I will waste my life...
I liked my life BC. That's Before Children. Actually, I probably loved it. I was creative and adventurous and bold, the first to share an original song or repel down the side of a mountain or enter a political debate. Actually, I was probably prideful. But goodness, it was fun. And most days I felt like I had a really good handle on my life, my plans, and the direction things were headed. Oh, I loved the Lord. I worshiped and wrote and prayed and talked a lot. I married a fantastic man and we dreamed big dreams of what "we would do for the Kingdom", how we would create and conquer.
Then I had a baby. Two babies. Two beautiful, energetic, personable boys who make me laugh and sigh and cry. Two boys who have taken it all... My love. My time. My focus. My heart. My energy. My budget. And lately, I don't feel creative or adventurous or bold.
Lately, my knuckles are white.
White from clinging.
Clinging 'cause I don't have a handle on nothin'.
I've been clinging to quiet time. Clinging to sleep. Clinging to time watching my favorite show, or reading something other than The Very Hungry Caterpillar. Clinging to conversation with adults, as if my wit and intellect affirms my value. Clinging to any hint of recognition of my own talent or ability, because that's who I am. Clinging to adventure and exploration to break up mind-numbing monotony. Clinging to years...counting years...like, "...the youngest would graduate by the time I'm 50, so I would have this many years to myself...". Clinging to the belief that I am a shadow of the person I once was. And then clinging to guilt on top of it all.
I am so possessive of my own life.
And my hands are. so. tired.
"If you cling to your life, you will lose it..."
I can attest to that. I am so afraid of losing that which was mine, in the midst of this mothering. I am so afraid of losing these years...wasting these years. "This is your one life. Your one precious life," they say, "Don't waste it."
And so I obsess. How do I not do that...waste my life? Surely it must be by being somewhere other than here - knee-deep in poop diapers and ketchup and Daniel Tiger re-runs. I mean, this is so mundane. So simultaneously exhausting and boring. Surely God made a mistake. I was made for more than this...or at least, I was not made for this. "I could be...", "I wish I was...", "I used to..."... all phrases that ring in my head almost daily.
Someone says, "You are such a natural mother!" I immediately laugh, and my first response is, "I am so undone. On my very best day, I am so undone." And inside, in the recesses of my own heart, I hear it all... "I am so undone and so selfish. So ungrateful. So jealous and bitter and angry. Most days I truly believe I am wasting my time here."
These are the ugly places. This is what I hide. On my darkest days, this is why I yell at my kids and walk around in a depressed haze, staring at my smartphone. And this is what begs the question, "Do you even believe that Jesus is Who He says He is?"
Because, if Jesus is Who He says He is, then, "...you died to this life, and your real life is hidden with Christ in God." (Col 3:3)
If that is true, then this one life is not even my real life.
"And when Christ, Who is your life, appears, then you also will appear with Him in glory..." (Col 3:4)
If that is true, then this one life is not limited to seventy, eighty, ninety years at best.
"...if you let your life go, you will save it." (Luke 17:33)
"But I will rejoice even if I lose my life, pouring it out like a liquid offering to God..." (Phil 2:17)
I will choose to believe that a poured out life will not be a wasted life, when I pour it into the hands of a trustworthy King.
The third dirty diaper change before noon...the graceful answer given to the one-hundred-and-fourty-ninth question...the laundry re-washed, the cups re-filled, the stories re-red, the lunch re-heated. I could think of a thousand more entertaining places to be, but I will let my life go and be here for the children that He knit together in my womb.
Release.
Relax.
Pour it out.
Let it go.
I will choose to trust Him with this life. I will choose to trust Him not to waste it.
-HK
Then I had a baby. Two babies. Two beautiful, energetic, personable boys who make me laugh and sigh and cry. Two boys who have taken it all... My love. My time. My focus. My heart. My energy. My budget. And lately, I don't feel creative or adventurous or bold.
Lately, my knuckles are white.
White from clinging.
Clinging 'cause I don't have a handle on nothin'.
I've been clinging to quiet time. Clinging to sleep. Clinging to time watching my favorite show, or reading something other than The Very Hungry Caterpillar. Clinging to conversation with adults, as if my wit and intellect affirms my value. Clinging to any hint of recognition of my own talent or ability, because that's who I am. Clinging to adventure and exploration to break up mind-numbing monotony. Clinging to years...counting years...like, "...the youngest would graduate by the time I'm 50, so I would have this many years to myself...". Clinging to the belief that I am a shadow of the person I once was. And then clinging to guilt on top of it all.
I am so possessive of my own life.
And my hands are. so. tired.
"If you cling to your life, you will lose it..."
I can attest to that. I am so afraid of losing that which was mine, in the midst of this mothering. I am so afraid of losing these years...wasting these years. "This is your one life. Your one precious life," they say, "Don't waste it."
And so I obsess. How do I not do that...waste my life? Surely it must be by being somewhere other than here - knee-deep in poop diapers and ketchup and Daniel Tiger re-runs. I mean, this is so mundane. So simultaneously exhausting and boring. Surely God made a mistake. I was made for more than this...or at least, I was not made for this. "I could be...", "I wish I was...", "I used to..."... all phrases that ring in my head almost daily.
Someone says, "You are such a natural mother!" I immediately laugh, and my first response is, "I am so undone. On my very best day, I am so undone." And inside, in the recesses of my own heart, I hear it all... "I am so undone and so selfish. So ungrateful. So jealous and bitter and angry. Most days I truly believe I am wasting my time here."
These are the ugly places. This is what I hide. On my darkest days, this is why I yell at my kids and walk around in a depressed haze, staring at my smartphone. And this is what begs the question, "Do you even believe that Jesus is Who He says He is?"
Because, if Jesus is Who He says He is, then, "...you died to this life, and your real life is hidden with Christ in God." (Col 3:3)
If that is true, then this one life is not even my real life.
"And when Christ, Who is your life, appears, then you also will appear with Him in glory..." (Col 3:4)
If that is true, then this one life is not limited to seventy, eighty, ninety years at best.
"...if you let your life go, you will save it." (Luke 17:33)
"But I will rejoice even if I lose my life, pouring it out like a liquid offering to God..." (Phil 2:17)
I will choose to believe that a poured out life will not be a wasted life, when I pour it into the hands of a trustworthy King.
The third dirty diaper change before noon...the graceful answer given to the one-hundred-and-fourty-ninth question...the laundry re-washed, the cups re-filled, the stories re-red, the lunch re-heated. I could think of a thousand more entertaining places to be, but I will let my life go and be here for the children that He knit together in my womb.
Release.
Relax.
Pour it out.
Let it go.
I will choose to trust Him with this life. I will choose to trust Him not to waste it.
-HK
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