Blessed With Rest

Sometimes blessings come hidden in strange disguises. For me the blessing was a true day of rest last Sunday, the likes of which I haven't had in.....I don't really remember. The disguise was that all four members of our family were sick. Thankfully not with anything too serious. Just some bad colds and sinus stuff that had been hanging on for a couple of weeks. No one was stuck puking into the toilet, be we were sick enough that we needed to cancel the commitments we had made that day and just stay home and rest.

It was the perfect amount of sickness, and honestly, one of the most enjoyable days I have had in a long time. We stayed in our jammies, and napped, and snuggled, and ate left overs and didn't worry about getting anything done. We had a day of rest.

Rest. This is something I do not do well. I sleep fine. I'm usually asleep withing about 30 seconds of turning off the light at night. But during the day there are almost zero moments of rest. There's the obvious busyness of life with small children. Constant comforting and carrying, feeding people and keeping them clean. And the new element and getting a child to and from school certainly doesn't add any restfulness. But even when babies are napping or have gone to sleep at the end of the day I seldom choose rest, because there is always that extra chore I can't get done with the kids around, or there's a post bedtime social gathering I'd like to get to, or there's the temptation to stay up late with a new crafting project, or in front of a screen trying to crank out a new blog post. As relaxing as knitting and blogging are for me, I'm not sure that I'm really resting when I do those things. My brain is still racing, trying to think up something creative, original and inspiring. I'm obsessed with having something to show for my time. I want to see output, results, the fruit of the labor.

"Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and 
I will give you rest." Mt. 11:28

How long have I had this verse memorized and yet how often I read it and weep because the thing that I desire most but deny myself so often is resting in the sweet, restorative presence of Jesus.

Let's face it, life is busy and noisy. Results are everything, success is measured by achievement, and our minds are racing to absorb a never ending feed of information. There's always more, but my soul is crying out for less.

So here's what I'm advocating for, for myself and for anyone else feeling burned out and in need of true rest. Not a total abandonment of chores and responsibilities, just the ability to be ok with an unfinished to-do list. Not the adoption of a life as a hermit, but maybe saying no to one social commitment each week. Not denying yourself the creative outlets you need, but realizing that they are not the end, output does not equal fulfillment, and please, don't start something new if it's after 10:00 pm. Then, take those little moments of time you have now carved out each week to rest in Jesus, and do nothing else, and be ok with doing nothing else. Finally, go to bed 30 minutes earlier everyday.

"Yes, my soul, find rest in God; my hope comes from him." Ps. 62:5

This Is A Job

I've got a new approach to this whole Stay-At-Home Mom thing this year. Just for a point of reference, my old approach was to try to relax as much as possible, stay in my pajamas as long as possible, and try to do as much knitting as possible. But this kind of parenting was actually causing some problems. Like, when I actually needed to be getting ready my kids were always really crabby. Leaving me putting on my makeup to the tune of two screaming babies, which is not a peaceful experience.  Or when I was doing my enjoyable hobby I had this constant lurking feeling that I should be doing something else (probably because I was ignoring piles of unfolded laundry and saving dinner prep for the witching hour), making it hard to enjoy my enjoyable hobby.

So here's my new approach. I'm treating being a Stay-At-Home Mom like it's a job.  Because it actually is a job.

I've never felt embarrassed by the fact that I'm a stay-at-home mom. I've known for some time that this is what I want to be doing. I also feel no judgment toward moms who want to or need to work outside the home. But I do often feel frustrated that I "got nothing done" all day. That is, I got nothing done beside cooking three meals, keeping my family in clean clothes, cleaning the kitchen, twice, changing a host of diapers, grocery shopping, staying on top of appointments, bills, and budgets and, oh yeah, teaching about ten hours of piano lessons out of my home each week which I don't really talk that much about on here, but that's a job, too. And at the of the day when I crawl into bed my body is tired and my feet are sore from the full day of work I put in. So why do I feel like I got nothing done? Why does my life feel insignificant?

It feels insignificant because I've been treating it as insignificant.

I don't know if it was some subliminal messaging from the society I live in, or my own misconceptions, but somewhere along the road I started feeling like the things I do all day don't matter as much as the things other people do all day. And because I wasn't valuing the things I was doing, they started to seem tedious to me.

But when I really stop and think about it, there's isn't anything else I'd rather be doing. Well, except for maybe professional wine tasting. Or unless you could pay me a lot of money to knit while I watch The Newsroom. But in all seriousness, I'm really happy as a Stay-At-Home Mom. And even though my work is hidden from world and I don't receive a paycheck for it, it is real work that contributes to the well being of my family. So I'm going to treat it that way.

And this is how:

Get up. I'm setting an alarm and getting up when it goes off even if the kids are still sleeping.

Get ready. I'm getting myself ready for the day before Alex leaves the house, and then I don't need to worry about doing it later when kids are melting down for their naps.

Eat breakfast. A cup of coffee and a cookie doesn't count. Everyone does better when mama has some protein in the morning.

Make hay while the sun shines. Or rather, when the babies are happy. I'm using the morning hours when everyone is happiest to get my most pressing chores done. This is usually making sure I have dinner planned and maybe even getting it into the crock pot or oven, and doing one or two cleaning chores, like vacuuming, or a load of laundry, or emptying the dishwasher.

When I'm on, I'm on. If I were at a "real job" I wouldn't be trying to sneak in an episode of 30 Rock, or knit under my desk. (At least I don't think so. . . .) Instead of escaping to my hobbies whenever I can, I am present with my children, building train tracks, stacking blocks, and lots of nursing.

Nap time is me time. That sacred hour, that respite for the weary. When the babies are sleeping I bust out the chocolate and my knitting, or blogging, or whatever else I want to do. And because I've been on top of my chores earlier in the day, I can enjoy my break 100% guilt free.

Get out of the house. Alone. And grocery shopping doesn't count. Being a mom is 24/7 job. I'm always on the clock. But if I can get out of the house by myself once or twice a week, it's enough of a break to refresh and energize me. We're not very good at implementing this one yet. Ideally we'd have a set day and time each week that I would leave, but the craziness of Alex's school makes that a little difficult right now. But I'm trying to get out, and when I do, I really notice the difference it makes.

We're three weeks in and so far my new approach has been working really well. I feel good about the amount of stuff I get done each day. I feel like I am getting some breaks. I'm losing my temper less with my children. Some days are still hard, I don't always wake up as early as I should, or people don't always nap as long as I'd like. But at the end of the day when my body is tired and my feet are sore I take it as a sign that I put in a good day of sanctifying work. Because this is a job, a calling, a vocation. And it's making me a holier person.

Deep Water

Lately I've been tired. Not just sleep deprived, but a burned-out kind of tired. I feel like I'm doing the same things day after day. Cleaning up the same messes, cooking the same meals, getting up with the baby at the same times during the night, giving the toddler the same instructions over and over again. Sometimes it feels like a thankless job with no visible results. Sometimes I get discouraged, and I get tired, and I get worn out. When I stop and think about it, I know that what I'm doing is important, I really do. But sometimes I just with I could see some fruit for all of my labor.

 Then I read a gospel passage like this:

While the crowd was pressing in on Jesus and listening to the word of God,
he was standing by the Lake of Gennesaret.
He saw two boats there alongside the lake;
the fishermen had disembarked and were washing their nets.
Getting into one of the boats, the one belonging to Simon,
he asked him to put out a short distance from the shore.
Then he sat down and taught the crowds from the boat.
After he had finished speaking, he said to Simon,
“Put out into deep water and lower your nets for a catch.”
Simon said in reply,
“Master, we have worked hard all night and have caught nothing,
but at your command I will lower the nets.” (Luke 5:1-5)

I know I've read these verses before, but this time the words are jumping off the page at me. I understand exactly how Simon Peter felt. He was tired and discouraged, he'd been up all night long, he'd just finishing cleaning those nets for crying out loud! And Jesus wants him to go out there again?

Clearly Peter's obedience was rewarded, and Christ revealed His divinity through it. But there's another reason this story stands out to me as so amazing; it's because I know how it ends. I know what Simon Peter goes on to do- cast out demons, heal the lame, stand in the empty tomb, hear the rushing wind of the Spirit and speak in tongues at Pentecost. And it blows my mind to think that when Jesus found him he was tired and discouraged from being up all night- just like me.

Just when I think I've finished my work, when I've gotten both kids down, and the kitchen is cleaned up, and the laundry pile is taken care of, when I've made my cup of tea and am about to settle into a comfy spot on the couch with my book, (who am I kidding? with my Netflix) invariably someone wakes up to be fed, or to be tucked in again. I exhale with a sigh of exasperation, can't I just catch a break? But I should pay attention, because Jesus is passing by, and He is calling me into the deep water of my vocation.

"Lord, I've been up all night, and I haven't caught anything!"  "I know," he says, "but do it again, so I can show you my abundance." 

There's an abundance in my life whether I like it or not.  Every day an abundance of opportunities to show love to my family.  And not just the kind of love that looks good on Instagram. Service, love in action. The kind of love that gives of itself and lays down its life. It's hard to love like that. But there's also an abundance of grace that helps me to love, imperfect and selfish though I be. Maybe right now I can't see the fruit of my love in action, the catch that is sinking my boat, but I have to believe it's being made, and stored up in eternity.

For the time being I am in deep water, and it's right where Jesus has called me to be. It's not easy, but there is so much more here than if I had just stayed on the shore.

the women i pray for

I have a list. It's a list of names. Other mothers that I pray for.

I update my list every month, or as the need arises. New names get added, other names move to different categories.

My list has categories.

Pregnant women, that's one category.

But not just pregnant women. Women pregnant for the first time. Women pregnant for the seventh time. Women who continue to work and run errands and exercise as if nothing has changed, and women who spend 9 months curled up on their couches and vomiting into their toilets. Women who wanted to be pregnant, desired it, dreamed of it, prayed for it for months, sometimes years. And woman for whom a new life is an unexpected shock, joy is clouded by fear and stress, another mouth to feed, another body to cloth. Grace and peace and good health, O Lord.

The babies keep coming, the months tick by, and the names in this category come and go.

Then there are women who want to be pregnant, but aren't. Women who long to hold a baby of their own for the first time, and women who's babies are grown, and long for one more. Please God, just one more. Women who are in and out of doctors appointments, trying different diets, supplements, and medications, and each month brings another disappointment.

This category, unfortunately, doesn't change as much.

There are other categories besides these: working moms and stay at home moms. Moms who's husbands travel a lot, or are in school, like mine, and do a lot of solo parenting, and single moms who bear the weight of parenting alone. There are moms finishing school, moms attempting to home school. There are moms sitting with their children in doctors offices and therapy appointments, turning their worlds upside down for a child with special needs or health complications. And there are moms suffering through their own poor health, each day they rise above it and care for their families. Lord, hear our prayer.

There is a category for when the unthinkable happens; mothers holding their children's hands in hospital rooms. feeling the helplessness that comes with watching a child suffer. Lord, show us your mercy and love. And there are mothers saying goodbye to their children and entrusting them to the arms of Jesus. And grant us your salvation.

When I look at my list of names I am reminded that I am not in this motherhood thing all by myself. I am reminded that when I have hard day, or week, someone else is too, and I can offer my own trials up for them. I am reminded that there are other women praying for me.

When I look at my list of names I am reminded that motherhood comes in all shapes, sizes, and colors, and that there is no room for me cast judgments or comparisons. Because it's hard. This motherhood thing is really hard, and we are all trying our best for our families.

When I look at my list of names, I am reminded that what every mother needs and deserves is compassion, understanding, a listening ear, and a praying heart.

O, Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console; to be understood as to understand; to be loved as to love

it's been two months

It's been two months. Two months of Trixie. Two months of Johnny being a big brother. Two months of parenting two kids.

And, well, it's been hard.

Most days I usually have a few hours where things are going well and I think, I can do this, it's not so bad. But then both kids are crying at the same time, or Johnny is waking up the baby, or climbing on the counters to help himself to cookies, or coloring on the walls and furniture with (thankfully washable) markers. And then I reach the end of the day I am exhausted, and Trixie is fussy, she won't nurse to sleep, and I just want to go to bed, but I can't until the baby does. Alex is usually the one who can get her to sleep, but I feel guilty whenever I need his help because I know he needs to be studying.

That's been the hardest, feeling like I don't have a partner. I do,  I know I do, but the guilt that comes whenever I have to interrupt him.  It's kind of like the guilt he feels for not being able to help that much.  So we both feel guilty all the time.

Right now both of my babies are asleep and I feel like I can do this.

But this morning it was a different story. I had not been up one hour before Johnny had restarted the clean laundry in the washer. Then I spilled apple juice all over the kitchen counter while trying to pour with one hand while holding Trixie in the other.  Then Johnny had major diarrhea and while I was changing him, he dropped the package of wipes in the opened dirty diaper. All this and no time yet to make a cup of coffee or have some breakfast. I wonder how I will make it through the next 8 hours until Alex gets home.

It's hard.

When I ask my mom if it was hard being home with young kids all those years she doesn't seem to remember any tough stuff. Either we were all wonderful babies and toddlers who slept like angels and never got into mischief, or she's choosing to only remember the good stuff.  "It may be hard now, but some day you'll look back on this time with fondness", she says to me. Sometimes I get annoyed that she doesn't have clear memories of me being a little terror, because I want the empathy. But when I think about it, it would be nice to only remember the good stuff.

To look back on all these days I spent with my babies and only remember how Johnny loves to give Trixie kisses, and the way he puffs up  his cheeks when he puckers his lips. Or how first thing in the morning Johnny runs into our room to climb on the bed and cuddle his baby sister.

I'd like to remember the way it felt to see Johnny swaddle his stuffed zebra the way we swaddle Trixie, and then hold it gentle to his chest and pat it's back. That feeling that my heart would literally burst out of my chest it swelled with so much love.

And Trixie, I'd like to remember the fierce, hungry face she makes right before nursing. And the way she stretches out her arms and hands like she's conducting a symphony. And the sweet sound of her littles coos and gurgles.

And instead of remembering the guilt I felt all the nights I needed Alex's help to get Trixie to sleep I'd like to remember how sweet it is to see my husband reclined on the couch with his tiny daughter curled up on his chest.

I know - because everyone keeps telling me - that it's so fleeting, this time when they are small. It's going to go by so fast.

This is what I have to remember.

//

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postpartum glory

Being postpartum is such a special time. Your body has just been through major trauma. Your hormones are on a doozy of a roller coaster ride. You're getting zero sleep. Your tight-as -a-drum fundus has deflated to saggy remnant of abdominals with a cavernous bellybutton. Your clothes all fit weird. And your family are saying things like "if you were a wash cycle, you would be delicate." (True story. To which I replied, "just wait until it's your turn, little sister. )

 I'm a little farther out now, (though I still have some weepy days [hello yesterday]), and for the most part I can laugh about it. But when you're in the thick of all that postpartum glory it is so far from funny.

Like when you take your five-day-old baby to Target, trying to find some nursing bras that work. And none of them do. Then the check out person tells you your baby is so cute, then points to your stomach and asks if you're having another. Um...no! She was born five days ago!

You wear nothing but pajamas and look like a zombie for two weeks straight. 

You can finally sleep on your stomach again. For about two days. Then your milk comes in.

Then, Gap is having a really good online sale so you decide to treat yourself to some new underwear, because pregnancy = stretched out underwear. But when your order comes you realize that instead of ordering 5 for $27 you accidentally ordered 1 for $12.95. And then you cry like a little girl. 

Your toddler is trying to use your peri-bottle and sanitary products. 

You look in the mirror and think your belly is quite a bit smaller and then step on the scale and see that you still have 30 lbs of baby weight to lose.

Pants. Just all pants. 

Crying during Gilmore Girls when Rory says "because I love you, you idiot!" 

Crying at Trader Joe's because your license was expired and they wouldn't let you have a wine sample. 

Just a lot of crying.

But it's not forever. And until it stops there's ice cream. And Netflix. And red wine.

//

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