Flood of Blissful Emotions
It's been one of those days. Shoot, it's been one of those weeks. The kind that makes you long for your blissfully quiet and peaceful days of marriage before you had kids... If you are a mom, you know the kind I am talking about.
Unless of course, you are one of those moms who pretends you never have days...or weeks like that. In that case, shame on you :) for giving future mothers everywhere the idea that everyday is a picnic and that motherhood is all smiles and sunshine. It's not. And by the way, I am thankful none of my close friends are those kinds of moms. It's a special gift God gave me, having a couple of close girlfriends who also have days and weeks like I have and are willing to be open and honest with me about it, how they feel and that the harder days are probably still yet to come from me. Who also know that no matter what is felt and expressed during frustration, that we love our kids more than anything ever in all the world.
Being a mother is by far the hardest job I have ever had. I thought I was busy, stressed and exhausted before I had kids. Ha.
(No disrespect to you busy women who don't have children. Your life has its difficult moments as well, and there are definitely other factors of stress that come your way.)
I also thought I knew just how to handle every kid's misbehavior, tantrums, manipulations and off moments. And I did. Um, until I had my own, and realized I didn't.
(People who are like the person I used to be, "If that were my kid..." "My kid will NEVER do that..." have my deepest sympathy. Really, they do. I know what's coming their way. That humbling experience called parenting that God will bless them with. Oh, those people...I can't wait to see it! Ha ha ha)
I remember the way it felt to hold each of my babies for the first time. I remember being fearful I wouldn't immediately feel a bond with them in that moment. I was so wrong. From the moment I glanced at those two boys while laying on the operating table, and especially after I held them in my arms, I experienced a love that I still don't understand, a love that is unlike anything else, a love that far exceeds the circumstances of any grueling day. Unconditional love. A mother's love. There is nothing quite like it. In that moment, and many other moments that have followed in the five years I have been a mom, there have been a flood of blissful emotions...unrelenting happiness.
Then there are weeks like this week. Weeks where I come home and the nightmare unfolds. The sitter talks of how great the day was, and then she leaves. Yay! A great day! I set my mind to having a wonderful afternoon with my boys-giggling, laughing, frolicking in the sunshine, and experiencing a flood of blissful emotions. Only it doesn't happen that way. Instead, instantly the fighting starts. (No one warned me, by the way, that at just two and five, the fighting would be in full force...or that the two year old would often be the intentional instigator of it all. ) Soon after, the dinner time meltdowns begin. One because he doesn't like what I am cooking that night. Or ever. And one because no one ever feeds him and he is malnourished and must eat immediately. Or so it would seem. Only I know better, and I stand my ground. Dinner is cooking. You must wait. You may not fill up on cookies, candy and chips. No, not even if you are hanging on me with all your weight and screaming at the top of your lungs causing it to be nearly impossible to fix said "disgusting" dinner that brother already hates and you won't survive if you can't have immediately. (Unless you do it long enough and you wear me down. In that case, maybe.)
Then when dinner time finally arrives, I imagine a nice, sit down, family bonding experience. And well, that just rarely happens. One or both is us is up constantly getting one or both of them something they need. And then at some point, it's just inevitable, a dinner plate and/or cup will be dumped out all over the floor that already needed mopping two months ago. Thus immediately causing me to feel like a complete and total mess as a mother. And on those days, I am.
So is my house. Especially, if by some freak chance, I had the opportunity to go to the bathroom or run a load of laundry before Cliff comes home. That's when the devil (the cute little one who lives under my roof) likes to dance.
So, plop go the chips on to the floor. And the crunch sound is so enticing, one just can't resist crunching 30,000 more bags. Splash goes the gallon of tea, milk, whatever from the fridge that little Mr. Mess pants has learned how to open. "Eek! Aghhhh!" goes the big brother who just got slapped, hit with a toy or tackled from behind. "Waaaaa!" goes the little brother who just got reminded that big brothers are the boss. (or so they think). Shatter! goes the bowl that little one pulled out of the bottom cabinets and slammed I to another. Slip goes the little runt on the puddle of baby shampoo that was so fun to squeeze everywhere then stomp in. "Rrrrrrrrrrooooaaarrrrrr!!!" goes the mom who wants to run far, far away. But doesn't. But only because she has to clean up the mess. And then that other mess that is being made while she is cleaning the first one also has to be cleaned. So there is simply no time for running away. Or anything else.
Bath time promises to lighten the mood and bring that flood of blissful emotions. Only, the fighting returns because, well, they are together. That's basically the criteria for a fight these days. (this week, at least) And one is whining and griping the whole time about the other, and the other is hitting and screaming because he wants to sit next to the faucet. Then in their quest to see who actually gets that privilege one will undoubtably smack the top of their precious little naked tushie up against the faucet and then the crying really starts. Oh. The. Joys.
Fast forward to bedtime. Bedtime is a terrible idea. Who needs sleep? Not Walker. Not Will. To be fair, Walker is easy at bedtime. Once we cut off the "I need this and I need that" he is literally gone in 60 seconds. Will isn't as easy. Will doesn't think bedtime is a good idea. To be equally fair, Will does do much better at bedtime these days than he was... (But sometimes I wish I had an "off" switch on my ears)
Then they are asleep, but our work is no where near done. We are exhausted, worn down, and replaying the events of the evening in our mind (me especially), wondering if we could have handled this differently, shown more love and grace there, spoken more uplifting words here. At the end of the day, we know we have parented the best we can and with every ounce of love we have. Sometimes though, we have regrets. We experience guilt. Unless of course we are having one of our blissfully happy "parenting is a picnic days..." But today wasn't one of those.
It's been one of "those" days. It's been one of "those" weeks.
In the midst of it all though, a simple smile flashed by one of their faces, a small hug from their little
arms, an excited relaying of how a little one in our home told his friend at school about Jesus , a heartfelt laugh at dinner, a loving glance shared between a mom and dad who are determined to do this together and love them through every minute of it, a short snuggle shared between brothers, when no one is thought to be looking, a cute mispronunciation of a word spoken by precious lips, a moment or two of quality one-on-one time spent between parent and child snuggled up before bed, a refreshment for the soul spent doing Bible story with a spiritually hungry preschooler, and a soft and sincere prayer whispered before bed make for a flood of blissful emotions.
I was challenged recently in a book I am reading, by the question, "Do you have a hard time viewing motherhood as a ministry?"
Why yes, I believe (at least this week) that I do. I view VBS director, Kids Town teacher, Awana leader, youth director's wife, small group leader, and teacher as a ministry. (none of which I can seem to find the time to really delve in to) But do I really view motherhood as a ministry?
The author writes, "Parenting is no separate from our church work, missions work or worship. It is an essential cornerstone of how we devote our lives to The Lord. As with anything else we put our hands to, a follower of Christ parents all for the purpose of bringing glory to The Lord. Without God's glory as our ultimate goal, we will someday have second thoughts and regrets. How can we avoid guilt unless we fulfill the purpose to which we have been called?"
And so, it's with a humble heart that we meet daily with our Lord, the ultimate example of parenting with unconditional love and grace. We ask for wisdom, patience, understanding, a full measure of grace to extend, and strength to make it through the hard days. We pray that we will parent in a way that brings glory to the One who displayed the ultimate act of love when He gave his own son's life for ours, the One who entrusted us with these precious children we get to call ours for a fleeting moment.
Thank you Lord, for the harder days, for they bring a flood of blissful emotions. Those days are precious in our sight.
"And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of The Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father."
-Colossians 3:17
Unless of course, you are one of those moms who pretends you never have days...or weeks like that. In that case, shame on you :) for giving future mothers everywhere the idea that everyday is a picnic and that motherhood is all smiles and sunshine. It's not. And by the way, I am thankful none of my close friends are those kinds of moms. It's a special gift God gave me, having a couple of close girlfriends who also have days and weeks like I have and are willing to be open and honest with me about it, how they feel and that the harder days are probably still yet to come from me. Who also know that no matter what is felt and expressed during frustration, that we love our kids more than anything ever in all the world.
Being a mother is by far the hardest job I have ever had. I thought I was busy, stressed and exhausted before I had kids. Ha.
(No disrespect to you busy women who don't have children. Your life has its difficult moments as well, and there are definitely other factors of stress that come your way.)
I also thought I knew just how to handle every kid's misbehavior, tantrums, manipulations and off moments. And I did. Um, until I had my own, and realized I didn't.
(People who are like the person I used to be, "If that were my kid..." "My kid will NEVER do that..." have my deepest sympathy. Really, they do. I know what's coming their way. That humbling experience called parenting that God will bless them with. Oh, those people...I can't wait to see it! Ha ha ha)
I remember the way it felt to hold each of my babies for the first time. I remember being fearful I wouldn't immediately feel a bond with them in that moment. I was so wrong. From the moment I glanced at those two boys while laying on the operating table, and especially after I held them in my arms, I experienced a love that I still don't understand, a love that is unlike anything else, a love that far exceeds the circumstances of any grueling day. Unconditional love. A mother's love. There is nothing quite like it. In that moment, and many other moments that have followed in the five years I have been a mom, there have been a flood of blissful emotions...unrelenting happiness.
Then there are weeks like this week. Weeks where I come home and the nightmare unfolds. The sitter talks of how great the day was, and then she leaves. Yay! A great day! I set my mind to having a wonderful afternoon with my boys-giggling, laughing, frolicking in the sunshine, and experiencing a flood of blissful emotions. Only it doesn't happen that way. Instead, instantly the fighting starts. (No one warned me, by the way, that at just two and five, the fighting would be in full force...or that the two year old would often be the intentional instigator of it all. ) Soon after, the dinner time meltdowns begin. One because he doesn't like what I am cooking that night. Or ever. And one because no one ever feeds him and he is malnourished and must eat immediately. Or so it would seem. Only I know better, and I stand my ground. Dinner is cooking. You must wait. You may not fill up on cookies, candy and chips. No, not even if you are hanging on me with all your weight and screaming at the top of your lungs causing it to be nearly impossible to fix said "disgusting" dinner that brother already hates and you won't survive if you can't have immediately. (Unless you do it long enough and you wear me down. In that case, maybe.)
Then when dinner time finally arrives, I imagine a nice, sit down, family bonding experience. And well, that just rarely happens. One or both is us is up constantly getting one or both of them something they need. And then at some point, it's just inevitable, a dinner plate and/or cup will be dumped out all over the floor that already needed mopping two months ago. Thus immediately causing me to feel like a complete and total mess as a mother. And on those days, I am.
So is my house. Especially, if by some freak chance, I had the opportunity to go to the bathroom or run a load of laundry before Cliff comes home. That's when the devil (the cute little one who lives under my roof) likes to dance.
So, plop go the chips on to the floor. And the crunch sound is so enticing, one just can't resist crunching 30,000 more bags. Splash goes the gallon of tea, milk, whatever from the fridge that little Mr. Mess pants has learned how to open. "Eek! Aghhhh!" goes the big brother who just got slapped, hit with a toy or tackled from behind. "Waaaaa!" goes the little brother who just got reminded that big brothers are the boss. (or so they think). Shatter! goes the bowl that little one pulled out of the bottom cabinets and slammed I to another. Slip goes the little runt on the puddle of baby shampoo that was so fun to squeeze everywhere then stomp in. "Rrrrrrrrrrooooaaarrrrrr!!!" goes the mom who wants to run far, far away. But doesn't. But only because she has to clean up the mess. And then that other mess that is being made while she is cleaning the first one also has to be cleaned. So there is simply no time for running away. Or anything else.
Bath time promises to lighten the mood and bring that flood of blissful emotions. Only, the fighting returns because, well, they are together. That's basically the criteria for a fight these days. (this week, at least) And one is whining and griping the whole time about the other, and the other is hitting and screaming because he wants to sit next to the faucet. Then in their quest to see who actually gets that privilege one will undoubtably smack the top of their precious little naked tushie up against the faucet and then the crying really starts. Oh. The. Joys.
Fast forward to bedtime. Bedtime is a terrible idea. Who needs sleep? Not Walker. Not Will. To be fair, Walker is easy at bedtime. Once we cut off the "I need this and I need that" he is literally gone in 60 seconds. Will isn't as easy. Will doesn't think bedtime is a good idea. To be equally fair, Will does do much better at bedtime these days than he was... (But sometimes I wish I had an "off" switch on my ears)
Then they are asleep, but our work is no where near done. We are exhausted, worn down, and replaying the events of the evening in our mind (me especially), wondering if we could have handled this differently, shown more love and grace there, spoken more uplifting words here. At the end of the day, we know we have parented the best we can and with every ounce of love we have. Sometimes though, we have regrets. We experience guilt. Unless of course we are having one of our blissfully happy "parenting is a picnic days..." But today wasn't one of those.
It's been one of "those" days. It's been one of "those" weeks.
In the midst of it all though, a simple smile flashed by one of their faces, a small hug from their little
arms, an excited relaying of how a little one in our home told his friend at school about Jesus , a heartfelt laugh at dinner, a loving glance shared between a mom and dad who are determined to do this together and love them through every minute of it, a short snuggle shared between brothers, when no one is thought to be looking, a cute mispronunciation of a word spoken by precious lips, a moment or two of quality one-on-one time spent between parent and child snuggled up before bed, a refreshment for the soul spent doing Bible story with a spiritually hungry preschooler, and a soft and sincere prayer whispered before bed make for a flood of blissful emotions.
I was challenged recently in a book I am reading, by the question, "Do you have a hard time viewing motherhood as a ministry?"
Why yes, I believe (at least this week) that I do. I view VBS director, Kids Town teacher, Awana leader, youth director's wife, small group leader, and teacher as a ministry. (none of which I can seem to find the time to really delve in to) But do I really view motherhood as a ministry?
The author writes, "Parenting is no separate from our church work, missions work or worship. It is an essential cornerstone of how we devote our lives to The Lord. As with anything else we put our hands to, a follower of Christ parents all for the purpose of bringing glory to The Lord. Without God's glory as our ultimate goal, we will someday have second thoughts and regrets. How can we avoid guilt unless we fulfill the purpose to which we have been called?"
And so, it's with a humble heart that we meet daily with our Lord, the ultimate example of parenting with unconditional love and grace. We ask for wisdom, patience, understanding, a full measure of grace to extend, and strength to make it through the hard days. We pray that we will parent in a way that brings glory to the One who displayed the ultimate act of love when He gave his own son's life for ours, the One who entrusted us with these precious children we get to call ours for a fleeting moment.
Thank you Lord, for the harder days, for they bring a flood of blissful emotions. Those days are precious in our sight.
"And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of The Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father."
-Colossians 3:17
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