I Must be Doing This Wrong

"I must be doing it wrong, because other people seem to do this so much better, so much more gracefully, and with so much more joy." That's a summary of what I told a friend recently as we discussed the struggles of parenting as she nodded in agreement. It was reassuring to know I wasn't the only one that felt this way, but I think we both were hoping the other might have the secret that those other mom's who seem to have it all together must know. You know, the ones whose kids actually LOOK and smile when they're taking their photo...
Don't get me wrong, I LOVE my kids. I appreciate and understand the GIFT that they are. I know that through the love of my husband and I, the addition of them into our family is a mirror image of the Trinity, where the love between God and Jesus creates the Holy Spirit. I know that just like the lines of a song they are "my heaven" here on earth, my family is a glimpse (imperfect of course) of the unconditional love and joy I'll experience someday in union with Jesus and the whole church.
But lets be honest, a lot of days come up quite a bit short of looking like heaven in this house. A lot of days the toddlers have short naps and cry more than smile. On those days, I'm not the mom I always thought I would be. I'm the cranky mom who speaks too harshly to her precious "gifts" (read between the lines...I yell; pre-kid me would be horrified...5 years experienced me still is). I'm the annoyed mom who has prioritized some other task over playing and lets it ruin the day when it doesn't get done. Some days, I'm just the mom stuck in the rut of every day being the same and not sure how to break out of it. Sure there are a lot of great moments and lots of great days that I do sit back and marvel at this gift of "heaven on earth" that I am allowed to live. But its those bad days that don't sit well with me. They fall so far short of the person I know I am called to be.
I look into the eyes of my tiny people, and I know they deserve better. But there is this grand-canyon-size gap between the mom and wife I want to be and the one I am on my worst day, or even my best. And it seems no matter how hard I try I can't make the leap to the other side. My patience, forgiveness, gentleness, and unconditional love all seem to run out. Sins that I thought I had long put behind me pull me down once more, and sins I never knew I had come to the surface magnified times ten. Parenting isn't the only thing that brings this out in us. Stress at work, disagreements in families, feeling judged or unloved seems to push us to the worst version of ourselves. We often feel like we must be doing something wrong in life when we hit those moments.
My conversation with my friend left me pondering that day just what exactly it could be that we were "doing wrong". As I prepared for an upcoming confirmation retreat I was leading, the answer hit me right in the face.
"Beloved: I remind you, to stir into flame
the gift of God that you have through the imposition of my hands.
For God did not give us a spirit of cowardice
but rather of power and love and self-control.
So do not be ashamed of your testimony to our Lord,
nor of me, a prisoner for his sake;
but bear your share of hardship for the gospel
with the strength that comes from God." 2 Tim 1:6-8


I don't know why I need so many reminders. I seem to figure this out every few months and then forget again. The Holy Spirit. That is the secret that's not really a secret. The bible shouts it to us over and over again, "our advocate", "our helper", "our reminder of the truth".
When I worked as a youth minister and encountered students every day who needed to experience, in me, the love of Christ, I prayed desperately for the spirit to guide my words and actions. I prayed desperately that they would see Christ and not me.
Now, when I prepare to speak at events or lead a retreat I spend hours in prayer, completely relying on the Holy Spirit to work through me. Because truthfully, I'm terrible on my own. Its incredible to see the difference between when I practice a speech to when I give it with the grace of the Holy Spirit. On my own, I fall short. The ingredients are there, but it just doesn't come together right. I have always known that I am nothing but an unqualified mess of a person who desperately needs the Holy Spirit to share the gospel with others.
The problem, is that for some reason I think I can do parenting on my own. I must have thought I had the right gifts or talents? Or figured that's the way everyone else does it so it should work for me? Or maybe it's because it's every day and every waking minute instead of a work day or a one hour speech?
But I realized as I prayed desperately for the Holy Spirit to help me with the retreat, that this is what I have been doing wrong. I have not been praying for the Holy Spirit to help me share the love of Christ with these tiny people. I think we assume it should come naturally to love our children. It comes naturally to have affection for them, but the love that they require, a selfless, lifegiving, completely sacrificial, unconditional love that imitates the love of Jesus is just not possible for the average sinful person without the working of the Holy Spirit. It's ridiculous really that I have neglected to ask for the help of the Holy Spirit for the most important job I have ever had. It's ridiculous that I have spent 5 hours in prayer to the Holy Spirit to give a one hour speech and don't spend even a few minutes for a full 24 hours that I spend each day wanting to share Jesus with the hearts that are the most dear to me.
I love all of the hearts I encounter and I want each one to know the truth, to know the incredible way God loves them. But these hearts that live in my home have been especially entrusted to me. It's my job to make sure they know the love of Jesus, and the only way I can possibly do that is to get out of the way and allow the Holy Spirit to love them through me in a way I never will be able to myself. And in order to do this, I have to pray desperately. Because the Spirit won't take over my free will, He has to be invited to move.


Its a beautiful gift He gave us.
"And I will ask the Father and he will give you another Advocate, to be with you forever. This is the spirit of truth, whom the world cannot receive because it neither sees him or knows him. You know him, because he abides in you and he will be in you. I will not leave you orphaned; I am coming to you." Jn 14:16-18


I will not leave you orphaned.


Come Holy Spirit, fill the hearts of your faithful and enkindle in them the fire of your love.
Send forth your Spirit, and they shall be created, and you shall renew the face of the earth.
Oh God, who instructs the hearts of the faithful, grant that by the same Spirit, we may become truly wise and ever rejoice in his consolations, through the same Christ our Lord. Amen.


I'm praying this prayer often. I'm breathing in "Come Holy Spirit" as I take sips of coffee. I'm relying on Him for every toddler tantrum, every time the baby empties a basket of folded laundry, and every time the five year old is stubborn. I'm remembering often that I really can't do this on my own and remembering always that the Holy Spirit does it so incredibly better, and with peace and joy.


Come Holy Spirit!

I'm Still Watching the Clock

Dear Nathaniel,
Today was your second day of Kindergarten. You didn't want to go. You had fun yesterday, but "it was too long" you said. "Tell me about it" I wanted to reply. You see, when we kissed you goodbye and you walked out the door your brother pointed and begged to go with you, and when I said you were going to school and he had to stay home, his eyes told his story of devastation and he cried his biggest, saddest sobs. I cried right along with him. Because we both knew it would be too long before you were back. He missed his hero and best buddy and I missed a piece of my own heart.
I watched the clock all day. I prayed through the time you were getting to the school and into your classroom. I prayed when playing blocks with your brother and sister because your absence was so noticeable. I prayed when I knew you would be going to lunch because I know new places with a lot of people are very scary for you.  I prayed a lot in the early afternoon hours because I knew the day would start getting long for you. I watched the clock often as the day was getting long for me without you too. I prayed unceasingly when the dismissal time came and I knew you were getting on the school bus for the very first time. I prayed your whole hour bus ride home. I watched the clock all day waiting for you to come back to me. And when you stepped off the bus with a smile I prayed a prayer of thanksgiving.
The truth is, I really don't want to send you to school. I really want you to stay home with me every day. So when you look at me and tell me you don't want to go, trust me, I don't want you to either. Your entire 5 years of life I've been battling to keep you with me, watching the clock whenever you were gone until you would come back home, when all would be right in my world again.


We were bringing you home from Pierre in an April icestorm navigating slushy roads when you were one month old. I road in the back with you because I was sure if I couldn't see you you would stop breathing. I watched the minutes tick by on the digital clock on the dash, praying you would stay sleeping another half hour before we could stop. I desperately wished time would go faster so we could be safely home. You were a great traveler (first and ONLY time) , you woke up to eat and be changed and went back to sleep as soon as we got on the road and slept all the way home. When we got home, Dan held you in his recliner and you slept a very long time. I kept watching the clock, telling him to let you wake up so you would sleep at night, but he just couldn't put you down.


It was 3 am. We hadn't really slept all night because you hated your crib and woke up every time we put you in it. We both looked desperately at the clock and then decided to let you sleep in the swing if that would do the trick. We finally all drifted off to sleep at 4.


5 pm never came soon enough so I could pick you up from daycare. When someone walked in at 4:55 with a problem I tried not to let my sadness show. A year ago I would have been thrilled to solve it and enjoyed the challenge. Now I just wanted to pick you up, the day had been too long to be apart.

It was 2 am, you were 5 months old, the date quickly approaching when you were supposed to leave us to go live with your birth-mom. I was so glad you woke up, so that I could hold you and spend more time with you. There were a lot of nights I wished for sleep, but lately I treasured this sacred nighttime hour with you, with a bottle and rocking chair. I soaked in every breath, every sound. I remembered how quiet the house, our life, used to be before you. I never hated sleeping all night more. I watched the minutes tick by knowing they were going too fast. Knowing the day was coming when you wouldn't wake me at 2 am anymore, when I wouldn't be there to answer your cries.


24 hours. That's the time we got to say goodbye to you. Six months you had lived with us, but you weren't just a roommate. You were a part of us. How do you say goodbye in 24 hours? We played all day. We left the room to cry. We tried to memorize every tiny touch, every hug, every movement. We watched the hours tick by, each one bringing us closer to our worst nightmare. The time came, we had to put you in the car. The car had always been a safe place and always brought you somewhere safe and then back home, but this time was different. It felt like a lie buckling you in. This time I couldn't promise you'd be safe. I couldn't promise you'd come back home.


5 days you were gone before you could come back and visit. I watched the clock all week, wondering what you were doing at that moment, wondering if you were ok, wondering if you were missing us. I prayed you wouldn't be sad and that you were being taken care of. I prayed I would figure out how to live without you, without the constant worry tearing me apart.


When the call came to come pick you up, time stood still. I left work and rushed down to get you, the hour drive an agony knowing once I get there I could hold you in my arms and bring you HOME.


We watched the clock as your months turn into years and we treasured every one individually as a gift of one more day, one more month, one more year with you. We had no promise of the next year.


This May, when you were five years old, we were at the courthouse with all of our family and friends, and I watched seconds pass as time slowed and we waited for our turn. Five years of anticipation builds up a lot of anxiety. But our turn came and then it went quickly and before I knew it, the judge was announcing your adoption official. Five years of worry slipped off my shoulders and fell to the floor like I tossed off a heavy winter coat.


Today, you went back to school for the second LONG day. I still watched the clock all day. I still counted the hours and then minutes that you would come back home. I still breathed easier knowing you were ok when you got off that yellow bus.


I know I'm the crazy mom who can't let go of her child and I know I worry too much. Maybe the difference is that I HAD to let go of you once, and it was horrible. Maybe the difference is that I treasure every moment because I had to find out what the moments were like without you. Maybe I don't trust that anyone else loves you the way that I do. And maybe most of all I know that even a court document can't guarantee me another day with you. So I want all of this day, not just the last few hours.


The good news, is that Jesus doesn't promise us tomorrow, but He does promise us eternity. Eternity with you sounds so incredible. This is why we have nothing to fear. Because being separated is really our ultimate fear. The thing that causes us the most pain. But because of Jesus we will never be separated forever. So until then, I'll keep watching the clock while you're away from me. And I'll keep watching the clock while we both wait for heaven, anxiously awaiting the day when I'm not watching the clock anymore.
And I'm sorry buddy, Daddy says you have to go to school tomorrow.