dimly lit days
will you think i'm a bad mom if i tell you that every day at home i wrestle with anger, loneliness, frustration, and stress?
will you think i'm a bad christian if i admit that being a mother doesn't fulfill my every longing for purpose?
the isolation, tantrums, crying, public defiance, power struggles, and poo-splosions are emotionally exhausting, and they bring me to my knees. i wish i could say in prayer, but many days, it's more like defeat. my inability to complete the simplest of tasks is overwhelming. grocery shopping and getting dinner on the table are often bigger challenges than i feel equipped for.
i love my children, and i do love being home with them. many days are filled with remarkable joy, and i'm thankful for the privilege of raising them. i don't think the grass is greener for working moms: each choice has its trade-offs. though i miss the intellectual challenges and adult interaction of professional life, i know my heart would ache not to be present for all the fleeting moments of my kids' childhood.
i'm glad i chose this path, but that doesn't mean it is an easy journey to walk. bedtime battles, jim's working until 10 or 11, and an extremely defiant two-year-old have made for a rocky week. my short temper and edginess are constant reminders of my own sinfulness, but even in the midst of a dark season, light bursts through the broken cracks.
the other day, i hit my head so hard it doubled me over in pain. dylan stopped what she was doing and rushed to my side.
"mommy, are you ok?" she asked.
i told her i bumped my head and hurt myself.
"do you want me to kiss it?"
i had to smile, despite the blazing pain. of course i wanted a kiss from two tiny, perfect lips.
"do you want me to sing 'you are my sunshine'?"
my eyes brimmed with tears from her sweet kindness.
despite my failings, i must be doing something right. or more accurately, God is doing something right, creating a beautiful mosaic out of the broken pieces of my sinful life.
trusting this promise today, for myself and my family:
"he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus" (philippians 1:6).
You say you want a living sacrifice
Well I am a burnt offering
Crawling off the altar and
Back in to the fire
And with my smoke-filled lungs
I cry out for freedom
While locking and chaining myself
To my rotting desires
And I hate the stench,
But I swallow the key
And with it stuck in my throat
Can you hear me, can you hear me
I'm coming home, I'm coming home
I'm coming home, I'm coming home,
but I'm still a long way off
I am shelled-shocked, and I have walked
Through the trenches full of tears
With the mortars of memory
Exploding in my burning ears
You stripped the trees of Lebanon
And now you're stripping me
Of the bark of false morality
And the bite of selfish greed
Can you hear me?
Will you run to me?
Will you come to me?
Will you meet me, will you greet me
Will you drag me home 'cause I'm still a long way off
--Coming Home by Caedmon's Call
thank you, Lord, for grace-filled moments and glimpses of your goodness. thank you for your faithfulness. thank you that even though i am still a long way off, it is you who runs to me. i am incapable of getting where i want to be on my own. thank you that by your grace, i don't have to.