Sometimes at night after the kids have finally given in to sleep, I maneuver through the carnage of my kitchen, and I am reminded of all that I’m not, of all that was supposed to have been, of all the things I thought this would be like.
A scratch in the paint here. A smudge of peanut butter there. I look around and see a house that never feels settled...a never ending project. Papers and receipts lay stacked in the kitchen basket. Pictures, not yet put away, are stuffed in not-so-hidden corners. Fingerprints remind me that, yes, kids do touch everything, and toys stand alert like little soldiers ready to attack if I dare move them. The kitchen table is a landing space for bicycle equipment, toys, cups, bags, and sticky handprints...the floor a crash pad for the kids. My phone reliably lies on the counter ready to assist me in my daily validation and escape routine. Dishes, crumbs, coffee rings, and kitchen grease, all life’s art work, take their rightful places in my heart while I begrudgingly stow away the remnants of our day. The house has begun to look like my heart, I think. A cluttered mass of confusion and predictable uncertainty. An Israelite looking for the Promised Land.
Each item I pick up, wipe off, or put away stands as a monument, reminding me of how easy life used to be...that I can’t keep up. I can’t do it all. I probably won’t ever, and the monotony gets to me sometimes. I feel the grumblings begin to bubble up inside my heart, and I wonder when things are going to get easier. I wonder why this faith I thought I had refuses to activate when I need it the most.
What would people think? I wonder.
Would people recognize me as the sinful, ungrateful person I truly am? The woman who wallows in doubt, fear, anger, exhaustion, bitterness, and guilt far more than she rests in the Word? Would they be able to see the same person they see on Sunday morning?
I know the truth.
It’s just too easy to feel like a failure after you’ve scrolled through social media or at the end of the day when, nerves on edge, the veil of exhaustion hides our good judgement and the well of bitterness and resentment looks like the perfect way to quench our thirsty hearts. It’s too easy to lie awake at night, suddenly thinking we have to conquer the universe the next day. It’s too easy to turn to the world to fix our problems.
These setbacks, the times when our faith wavers as much as our children’s behavior often does, these years in our mental and emotional wildernesses, it’s all there to remind us that our walks with Christ, albeit bumpy and rocky at times, are almost identical to the years we put into mothering our children.
You know the Israelites often lost their way, too. "If only we had just died in Egypt," they cried. "Why did the Lord bring us all this way just to starve when we had plenty enough to eat where we were?" Exodus 16:3 Even though they had been slaves, and even though the Lord had proven himself to be miraculously in control, they still felt abandoned. They were in unknown territory. They were weak and naturally sinful. They were human and a whole lot like us.
How easy it is to forget where we came from and what God has accomplished in our lives already. How easy is it to become a self-sacrifice to the idols of our own imaginings. How easy it to forget that God is in control of the plans he has for our lives. Jer. 29:11.
We are a forgetful generation.
This powerful article by Steven Lee states that "spiritual amnesia" is sin. "Spiritual amnesia is a deadly disease that threatens your faith and your joy more than any cancer. It penetrates to the core and rots your heart from within."
I don’t want to forget my faith or my joy.
So, I’ll try to remember the good.
The pesky fingerprints mean kids, that I prayed for, live here. Really truly live. The sticky, cluttered table means people actually eat there. The dishes in the sink mean God provides. The muddy clothes mean my kids play outside. Really truly play. The toys mean my kids play and pretend in their own ways. The dirt on the floor means my son wanted to wash his dump truck in the sink, and the marker on the glass door means my daughter wanted to draw us a masterpiece. The papers and receipts mean God has given me a good, dependable husband to be the head manager of my family. And the piles of pictures? Well, they’re our memories, and they’re usually the last to be put away.These aren’t monuments of failure, mamas. They’re tests of virtue. Remarkable plans forming into seconds, days, and years. Stories to be told and remembered. Single brush strokes of God’s ultimate masterpiece. Promises waiting to be fulfilled.
In an article written by Sarah Walton, she explains that "our security and confidence cannot be defined by our children, parenting, or anything other than who we are in Christ. If you are a Christian, trust that you have been chosen and called to parent this child. If the God who spoke all things into creation ordained this in your life, who else’s opinion should steal the confidence and security you can have in his loving purpose for you?"
What a peace-giving sentiment to rest on tonight.
The beautiful tapestry God is creating within us will never begin to make sense until we relinquish control to him, believe in his plan, and allow him to fulfill everything He has ever promised. Up close, looking at our lives with a microscope, all we might see is chaos and blurred lines. We might not even recognize ourselves anymore. Motherhood will do that to us! But from afar, magical wonders are weaving themselves into place with each daily thread God chooses to use.Each of us has been gifted with our own fabric of faith, our own individual design. All we have to do is believe in the foretold beauty and live confidently knowing God is behind each and every stitch.
