A few times in the last 6
months my husband told me, “Babe I think you are here, but you’re not really
here. I feel like you’re not
all-in, like your heart isn’t really present. All you ever wanted to be was a mom but you just don’t seem
happy”. So I became reflective and
thanked him for his honesty and asked if he’d watch the kids while I went to
pray and journal through some of that stuff.
Actually, I did not do
anything of the sort. In reality,
I promptly replied with a laundry list of all the things I did from sun-up to
sun-down and grumbled about the trials I engaged in every… single… day. I would clear myself of any
soul-searching and turn the tables on him immediately… guilting him and
elevating myself, because that’s what mature, healthy adults do, right?
But when my mind became
quiet, against all of my efforts to maintain the noise, I knew he was
right. I was missing, and not in a
small capacity. I was going
through the motions every day and fooling myself thinking no one would know I
was empty.
I began surveying my
life. For awhile I retreated far
within myself and covered up with “poor me” blankets and drank “I deserve more”
tea. Months maybe. This was no short siesta. A wondrous pitty party hosted by… me,
attended by… me, and entertained by… me. But God was there too… quietly meeting me in my mess, as He
always does.
I got to process and say
goodbye to the parts of my life that I’d been striving to hold onto… like
cross-cultural work, refugees, dreams of overseas missions. And the picture-perfect marriage
relationship that I had in my head for so long that poisoned my ability to
accept real life and love through it.
And to my dreams of parenting, which certainly didn’t include 3 children
under the age of 4 and one with the challenging special needs of cerebral palsy. I believe that God
was very good to me in the time of self-reflection because I was able to pinpoint
the root of my wars within and really wrestle through some tough things.
And what was on the other
side? What it looks like to live
fully right where I am. Where it’s
messy, and hard, and ever so stretching.
But where passion, vision and joy are eager rewards from the One who
fashioned our family together before the beginning of time. The more I accept life as I know it,
with the fits and runny noses and merry mess-making and diaper blow-outs, the more I am able to forget myself and give beyond my means. Contentment is turning into
thankfulness, and thankfulness has an uncanny way of producing joy. Deep, deep joy.
