I’ve mentioned it before, but it encourages me how the work and effort of love transpires into feeling so privilaged to share your life with someone. I know, it soulds like an ode to marriage (which is its own privilage), but I’m talking about Church. Note the big “C”. The people.
One of “my kids” is expecting a baby in another month. How she’s old enough to be married with a job and have a baby is beyond me. I have trouble enough accepting the fact that I’m old enough to reproduce, let alone these souls who were precious to me only 5-7 years ago. And clearly they’re precious to me now, but it’s in a different context.
I sat with 2 of my other girls and the mom of a few of my boys and just caught up on life. I watched MK open onesies and blankets and fill the role of expectant, excited first-time mom. I was just overwhelmed with a sense of privilage. The mom told me her son is making some big “life decisions” (and good ones, at that!). I want to just call him up and tell him how proud I am. I want to wedge myself in and watch. I want to remove the barrier of distance and time and position myself beside all of them again. But the fact remains, no matter how hard it is for me to accept, that they are adults. Sheesh.
I spent a lot of hours, prayers and tears over these “kids.” Relationships are work, no doubt. But work is true of any good thing put on this earth, so it should be no surprise. Nonetheless, I’m grateful that it has been designed that after the effort of growing and learning with someone (because my experience as a youth director was a two-way avenue of learning), there comes a chance that you get to fester in your pride and pretend that the glory days still exist. You get to watch these little souls pledge their life to another and then buy them fun toys when they offer themselves to a new creation in the most selfless way possible. I feel privilaged that little ol’ me, one of many from their teenage days, was invited to peer in and celebrate their progress through life.
I’ve wrestled with the question of “why church?” before. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not looking to leave – the question is more theoretical than practical. Often times answers center around how a person feels when they leave on a Sunday morning – uplifted. Positve, encouraging. Challenged. Inspired. And those things are great.
But for me, it’s about the way God works through people. It’s about the way love shapes us and causes us to grow in the fruit of the Spirit. That by praying – and at times, crying – over others, the Spirit begins to develop love and joy in my soul. That by seeing their joy I’m reminded of the joys in my life. The challenges that come with loving and sharing life develop patience and self-control.
It can be tough to accept the work of God in your life, especially when invisible and audibly quiet. But He has given us His people, His Body. Often times, broken and poured out for one another. It’s the most beautiful thing imaginable.
It’s not exclusive, but boy is it a privilage, a beautiful gift.
Month: March 2011 (Page 3 of 5)
A few weeks ago I felt like a prisoner trapped in my own home. My days with the children weren’t very enjoyable; or, rather, I was not an enjoyable person for my children.
But this morning we’re out in the Florida room playing, I still in my jammies, hot coffee in hand (again, me – not the kiddos), and the sun is already out. We’ve got a date with grandma at the mall later to use up an Old Navy 30% discount. Husband is due home early because of an early dismissal. The Bucks play this afternoon to begin their ascent to the championship.
It’s amazing what a little sunshine and warm weather can do for the soul. And perhaps a bit of healthy perspective.
A few weeks ago I sat around a table with several wonderful women, conversing about our shared experiences of the difficutly of mothering the second time around – daughters for the lot of us. Whether it be the differences in habits, the presence of baby-sized estrogen hormones or our own lack of patience after parenthood lost its shiny newness, we each expressed that this time around has been a bit more challenging. I renewed my belief that, other than “I love you” the strongest words you can share with a person are, “Yeah, me too.”
Motherhood has an interesting way of bringing you together; whether at the grocery store, looking over a screaming child and seeing a mom give a “been there, it’s okay” glance or times of offering how-tos. Often I feel very fortunate to share my experiences with so many women who, though we all choose different methods, are living parallel, albeit sleepless, struggles.
The irony enters when I consider that much of the community I feel among my co-mom family and friends may exist because of our shared experience in the solitary nature of our mom job. Now most of these ladies are very happy with the amount of shouldered responsibilities put forth by their husbands; I feel my own is quite the superdad. But there’s something about the fact that no one really cares about your kid’s poop that gives mothering a sense of aloneness. Perhaps it’s the nights where it’s just you and the baby… or it could be the evenings you feel a bit trapped in your own home, starved for social conversation. Whatever the case, no matter the strength of partnership you share in the household, I believe mothering has a lonely side.
After some recent reflection, I decided it’s not how you do the job of mothering, it’s simply ingrained in the job description. I feel quite loved by my husband and family – this is not one of those times where I fear no one will come to my funeral – but it’s a new and different experience to love someone, such as your child, so deeply and feel in exchange needed. Now, I don’t doubt my toddler’s affection and his hugs and kisses prove his allegience. But when you get down to our daily life, my kids need me more than than they choose me. They mostly prefer me to complete strangers when it comes to wiping duties, but the nature of my love sometimes yearns for more. Not friendship (I firmly believe that’s not my job as a parent), and not romance. But when you’re used to love as a partnership, shouldering most of the weight of a relationship can feel uncomfortable and wearing. And yet, that’s what it means to be a parent. (And we’re only on the maiden voyage; I realize that we haven’t hit the older stages of “I hate you” or the teenage “You’re ruining my life!” antics).
I regularly read a blog of a pastor who had recently reflected on his life and the role of his recently passed father. One lesson told of his father’s joy when he became wanted rather than needed. While I first read this as true and powerful, I hadn’t yet identified its depths specifically as a parent. I will be needed before I’m wanted. It’s part of the process of love. (And the process works – I love my own parents dearly and we regularly choose to spend time with them because we enjoy them).
The journey of loving our children seems like walking a road alone, together. Many travelers join us – first and foremost my husband – but yet our pace and patterns are just enough different that the path can feel lonely. The best we can do is offer one another encouragement while take on the next mile.