Hey fellow mommas, I want you to know that I think this is tough, too.
It hasn't been lying on my back in a blanket of grass, laughing, and blowing bubbles with my little one. Yes, I will admit, that is what my crazy disillusioned brain thought this motherhood thing would be like. Yeah, we'd pick flowers and bake cookies and whisper bedtime lullabies. As they grew, I'd become a friend and the eternally "cool mom". We'd talk through the little hiccups of life and there would be peace and we'd live the dream. A walk in the park. A bed of roses. One beautiful moment after another, and I'd be blissfully thankful for all of it.
Reality.
I am allergic to ants so I can't lay in the grass. If there is an open bottle of bubbles, any given toddler WILL spill it all over the place. It's easier to buy flowers. Cookies burn. Michael Thomas + Aletha Thomas = Loud Children and Loud Lullabies. "Cool" isn't even a word the new generations use, much less put it with the word "mom". Peaceful and little and hiccup do not go hand in hand. A walk in the hype of Times Square. A bed of dirty, stinky bed sheets. Yeah that is more like it. But still...
Beautiful moment, after beautiful moment creating blissful thankfulness.
Instead of being thankful for those dreamed up made from scratch cookies, last night with a room full of other mothers of different ages gathered around open bibles, I gave thanksgiving to our Creator for my Instapot. An Instapot, y'all, an Instapot. I thanked God for my Instapot.
I couldn't help but chuckle and the ladies laughed. Humanity. We usually lose sight of how beautiful of a thing it really is. The simplicity of laughter. The honesty of being grateful for a kitchen utensil. The vulnerability of allowing others see that in a day that most of us could relate to, if being thankful for an Instapot is all that we could speak, then we knew He understood.
The thankfulness for the Instapot comes from it being a tool that made life easier on an afternoon and evening that seemed impossible. It gave me some breathing room and extra time and helped me feed five other hungry mouths. Grace that can be pressure cooked in ten minutes.
The Instapot was the easiest solution to the easiest first world problem. If I really wanted to live out vulnerability and relationship and community, then I need to open up about what is behind the Instapot prayer.
The feelings of inadequacy. I am supposed to meet their needs...to feed them and clothe them and house them. I am supposed to encourage their talents and help them reach their goals...be the biggest cheerleader and taxi driver around. But three kids, three different sets of talents and passions and goals...I can't seem to do it all. There are only 24 hours in a day. But then there is so much more. The bigger stuff. The questions I ask myself in my own head...Am I laughing enough with them? Am I answering their questions the way I should? Am I listening? Am I tuned in? Am I showing up...and not just physically?
The fear of the unknown. It is a fear that many don't acknowledge. It makes me shutter. I know it happens, I read the stories and have witnessed the aftermath. The questions silently continue to the point it's hard to think about anything else. Are they hurting? Is someone or something bothering them? Are they carrying a burden all alone? Are they scared or confused or depressed? Why won't they tell me? And this world they are living in...it is crazy! There isn't any way to protect them from things I can't see coming. And the greatest fear...satan...is he after them?
The shame of selfishness. I want to be all things to the three kids all the time. I want to be their go to; always first; always before everyone else, even there earthly father...now how selfish is that?! Maybe even controlling...and that makes me want to vomit. But on the flip side...the side that "supermoms" aren't supposed to feel ever. But if we are being honest...I want to to have time to myself. I want to eat an entire plate of food without sharing or letting it get cold. I want to decide to go somewhere on a whim and not have to come up with solutions to the gaps my absence leaves in an itinerary of life for five. Ughhh...I am embarrassed to even say that.
The absence of faith. He made me their mom. He wouldn't give me any more than I can handle. He knows I can do this...therefore I can...at least I think I can? He isn't only my Father...He is their Father. He knows them better than I do and loves them infinitely more than I do. He knows the number of hairs on their heads, the thoughts in their brains, and all the emotions that are stirring in their little souls. My faith should erase the fear of the unknown, ease the feelings of inadequacy and remove the shame of selfishness. But I doubt and question and I am weak.
Therefore He will be made strong.
A guy in my church family always reminds us of this...Jesus was 100% God but also 100% human. He gets us. He was never a mother, but when we grasp this massive ratio, then we know He can relate. It's why He came. To be with us. To walk on the same earth. To understand. To love us well.
Emmanuel.
I wonder if He ever thought, "Did I do enough? Did they understand what I said?"
In the wilderness or in garden I wonder if the fear of the unknown was present.
When there were so many people needing His help that He couldn't even find time to eat, I wonder if that is when He knew what selfishness might feel like.
He was God, but He was human so I wonder if He had to question why He had even come at times.
Everytime I plug up that Instapot, I hope I can always be thankful. Thanksgiving needs to be given for the opportunity of being a mother who feels inadequate at times, who is afraid of the unknown and can be selfish, and whose faith isn't always as present as it should be.
It makes me 100% human.
The fact that He was 100% human, too gives me comfort, provides relationship, and creates confidence when much is lost.
The fact that He was 100% God, clothes me in grace, grounds me in hope, restores my faith, and redeems me, even in this crazy thing we call motherhood.
