I don't feel like I'm standing on holy ground. It feels more like I'm standing on three day old remnants of shredded wheat. 

I don't feel like I'm giving my kids the greatest gift of love and therefore receiving their love and overflowing with God-love. It feels more like I'm just barely keeping them alive till bedtime, and before then the best gift I'm giving them is unending rounds of crackers (or m&ms or fill-in-the-blank).

I don't feel like motherhood is holy, like it's my highest calling, my greatest joy. It feels more like really, really hard work. Hard work I'm not even that good at.

Mommy bloggers, you are amazing. I love you and I am one of you. But really, if there is one more post or article or book about the wonderful redemptiveness of diaper-changes and burnt dinners and holy ground walking on a dirty kitchen floor and the beautiful gift of receiving God's Beautiful Gifts, I'm gonna go nuts. It's not that you're wrong or misguided... I think you're probably right, and I think there are some days where I do need to hear it.

But most days? Most days it's just blah.

Most days it's just coffee and errands and laundry. Most days it's just videos and temper tantrums and impaling my foot with a tiny lego man's lego sword. Most days it's just make it to the next days. Most days the only moment of peace is in the bathroom... and even then it lasts less than a moment because within 30 seconds someone is looking for me having spilt his milk all over the brand new computer keyboard. Most days I can't even think to whisper gratitude. Most days I don't think.

Do I love my children? Yes. Is this the job, the people, the life God has set before me? Yes.

Am I complaining? Yes.

Because I think we need to know - the new moms and the old moms and the Princess Kates and the Kim K's - that it's not going to feel holy, amazing, fulfilling most of the time, probably not even a fraction of the time. I think we need to know it's ok to feel blah. It's ok to not feel like this is the greatest thing on earth, the most divine, the most sacrificially-like-Jesus we will ever be. We need to know it's ok to not like it. It's ok to look forward to the days they're all in school, the days they go to bed early, the oh-so-rare days we get to go away by ourselves and be refreshed and renewed by something other than soapy water.

It's OK. It's just OK.

We still love our kids. We still want them to grow up to be compassionate, loving, amazing, joyful people. We're still grateful for the gift of them. We want them to grow up and be the best moms and dads they can be.

And then, there will still be those moments of pure joy when we will bask in the wonder that is a child, a Gift From Above, who loves and forgives and trusts without even thinking about it... just because we're Mom.

But on the blah days, the blah months and the blah years, when we are just hanging by a thread... don't tell me how holy and blessing-filled and Christ-like I'm being. That just makes me feel worse, like my tiny piece of thread is fraying, leaving me and my children dangling in mid-air.

Tell me you and God and my kids will love me anyway. Tell me we'll all survive. Tell me about your blah days, minus the silver lining or spiritual lesson. Just give me your blah. Then, maybe, I'll feel a holy space to tell you about mine. And one day (probably not today), God will redeem it all.

***

Ok, so it's probably just me, but do you ever just feel blah? About parenting or work or marriage or whatever? 

An open call for topics, ideas or general merriment

It has been decided (by me and the above Princess Captain America) that the blog needs some fresh ideas that don't involve me crying over spilled milk (both figuratively and literally), croup, or the only one thing that always has been and always will be banned from my blog: cooking. And I also need a distraction from dwelling on our storage issue.

So this is your chance to offer up some fun and/or informative questions, ideas, burdens, or controversies.

Lay 'em on me.

PS

As a coda to the previous post, I realize that it ended up all nice and tidy and really super-righteous sounding. Seeing that and reflecting on it since, I know how weak I really am. If you are the praying type, please pray for me and for us in the coming months. I don't want to be ignorant of the realities, but don't want to drown in them either.

We have still have a lot of work to do before even getting on the plane, so much so that giving up this chair and table I write at seems very far away and easy to do. I know, in practice, it will be hard. And that, in the meantime, Satan will tempt me with things like antique malls and Ikea catalogues.

So it's not so tidy as my late night spiritually sentimental writings would have you - or me - believe. But I'm hopeful it'll be better. 

The could'a, would'a, should'a game

If I knew I could, I would run a marathon.
I would write a book.
I would have more children.
I would adopt a child.

I would write poetry.
I would work.
I would start a business.
I would give all my money away.
I would play guitar.
I would be a kick-a** homemaker.

I play this game a lot. What I would do if I knew, absolutely, 100%, no risk of failure, that I could do it. I actually really hate playing it. I'm too good at looking at the would'ves and could'ves and should'ves, leaving me feeling incomplete or inadequate or unable to really accomplish much of anything. There are one too many things on that list that I know I literally cannot do.

In real life, failure is always a risk. And I'm just never at the place where I'm willing to take that leap without the fear of falling.

Bummer of a Five Minute Friday. I'm pretty sure it was meant to be a positive prompt, but perhaps I need more coffee or more time or more clarity this morning. I'm pretty sure you could do it better than I just did it.

The hard love

It's Friday.
I've got five minutes... I think.
Go.

The hard love...

Hard and good. Hard and good. I've said a lot that these go hand-in-hand. So many moments of love that lead us to the hard, but good places. Moving overseas with a young family to do God-only-knows-what was so, so hard, but became (and is) so, so good. The boy growing and going to school on that first day in that first uniform was so hard, but seeing who he's becoming and how he's learning to love and have faith is so good. Giving birth... oh.... so, so, so hard (I could go on and on... the two boys came in typically hard-fought fashion), but afterwards a baby who came directly from God and is ours to love and nurture and protect and teach.... oh, so, so good. Waiting and trembling in hope sprinkled with fear, I've always thought that to be one of the hardest of all. But here in that waiting, I'm seeing how good it really is. The hard, but good ways we wrestle, we learn, we grow, we fall, we get back up, we rejoice, we mourn, we wait.

There's only one reason we do this, we put up with this, and we try again. It's because we love. The only way I can do it is because Someone first loved me. If it weren't for the hard love, I would've given up awhile ago.

Stop.

Yep, that's it. Hard to get that one down for some reason. Think it was the extraordinarily late sleep-in that's making me feel all fuzzy. Back to reality for this mama. Your turn now.

Death Overseas

As we were preparing to move to Europe, we were told to expect to miss out on certain life events among our families and close friends. Weddings, births, deaths... things that signal that life does indeed go on, even if we're not there to share in it. So, we've missed attending a few weddings, didn't get to see some new little family members born, and now we've been unable to say goodbye to a patriarch.

The husband's maternal grandfather died last week. It wasn't altogether unexpected. He was sick, and progressively getting weaker, and for years we felt like every goodbye might be the last. We were sad, to be sure, but we were OK. Because he was no longer tired, weak, frustrated... he was fully alive, whole, perfected! This tricky dichotomy of being Christ-followers whose only true home is with Him above, but still ache at the leaving, the homegoing, the departing of a loved one who was always there.

Husband was a real trouper. But as funeral day came, melancholy set upon our household. Random tears were shed throughout the day. Phone calls home were planned, and then cancelled, and then hastily made only to leave a message for an empty house across the sea. It was hard to be away, to not be able to hug Mom, or comfort Sister, or sit by Grandma. It was hard to not be there, to not say a few words, to not appreciate a day for family and memories.

My man, who is slightly unfamiliar with open vulnerability, couldn't really hide all those hard things from me, here where it's just us and our little family. I think maybe it was good to share it - the few tears and the short silences - with only eachother, but still...

...To be with family, even if just to say goodbye, would lessen the heartache... and increase the joy found in a life well-lived, and a man who now is Home.