like that.

But our efforts were wasted. The babe won. And amazingly, I felt overwhelmed with compassion on my little bean. She can't help that she's so tiny and dependent. It's not her fault she didn't come into the world as an adult. And besides, I concluded on the way home, it's nice to be needed. Our stroll back to the house was again peaceful. I laughed at the thought that 5 minutes prior, my kid was screaming. But she needs structure. She needs her bed. I was thankful for the means to provide just that.

When she slept, so did I. We didn't wake up until our tummies reminded us to eat. Since it had been a hard afternoon, I rewarded us with a trip to our favorite place: Trader Joe's. We strolled across the street to purchase dinner[and Sunday lunch]. We were both pleasantly bundled and enjoying the crisp air...and then we reached the store.

Cue: meltdown #2

We made it about halfway through my small list, when Rosebud again started to cry. Thankfully, the TJs people are about as non-judgmental as you can get, so I wasn't really shaken. But the exhaustion hit. And, I too, wanted to join my child. Almost out of nowhere, a woman approached me. She complimented my daughter and began speaking to her. Instant calm(on both fronts). Rosebud marveled at this woman. So did I. She was so kind. We talked for some time,

You're a good mommy. She's going to be better because you're with her. Don't forget that. You rest when she does. You have the rest of your life to do housework. Just love her. You're doing a great job.

I call her my Christmas Angel. She must have seen the exhaustion on my face. She must have remembered feeling that way herself. Oh, what a blessing she'll never know she was.

When we returned home, I felt thankful. I quickly fed my daughter and laid her down, then began my dinner. A few minutes into the evolution, I smelled plastic--melted plastic. I had accidentally turned on the wrong stove eye, and some of my baby's bottles were burning. By the time I got to the wreckage, they looked about as hopeful as Frosty on the 4th of July. It was pathetic.

Cue: meltdown #3

I quickly aerated the house; opening doors and windows all over. The smell left quickly. The baby was fine. But...what a mess. Oh, what a mess. I tearfully scraped the bottom of our gumbo pot, thankful it wasn't ruined.

As I write this now, shivering in my detoxed home, I can't help but remember Mary.

I am the Lord's servant.

She couldn't have known about meltdowns, right? Or about the complexities of pregnancy and delivery? And the intensity of the situation just must not have bothered her, you know?

No. She was fully aware of the context. And she had probably spent time with babies. But she still gratefully accepted her role.

I love Mary. I've always thought she was so honest. She wasn't afraid to ask Gabriel how things would play out. But when he responded with, "The Holy Spirit will come upon you..."(Luke 2:35) she questioned no further, but instead chose to trust.

I am the Lord's servant.

She said "yes" to this inconceivable, scandalous miracle. She said "yes" to the way her 14-year old body would soon change. She said "yes" to the grubby, joyful, chaotic role of motherhood; to serving unselfishly and daily dying to herself with (seemingly) little return for your labor.

She did it for her King.

Today--and everyday-- I am going to strive to be like Mary. Not because she's awesome, but because God is. He is worthy of my life---my service, my love, and my wholehearted devotion--even when my current role feels discouraging sometimes.

I am thankful for:
My servant-hearted husband( if he didn't love and serve us so well, days like this wouldn't feel so overwhelming without him). My understanding mall buddy. Naps. Compliant, smiling Trader Joe's shoppers. My Christmas Angel. A sense of smell(to catch those bottles!). My warm bed. Tonight's yummy dinner. My patient, active, joyful daughter. My opportunity to be a wife and mother.

But, most of all, I am thankful for Christ.

I am the Lord's servant whatever the day, whatever the role.

Christmas Lessons(and Something Silly)

“Blessed be the Lord God of Israel, for he has visited and redeemed his people and raised up a horn of salvation for us…that we, being delivered from the hand of our enemies might serve him without fear, in holiness and righteousness before him all our days” (Luke 1: 68-69, 74-75)

These words come from Zechariah, the earthly father of John the Baptist, shortly after John was born. Zechariah had been a servant of the Lord all of his life. He was a priest, so this idea of living in service to God was no news. But learning to live without fear was. We don’t know much of Zechariah’s character, but we do know that he was a righteous man, who faithfully followed the Lord’s statutes (1:6-7).  He pointed the people to God, and he was married to a godly woman. But when an angel visited him and told him he would have a son in his old age (though he had prayed for this), “fear fell upon him”(Luke 1:12). He didn’t believe that it was possible. In fact, he demanded evidence (vs. 18). Because he doubted, his mouth was closed until the baby was born. That would have been embarrassing, wouldn’t it? Not being able to communicate with friends and family, or order your favorite tapas, pray at dinnertime, yell at a football game, or sing Christmas carols (well, they didn’t have football back then and they didn’t sing Christmas carols, because…uh…Christmas hadn’t happened yet…er…but you get the picture) and all because you just had to question God’s plan. But this was his lot for the next 9 months. I probably wouldn’t have been too pleased with the situation. I would’ve felt so helpless, and ashamed. And I think Zechariah probably felt that way, too, at first. But the verses above tell me that eventually he put on his “big boy pants” and decided to learn from his mistakes. Verse 63 tells us that while the family was arguing over what the baby should be called and came to him for the final word, he wrote “His name is John”. What happened next? His “tongue was loosed” and he began blessing God! Well, his friends and family members were stunned, and maybe a little scared, but Zechariah was not. He had been released from fear! Filled with the Holy Spirit, he  felt complete freedom, and humility. And he blessed the Lord.

“…That we, being delivered from all our enemies, might serve him without fear, in holiness and righteousness before him all our days…”- (vs.74-75)

I’m going to be transparent with you: I borrow fear. My vivid imagination sometimes expects or conjures the worst, and fear becomes my closest enemy. I fear the unknown…which means I fear the future, darkness, etc. You name it, and if I don’t have a plan marked out in my brain to tackle it, then I’m afraid of it. My husband and I were having a conversation about this last night. You see, I’m a little afraid of death. Though the thought of being with Jesus face-to-face excites me, death is still the unknown, so there is fear. This does not honor God. What Zechariah realized—and proclaimed—was that any fear God’s people harbor is not grounded. He knew that because of the sacrifice the sweet little one born of Mary would make, God’s people are wholly free, covered in the grace and righteousness of Christ.

Theologian Matthew Henry explains it well: We are therefore delivered from the iron yoke of sin, that our necks may be put under the sweet and easy yoke of the Lord Jesus. The very bonds which he has loosed do bind us faster unto him, Psa_116:16. We are hereby enabled to serve God without fear.We are therefore put into a state of holy safety that we might serve God with a holy security and serenity of mind, as those that are quiet from the fears of evil.

This is the Gospel. Because of the perfect sacrifice of Jesus, there is nothing to fear—in life and in death. We can trust him completely. All of these miniscule fears I create are not from Him and I cannot be bound by them. God has not called his children to live in fear, but to serve “in holiness and righteousness before him all our days”.  There is no time for fear when we’re happily, quietly resting in Him.

Geeze.  More and  more I realize how little I know and how unworthy I am apart from him.

Glory, glory, GLORY to this perfect Savior.

As promised: Something catchy Silly:

Sending a Very Merry Christmas to you and yours!

Tear-Full

Ever since we moved to California, the silliest things trigger my tears.  The only catch is, to me they are not silly. For example, the other day I started crying when I heard I’ll Be Home for Christmas because I felt thankful to be spending Christmas with the man God has designed for me. And the other night, when Tyler and I were watching TV, a Carter’s Kids commercial about moms came on, and I started bawling because it made me miss my mother. Then the other day, I cried while hanging pictures, because one of the frames was inscribed with, “All Because Two People Fell in Love” and I thought about the people in our (mine and Tyler’s) lives who have exemplified godly marriage, like our grandparents and parents.  Sometimes, a mere look from Tyler will spark the "waterworks".  Or a thought of a family member will make me burst into tears. What’s funny is, when the tears come, I am more often than not with Tyler. And yes, he is usually confused. I’m convinced he believes I’m crazy( not really). Honestly, I’ll cry anywhere and everywhere, with no shame. Like Tyler, the people out here don’t know how to respond either. It sounds depressing, doesn’t it? But the difference is my tears are what I believe to be an overflow of a thankful heart. I don’t know if you have been following my blog since our move, but it is filled with some raw posts. Most of them discuss my growing need for Jesus through a daily realization of new sin. It’s hard to be in that place—of constant sanctification, of continually realizing that you are not good enough on your own; that you desperately need a Savior. But now at the end of what seemed like life’s dreariest spiritual tunnel, I see that it was/is the very best place to be. To be so pathetic and insatiable on a daily basis is good for my heart; it produces with me both gratitude and humility. I need that 24/7. 

That first paragraph up there was written before the shootings of this morning occurred.  Anything that I type now seems utterly worthless. In fact, I’m not sure of how to respond. I just know I felt led to write something.  But…what? What do you say to those families who lost their precious children? Or to those families of the teachers who died for the protection of little lives? How do I respond to this random, heinous crime? I honestly don’t know. When I first read the article, I felt angry at the gunman, and glad he died. I felt unsafe. I felt broken-hearted. And I cried.  I fell apart. Immediately, I grabbed Shiloh, held her in my arms, and cried into her soft black fur. That may seem strange, but she was the only warm-blooded creature nearby, and it was oddly comforting. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I tried to think of a productive chore to keep me busy, but all I’ve been able to do since hearing the news is sit on my couch and cry. Surprisingly, the most overwhelming emotion of the day has not been bitterness or sorrow. Yes, I am devastated for the families of those lost. But more than anything, I am thankful. Not thankful this happened. Not thankful our nation had to endure yet another tragedy. Not thankful that lives were lost. That would be cruel and senseless of me. But because of this event, my heart wells up with gratitude for the love I’ve been surrounded with. I’m thankful…

For a Daddy who always, without fail, points me to Christ; who loves me unconditionally, and is never too proud to hold me in his arms and tell me, “Everything will be OK”.  I’m thankful for this man, whose heart breaks a little bit more with every new step towards the heart of God. And through whom the experienced presence of God is more evident every time I see him. 

For a Mother, who faithfully serves and loves her family, and with whom I can talk at any hour about any topic. And through whom I have observed the most apparent example of tender mercies. She has shown me how to love people authentically, and organically. And, now that I a wife, I have resolved that she has been my best model of what it looks like to honor the Lord as both a woman and a wife. 

For a big sister, who always exceeded my expectations of a sister; who exemplifies motherhood in a radical, beautiful way, and who is never too old to let me call her “Sissy”.

For a big brother, who is truly the brother I never thought I would receive, who shares my sense of humor, and loves to make people smile. He cares for his family in the most genuinely selfless way.

For a wonderful namesake niece, who’s smile can brighten anyone’s day, and who’s laughter is contagious. She is not merely a ray of sunshine, she IS sunshine.

For a niece or nephew to come…who will most assuredly sweeten our little clan.

For a Grandmother, who generously gave to her family for years, never asking for anything but love. She fought to protect and serve her family with kindness, wisdom and honor. Plus, she just knew how to make me laugh.

For a Rogie, who left a legacy of lovely, creative, spunky people. She loved her family well, especially through heartache, and yet daily proclaimed,” The Lord is in control”. 

For the generations of aunts, uncles, and cousins, who have lovingly shown me the value of sacrificially loving your family--whatever the cost, whatever the season. 

For a new family, who I am excited to learn how to love. And by whom I already feel immeasurably blessed and welcomed. 

For a husband, who patiently deals with my sin, loves me through it, and pushes me to know Christ in a rich way. He seeks to love me more furiously, and make me feel valued, like no one else has apart from Christ. Being in this marriage with him as given me a clearer picture of the Lord’s fierce and unending love. 

Finally, for a Father, who is FAITHFUL even when I am faithless. For this Savior who relentlessly

pursues my stubborn, unwilling heart daily. For his abounding love, and patience. For his coming as an innocent, tiny, seemingly helpless child to save a people for himself.

Though I cannot understand what those mourning may feel, I know how I am to respond: in tear-full thanksgiving.

It is humbling that the God of the Universe loves us each enough to remind us to be thankful.  It makes me want to hug the ones I love a little bit longer, and to spend more time telling them why I love them.

So, if you’re reading this, know that you are loved. The God of Creation loved you enough to sacrifice his only Son. Isn’t it reassuring to know that, when we have no possible way of understanding, He can empathize with these hurting people?

“Give thanks to the Lord…for he satisfies the longing soul, and the hungry soul he fills with good things”-Psalm 107:9

“You keep track of all my sorrows…You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book”- Ps. 56:8