Hurry and Wait

“On every level of life, from housework to heights of prayer, in all judgment and efforts to get things done, hurry and impatience are sure marks of the amateur.”― Evelyn Underhill

Hurray and impatience mark so many moments of my day so when I read this quote, I was discouraged. It’s official. I’m an amateur. Darn. I thought with four kids I could have at least moved up a ladder rung in the ranks. Nope. Within the first 30 minutes of the day, so many tiny tasks have already happened. Brush teeth, make coffee, cook breakfast, pour a glass of milk, change diapers, find socks, pack lunch. Oh, I hope I brushed my teeth. Hurry, get your shoes on. Hurray, go to the bathroom. Hurray, get into the car.

"Hurry up and wait. Hurry up and wait" my mom would say often on our last trip to Disney when Henry just couldn't understand why we would rush to get to a ride at a certain time and then stand in line. He was a smart kid even at 3. "That's just what you do here. You hurry up and wait." But I realized then and continue to see how much of life is like that. I'm moving quickly with lots of little tasks yet working for things to change that require incredible patience.

But what the hurrying doesn’t show is the juxtaposition of the snail speed patience of change that occurs during all those hurried days. The stubborn toddler to the obedient preschooler, the changed eating habits of a tired mama and deepening relationships with my spouse. A small deposit here, a decision there. They lead to something. They each take me somewhere.

In the hurried moment, I want what's easiest. I want the twins to not fight in the grocery store. I want to eat pizza and ice cream. I want to grow my business. If I'm hurrying through life to get to the result of my hurrying, will I be content with the outcome? So, instead of hurrying, I have tried to reduce my tasks, focus my time and be patient with change. But, somehow I still feel like an amateur. I spill my coffee on my jeans carrying out three bags to the car but arrive at preschool only to realize that I forgot the one bag I needed. I try to shower, put away laundry, and prep dinner all in the 30 minutes between lunch and nap time only to find Mills destroying the pantry. Does reducing responsibility really increase patience? No, I just don't think so. At least not for me. 

But, I can change the condition of my heart. My circumstances right now are overwhelming. Little people with a lot of needs consume my day. I'm drawn back to a familiar scripture: "Be still and know that I am God." My body can be going in lots of directions but my heart can be still. I can be still and know that God is revealing himself to my family. I can know that those small decisions to not give in to the toddlers whining will pay off. I can teach and train my children, resist foods that will not offer lasting comfort, and invest in relationships and a business that will grow. It may be slow. It may be painfully slow. And I probably won't be able to see the change as I'm herding my crew to the car running late for my gym class with unbrushed hair only to forget my water bottle. 

Those moments of haste don't prove my amateur status. In fact, it's thinking that those things do matter that makes me an amateur. Realizing my worth is not in how put together I am for gym class but how faithful I am to God that determines my position. And the more i plan and try to control my hurried life, the more I realize my position before Him should be bent in prayer. That's when my heart is still and I am confident of His care when "the days are long but the years are short." May my heart be still and know Gods deep care for me and my family. 

I came across this prayer from https://heathercking.org/2016/02/17/prayers-for-families/ and found it helpful. 

"Lord, may our homes be havens of peace. The world around us can be stressful and high-pressured. We may be surrounded by conflict, battles, and oppression outside this home, but we pray that inside these walls, You will bring peace. Help us to rest in You. Help us communicate with grace, offer love and support, and speak in love. Even in the stressful rush of the mornings as we head out the door to school, work, church and other activities, may we breathe deeply and choose peace, gentleness, and kindness with one another."

Scripture Verses:
Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid (John 14:27 NIV).

“I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33 NIV).

The List and The Light

Dinner is put away. Kids are in bed. I meet my husband at the sofa to talk expectations. Yes, I’d really rather go watch the next episode of “The Mysteries of Laura” on Netflix. But, this has to happen. Earlier that day, I was a crying, emotional mess, exactly what my husband loves to hear on the other end of his office phone in the middle of the day when he can do nothing about it. I’m not losing weight, the kids need more of me, the house needs to be cleaner, the laundry is overflowing, I want to be there for my friends, doula client due dates are approaching, and the aching exhaustion of prolonged grief sweeps over it all. Make a list he says. Make a list of every expectation that you think is on you. Whether the expectation is from him or me, I was to write it down and we were going to talk through which one of those expectations were created in my own head, agreed upon as a couple, or unspoken but true. So, we sat down and I pulled out my list. We read over them, all 17 of them that I actually believed were expectations that I could meet on a weekly, sometimes daily basis.

The hope of the conversation was to eliminate a few, make adjustments to allow for the more important ones to get pushed to the top of the list, or talk through how to help meet ones that I was struggling with. We read them again. What can we eliminate? Well, none of them. I don’t want to eliminate any of them. I want to hit my full capacity on each of these expectations. No, I’m not being sarcastic. I’m being honest. Although in reality, and especially seen through my moments of crying, frazzled, middle-of-the-day calls to my husband’s office, they just cannot all be met. But, why can’t I let some of them go? Why do I think it necessary to be as physically fit as I was 3 years ago, to cook homemade meals all day, be available to my children when they need me, discipline and love them, make space for friends, building a career albeit part time doula work and sharing about healthy living, spending time with Jeremiah, all the while, not spending a lot of money, keeping up with our home, and our children. Whew. I’m tired just re-typing that.

But, what I realized from reading my list again is not that I feel some outside pressure from friends or social media. I’ve been there trying to live up to society’s standards for me. I’m over it. Maybe it was arriving in the 30’s age category. Maybe it’s realizing that I don’t want to be what I see in the world on the cover of magazines, unless of course it’s Princess Kate. It is the pressure I feel from within. I want to preform at high capacity and do each area of my life well, right now. I am not willing to extend the grace to myself that I do to other people. I hold the tension tightly fighting between being available for my family and pursuing helping other families care for theirs. I hold the tension tightly to be present with my children or to make space for me to rest, write, or recharge. I told the tension to keep our house clean and tidy while trying to relax and “let it go.” The inner struggle is within me. I am the one building up the to-do list as something that must all happen to feel accomplished, deserving of love, or successful.

The reality is, though, there wasn’t an item on the list that I was actually meeting the expectation in its entirety. If it were a bar graph, the heights would be all over the place with the % of expectation met. To me, that’s infuriating, frustrating, and depressing. I want it to be 100%. But, I don’t have 5 sister wives so I better start realizing that running on full capacity in every area of my life is not only unattainable but miserable. I am relying on my own strength to care for myself, my family and my friends. It’s impossible and I want it to stop. I was to rest in the fact that my lack of fulfillment in the expectation is exactly where God wants me to be. He wants my heart to be turned towards serving Him because I love those He has entrusted me with.  I must rely on Him, not me, to accomplish anything. My failure to complete laundry by Wednesday night does not reflect poorly on my unrealistic expectation to get all of our laundry done in a day and half but instead reveals my humanness. It reveals the beauty of God’s provision in my life to have so many children with so many clothes to care for. Instead of sulking, I should be shouting thanks to God. May God open my eyes to his expectations for me. May he help me understand that the only real way to complete any task is with his help and his provision. May my weakness cause me to praise Him.

I was reminded of this truth in 2 Corinthians. Paul explains to the people of the church at Corinth the wonderful power of Jesus that is living in us. Paul says that as humans, we are but mere jars of clay, and that Jesus choses to live in us. By our weaknesses, or cracks, we are able to show the glory of God, not our glory, to others.

6 For God, who said, “Let light shine out of darkness,”[a] made his light shine in our hearts to give us the light of the knowledge of God’s glory displayed in the face of Christ. 7 But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. 8 We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; 9 persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. 10 We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body. 11 For we who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus’ sake, so that his life may also be revealed in our mortal body. 12 So then, death is at work in us, but life is at work in you.

13 It is written: “I believed; therefore I have spoken.”[b] Since we have that same spirit of[c] faith, we also believe and therefore speak, 14 because we know that the one who raised the Lord Jesus from the dead will also raise us with Jesus and present us with you to himself. 15 All this is for your benefit, so that the grace that is reaching more and more people may cause thanksgiving to overflow to the glory of God.

16 Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. 17 For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. 18 So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

The Funeral Dress, Again

I pulled it out of the closet again. The black dress. Well, it is really black and white. I didn’t even have to look for my slip because only three weeks ago, I hung up the dress with the slip. The same tights, wool lined for these cold winter days, were bundled in small ball in my drawer. And I did invest in closed toe shoes since my July funeral wardrobe has needed a seasonal revamp. But, here I was dressing for a funeral again. This makes 5 funerals in 6 months. The way the dress fell on my body when I slipped it over my head made my mind swirl to the last time I wore it helping a friend say goodbye to her adult son.

Like that funeral, this one required a long drive in the car. But, the difference this Sunday was that I was alone driving towards my favorite place, the beach, in my favorite state, NC; the beach and the state that forced me to think of my dad. He would have told me that I looked beautiful in my dress and made a joke about how my mom would probably be making chicken tetrazini, her funeral dish. We are from the south. We are Baptist. Someone dies and we bring food, then hug, tightly.

I was headed to a Baptist church this past Sunday as well. My best friend’s grandmother had taken her last breath days before and was ready to go home. She wanted to see her husband again, meet Princess Diana, and thank God for the wonderful life she had lived. She told my friend and I not to be sad, for she was ready. She and her family were probably ready for it too. The weeks leading up to her death, they knew it was coming but then somehow in that instant, when the last breath is gasped, it just doesn’t matter that they were ready or that we were prepared. She is gone. And, a house of her things remains: memories, pictures, stories, royal English history trinkets, a four poster bed from the Civil War, and a farm that once thrived on the flat eastern north Carolina land.

Mrs. Cora Leigh was loved and I was honored to be there to honor her beautiful life and the amazing family she raised. But, the drive to be with my friend, the funeral songs sung from the Baptist hymnal, and the emptiness reminded me of the dad I miss so much. He didn’t tell me that he was ready and he couldn’t wait to see someone in Heaven. He did have 97 years to fill his home with plates of the royal family or pictures of great grandchildren. No, we had no warning. I had no warning. No expectation. No thought to ever cross my mind that I would lose him so soon.

The drive to Moyock, NC made me relive the drive to Henderson, NC the day my mom told me about my dad. The staring out the window, the streamline of tears down my face, and the nauseating feeling in my stomach all returned. I had to focus though, I was driving, not a mere passenger as I was that July morning. This isn’t about him. This isn’t about me. I kept telling myself. This is about my friend and her dear grandmother she lost. I would tell myself those same things as I went to the other funerals. It wasn’t my child I was burying. It wasn’t my mother I was losing. It wasn’t my brother or my grandmother.

But, no matter what I told myself, this funeral and as I suspect, every funeral from here on out will be about reliving my own grief, my own pain, and my own connection with those who have lost ones that they love. And, I have to remind myself of truth. I don’t know why my dad went to be with the Lord when he did. I don’t know why my friend’s daughter didn’t live to see her 1^st birthday. I don’t know what they Lord has in store. But I do know that He is with me and He will help me.

For I am the Lord your God

    who takes hold of your right hand

and says to you, Do not fear;

    I will help you. – Isaiah 41:13

Someone once told me that if we had a chance to know the future, good or bad, it would probably be best not to know it. For if we did, we may not enjoy what we could know today, that today is a gift and no matter what lies ahead, we have a mighty God that will see us through. So, today as my tears still flow, I picture the beautiful ocean I saw this Sunday with the waves crashing along the shore. I am thankful for every wave of God’s mercy that washes over me when the grief feels too heavy or when the memory of the beach with my father is too much to bear. God is here. He is holding my right hand. I will not fear.

Maybe it's the Cardinals...

Maybe it’s the cardinals. Maybe it’s the thrill of the children’s voices when they are sledding. Maybe it’s the smell of chili on the stove, just as my mom used to do every snow day. Maybe it’s my old snow gloves that I still have from my first ski trip with my parents 15 years ago. Maybe it’s the bright white of the snow itself or the fact that I could hear him saying for the 100^th time, “did you know each snowflake is completely different. Isn’t that amazing?” but when he said it, it was just as amazing to him as the first time he told me. Whatever it is about these snow days, it reminds me of him; my dad that would have loved this. The cardinals, the children, the sledding, the chili, the snowflakes…He would have loved it all. And, my heart aches because I want to be loving it with him, not it reminding me of him.

I took my big boys out in the snow after dinner last night. The full moon peeked through the trees making the snow glimmer. We threw snowballs at each other, laughed, and fell backwards into the white puffy blanket that covered our front yard. I looked up and saw the stars. I’ve lived in the city many years now and always missed being able to see the stars. Although we still live in the city, our new house affords us a better look. But, as I lay on my back in the cold snow with my two big boys on either side, I almost couldn’t look at the night sky. The night sky that would have been instantly explained by my dad. This is this constellation. This star is named this. If you look closely, you can see this planet. I looked harder when I got the courage to take another peek as if I just may see him. In the stars? In the night sky? I don’t know why I thought he would be there. I guess if he can’t be here with us on earth, the Heavens would be his first choice. The glory of night sky always spoke to my dad of the glory of our God. He taught me to love it too. So before my tears froze to my face, I hugged my boys and picked up another snowball and played some more.

We’ve played a lot during these snow days. The days where normal rhythm is suspended and fun must be had. For we all know the snow will not last long here. I’ve moved slower allowing my body to ease into the day, linger in pajamas, and stay on the floor playing one more game of Connect 4. I wish I could suspend so many of my days with my dad. Go back to them and make them move slower, last longer. Go out and get one more cup of ice cream at the beach. Take a walk along the shore. Drive to his office and be welcomed into his exams rooms and meet his patients. Hear the explanation of the night sky one more time. One more hug. One more kiss. One more snow day. One more of any kind of day with him.

But, I can’t have that. The cardinals, the children, the snowflakes and the night sky will have to do. They will have to remind me of each story I have with him, each wonderful moment that I shared with my dad.

Best Laid Plans of Parenting

Here I sit. Thinking back over my day. The day where life took over and turned in lots of ways I didn’t mean for them to turn. Like that moment when my middle son peed on his box spring in front of his friends. Yes, peed, people. Peed. Or, when my toddler and middle son pulled all the toilet paper out of the bathroom and tore it into little pieces all over the floor. When asked what they were doing, my middle son replied, “making a mess.” Of course, that makes complete sense.

Or, when my daughter who is obsessed with getting water and ice from the frig makes a huge pool on the hardwood floors.  Although I have told her no, made her sit in time out, and taken away her cup she still insist that “I do it, mama” like she’s 22 already and doesn’t need me anymore. Great. Not that I really want to help which is why instead of disciplining her I am sitting at the kitchen table wishing discipline would magically happen and that I didn’t actually have to move my tired body out of my chair, away from my morning coffee that I’m still trying to drink even though its 3:30pm, and reprimand her so this habit doesn’t stay a habit. Fail. It’s a habit.

I’m stuck. I’m stuck with inaction. I cannot move. I cannot discipline. I keep wanting to discipline, be the “strict” mama I was when my oldest son was little. He would turn his head, stop whatever he was doing, and look at me in the eyes when I would clap my hands. When I write that he sounds like a puppy in training which in actuality, toddlers and puppies are not all that different. Reward for good behavior, punish for bad. Teach them to potty on their own, sleep in their own beds, and obey. Yes, pretty much the same. But, I’m not that person anymore.

I keep thinking it will get better at the new house. New rhythm, new routine, new boundaries. No more stress of trying to sale our house, no more moving boxes, but finally a steady routine in a home that is not going to change. But, the changing that has happened is within me. My circumstances have dictated what kind of mother I have become. For some reason, I see that as a failure. I had a set of ideals that I thoughts regardless of how many children we have, where we live or what goes on in our life, I can stick to them. They will obey most of the time, respect me as their mother, respect the things and people around them, listen to what I say, be kind, think smartly and show love to those around them.

But, as I watched my children today, I didn’t see that behavior flowing from their hearts. They were unkind to the neighbor kids, acting out to get my attention, not obeying or listening, and taking advantage of freedoms. I have created a crazy army in my own home that climbs on the table, squirts toothpaste on the carpet, fights with any object that can be used as a toy gun, throws temper tantrums and whines and complains. All the while, I’m sitting, stuck in my own world drowning from exhaustion.

My twins will be two on Friday. My friend whose kids my kids were being unkind to, said, “you’ve made it two years with twins!” It’s been a hard two years. I had and have a lot of support but having children, small children, is just hard. But, as I re-read the list of things my children did today, I’m struck by the fact that those are things children do. They are learning to be productive, kind, smart adults who care about others and make a difference in this world. They are only 2, 2, 4 and 6.

Here’s me preaching to myself: I’m a mama to littles and things aren’t going to look perfect. They are a work in progress and so am I. God knew exactly all that would happen over the last two years and how that would affect me as a mama and specifically a mama to the four under my roof. I need to remind myself of that. Give them grace. Give myself grace. The time will come when I am not as exhausted as I am now. Moving will be over, our new house will be unpacked, and a new routine will ensue. But, I don’t want to wait for that to accept the grace offer by Christ and hear him say,

“its OK, you are not alone in parenting your children. I have a plan and purpose for your children. I knew exactly what they needed in a mama and I chose you to care for them. You have everything you need in me.”

Please let this wash over me tonight. Let me know its going to be ok and that I am not failing as a parent. My best laid plans of mothering one child is not the same mother I have become to four children 6 years later. And, really, I hope in 6 years, I am not the same mama to them then as I am now. May I be wiser, kinder, and more gracious to myself and those around me and especially to my sweet children under my roof who will be 8, 8, 10, and 12. There, mamas, breathe with me. It’s going to be OK.