They are my heart. These two and their father. They fill me up and empty me clear out and take me from pride to dismay and everywhere in between all in a day. In an hour. And I fear that I am not as resilient as they are, as resilient as they deserve. Some days grow long and lord knows they can be tenacious...and sometimes I grow weary. Patience wears thin and grace slips away and words clip harsher than I intend. Then guilt rolls in like a fog because I see that I have missed the mark yet again. I see it reflected in their little faces and in their attitudes. A heavy, annoyed sigh from from the 3 year old. An exasperated reply to a simple question from the 5 year old. And I know it is normal, and it is the nature of the beast... but I also know they have heard it before, coming right from me.
Galations 5:22-23 "But the fruit of the spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self control; against such things, there is no law."
This is what I long to teach them. So then, what is the best way? To be it, to live it, to lead them to it. Of course. And it stings because I know I fall short- so much, so often. I start off each day with these lofty ideals in front of me. And I try- by sheer force of will. I strive, which only leads to exhaustion... because I am mistaken. I am mistaken in the striving, and I am mistaken in thinking I can manufacture these qualities within myself.
I happen to flip through the emails on my phone and I come across my new favorite- Ann Voscamp's blog. Maybe it's a bit antiquated. Maybe it's a bit much- the way she writes and the way she lives, but I am always inspired by her raw transparency and I always relate to her struggles within.
I have to strain to read her words through the blur of tears that started coming somewhere after the third sentence. She writes grace words about grace living- and what does that even mean, really?
I wonder.
And how many times must a mother fail miserably? I reread a sentence three times over and I stop, exhale, and I think on her words.
And they pierce me, like a truth always does. Like a nail driven in and through, and it sends splinters all across my heart.
Because this is exactly how I feel today.
"The Farmer says it quiet to sons, that all this hollering, it's no gospel, and I'm the railing mother whose sin reeks, who needs Christ's nailing and more than a tidy bit of grace and how do I keep falling hard everyday and tripping all these kids too?
How can a mother do so much everyday and know she does so much wrong? Sometimes holding a kid is this wild prayer for God to just hold it all together."
And yes, this sounds heavy. And no, it's not always this way. Of course not. But some days it is. Some days it is hard. I worry about my failures, and I doubt myself, and I fret if I am doing a well enough job in this enormous task of raising these two bright eyed, curly headed children. Will they grow up to be loving and kind and true? And am I?
In and of ourselves, no, I suppose we're not. Thank God for grace and for clean slates and for hope for more.
I keep reading.
"Christianity isn't about growing good- it's about growing grace-filled. Why in the world did I keep telling my boys to be more Christ-like as if He was a ladder to ascend, to progressively strive to be more sanctified- when being Christ-like is not about ladders but about laying down and reaching wide?...This is the gospel that I don't just need, but need to live... Like a rubbing of the hurting places, a drowning out of fears...Grace laid it's arm down a beam and grace never stops reaching out, reaching for you, reaching straight across walls and through fences and over barbed wire laws...When you fail and you bleed fallen and you're the mess just wild to somehow make it, it's inhaling the gospel that heals: Blessed assurance, Jesus assures: You don't have to pull yourself up by the bootstraps- you only have to pull close. It's the gospel in shorthand pure relief:
"MY HOPE ISN'T BUILT ON MY PERFORMANCE BUT ON JESUS' RIGHTEOUSNESS."
And I remember that motherhood isn't simply about "doing a good job" or teaching them to be "good", it's about laying myself down and reaching wide, as Ann so eloquently puts it. Reaching for grace and constantly reaching to tend and grow these two tender little hearts, drawing them close and showing them the real truth about where joy and peace and patience and gentleness come from. It's about showing them a gospel not only about what we accept, but what we extend.
And I remember that His mercies are new every morning. And that the work of tending and growing little hearts is rarely a tidy business, but it's a worthy business.
And thank God my hope isn't built on my performance, because it isn't about ME at all.
Galations 5:22-23 "But the fruit of the spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self control; against such things, there is no law."
This is what I long to teach them. So then, what is the best way? To be it, to live it, to lead them to it. Of course. And it stings because I know I fall short- so much, so often. I start off each day with these lofty ideals in front of me. And I try- by sheer force of will. I strive, which only leads to exhaustion... because I am mistaken. I am mistaken in the striving, and I am mistaken in thinking I can manufacture these qualities within myself.
I happen to flip through the emails on my phone and I come across my new favorite- Ann Voscamp's blog. Maybe it's a bit antiquated. Maybe it's a bit much- the way she writes and the way she lives, but I am always inspired by her raw transparency and I always relate to her struggles within.
I have to strain to read her words through the blur of tears that started coming somewhere after the third sentence. She writes grace words about grace living- and what does that even mean, really?
I wonder.
And how many times must a mother fail miserably? I reread a sentence three times over and I stop, exhale, and I think on her words.
And they pierce me, like a truth always does. Like a nail driven in and through, and it sends splinters all across my heart.
Because this is exactly how I feel today.
"The Farmer says it quiet to sons, that all this hollering, it's no gospel, and I'm the railing mother whose sin reeks, who needs Christ's nailing and more than a tidy bit of grace and how do I keep falling hard everyday and tripping all these kids too?
How can a mother do so much everyday and know she does so much wrong? Sometimes holding a kid is this wild prayer for God to just hold it all together."
And yes, this sounds heavy. And no, it's not always this way. Of course not. But some days it is. Some days it is hard. I worry about my failures, and I doubt myself, and I fret if I am doing a well enough job in this enormous task of raising these two bright eyed, curly headed children. Will they grow up to be loving and kind and true? And am I?
In and of ourselves, no, I suppose we're not. Thank God for grace and for clean slates and for hope for more.
I keep reading.
"Christianity isn't about growing good- it's about growing grace-filled. Why in the world did I keep telling my boys to be more Christ-like as if He was a ladder to ascend, to progressively strive to be more sanctified- when being Christ-like is not about ladders but about laying down and reaching wide?...This is the gospel that I don't just need, but need to live... Like a rubbing of the hurting places, a drowning out of fears...Grace laid it's arm down a beam and grace never stops reaching out, reaching for you, reaching straight across walls and through fences and over barbed wire laws...When you fail and you bleed fallen and you're the mess just wild to somehow make it, it's inhaling the gospel that heals: Blessed assurance, Jesus assures: You don't have to pull yourself up by the bootstraps- you only have to pull close. It's the gospel in shorthand pure relief:
"MY HOPE ISN'T BUILT ON MY PERFORMANCE BUT ON JESUS' RIGHTEOUSNESS."
And I remember that motherhood isn't simply about "doing a good job" or teaching them to be "good", it's about laying myself down and reaching wide, as Ann so eloquently puts it. Reaching for grace and constantly reaching to tend and grow these two tender little hearts, drawing them close and showing them the real truth about where joy and peace and patience and gentleness come from. It's about showing them a gospel not only about what we accept, but what we extend.
And I remember that His mercies are new every morning. And that the work of tending and growing little hearts is rarely a tidy business, but it's a worthy business.
And thank God my hope isn't built on my performance, because it isn't about ME at all.
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