When we were finally seated at the downtown dinner I ended
up next to a football legend. “Oh,
great,” I thought: “Small talk would be—what?”
I’m not known for my scintillating ballroom conversation. We listened to the dinner companions across
the table discuss how now that their children were teenagers they hated
them—thought they were lame, or mean, or whatever teenagers think of
parents. “Well”, thought I, “this is a
conversation I cannot join.” Turning to
football legend I asked, “Are you close to your kids?” His face lit up and he told many stories
about his family. He said he talks to
NFL coaches whose kids are messed up and tells them, “Hey, no matter what you Win, what do you have if your kids are a
train wreck?” Indeed. Forget the football legend. Better a father legend?
A number of women have said, “I could never do what you
do”. Translated, be home all day with
young children, that somehow turned teenagers, and be responsible for their education. The trophies of victory in the corporate
world are something I have on my resume, but I wouldn’t dream of trading a one
of them for looking out the window on a snowy day and seeing a six-foot sign
carved in the driveway by six hands and a snow shovel: “I LOVE MOM”.
Or a lavish daughters’ dinner
indistinguishable from the finest restaurant in town. Or a
bear-hug from the son every morning who asks me how’s it going, and who every
spring tills my garden whistling. Or a
thousand other gestures of love, now maturing into strong relationships. I love and admire who they are becoming.
Two ladies I overheard in the store, telling lengthy
self-absorbed- teen stories and commiserating, “You try to do what is best for
them, and then it turns around and bites you in the ___”. I’m just wondering: How much of our own self-absorption just gets
transferred? If we serve them joyfully
when it is our time to serve them, and show them what it means to be
other-focused, will they serve joyfully from the first years they are able to
bless? I remember an afternoon I came
home bedraggled from errands and they had mowed our (huge) lawn, gotten dinner
on, cleaned the house, and whatever else they could lay hands on—just to say “I
love you”. I think they were about 5, 8
and 10 at the time. Perfect kids? Hardly that!
They’d be the first to set you straight, and I could tell stories. And boy, could they tell stories about their
imperfect and growing-in-the-journey mother. This has, in fact, been a year of great
struggles and growth. No, not
perfect. But they hear a higher Call. By God’s grace, glimmers of Love shine
through the cracks in our earthen vessels spun into shape on His Potter’s
wheel.
What price? The
pieces and parts of my self that I’ve left behind along the way, the tears and
prayers that continue—for neither they nor we are in any stretch fully
sanctified—the things I’ve never accomplished, mothballed talents, they all
count as pebbles alongside the gold that is life in this family, these children,
in motherhood.
Have there been some bad days? Oh, some very bad days. And some very, very bad days. And some no-good, bad, terrible horrible
days. But the question comes, who are we
ourselves wanting to become in the storm-days of this Chosen stress and tension
and extra responsibility? Does the
struggle to pour out love in season and in storm serve a purpose in our own
journey? His purposes? Are my eyes fixed
on that precious-in-the-sight-of-God gentle and quiet spirit? Is who I am in Christ, and who I am becoming
in Christ, more valuable to me than significance in the world’s balance? Visible “trophies”?
Is it easy? Does it
get easier? Ann Voskamp writes truly, The
mantle of motherhood can feel like the weight of a universe and raising a child
is to be entrusted with a bit of eternity. Would I be fool enough to take the
matter lightly? The charge of a small child is no small charge and you’ll have
to charge the gates of heaven to hold back the forces of hell."
Is the goal for which I plead the same as on a recent ad for
a clothing store: “Make mom’s life one long weekend”? Just days before Mother’s Day, the sentiment
sells. Our goal—to make our lives
easier? Pleasant, sunny, relaxed? Days on Maui? Laborers now below me to do all
the work? Much to the contrary. We serve a risen Christ and honor Him by
working with all our strength, working in unity, working to show ourselves
approved unto God, working in His vineyard till He comes, working as a high
calling to His glory. Then the work becomes
a blessing, and the Proverbs 31 woman is not an unattainable mockery.
At the end of the day, it’s all of grace. His grace that has brought us safe this far
and will lead us home. Undeserved, His
grace stands as His Mother’s Day gift of love every day, if we are humble enough to accept what His
hand brings us this day.
--Birthday games
--a thousand bouquets
--building driftwood castles and memory fortresses
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