Merciful Motherhood

He delivered his line with finesse. A piercing mix of sarcasm and contempt. Oh, I know it when I hear it because I have spent a lifetime perfecting it. The art of the secretly scathing reproach is something I do well. In my expert opinion he was a little too overt to be considered a pro yet, but nevertheless, considering his age- if this were the kind of thing to be proud of, I would have been. 

"Real great mom. You sure are teaching us how NOT to yell."

Of course I was mid-yell as he said this. He shouted it up at me actually. I was upstairs and he was down, he was fully able to hear my misguided attempts at behavior correction in my Littlest. Yeah, it was only 6:45 in the morning and I was already yelling at my two year-old. I was yelling at my child simply for acting like a two year old. His expertly delivered correction stung on multiple levels when I realized not only was I yelling, but yelling irrationally. To top it off, he called me out in the very way I detest most in myself yet have somehow managed to teach him the art of: sarcastic manipulation. He highlighted my trifecta of motherhood iniquity, all before 7am.

His words were meant to shame me into better behavior. His words were meant to make me feel really bad for what I was doing, in the noble hope that I would stop. Lord knows, I don't want to yell. Yell at anyone, but especially my baby. For a split second his words worked as intended. I was cut to the core, thrust to the edge of tears and I hung my head in the bathroom. Shame began to well up inside. However, it wasn't a righteous conviction I first felt, because it started with, 

"Why can't you ever get it right Ang? You are a real piece of work." 

Shame likes to lead with absolutes... the always', the nevers' and the evers'- with the criteria being nothing short of perfection. Shame invites me to a secret place where I can go to properly beat myself up. For a moment I almost went there, to the hidden place I have returned to so often it kind of feels like home. 

However, this time I chose not to go. He was right, it was the voice in my head that was wrong. His words contained truthful correction. I was yelling for no good reason and modeling behavior I detest. Of course, I would have rather had him deliver it to me in love and gentleness, but well- sometimes we must look past the presentation to get to the heart.

The truth is I don't never get it right because sometimes I don't yell when I really want to do so.  And overall I yell less than I used to. I'm not yet where I want to be, but I am getting closer. I might have stolen that line from a country song...

Instead of going into the dark place of hiding, I breathed in deep and thanked God for His mercy. It was as if the Holy Spirit nudged, right there in my bathroom as my spirit tried slinking away, if your heavenly Father will not give up on you, who are you to give up on you? #truthbomb Shame throws in the proverbial towel. God in His perfect mercy invites me to get right back up. Righteous conviction always welcomes us back to restoration. Welcomes back with open arms. Shame tells us we best go hide. Every time we mess up, we get to choose which invitation we accept.

On this day, mercy won. So I scooped my baby up and whispered softly to her, "Momma is sorry I yelled. That wasn't nice."

Then I walked downstairs to the boy. I beheld him with my heart for a second. Mercy will let us do this, this beholding of the reality we often look past, that we are all deeply flawed with a million wounds of humanity, but desperately loved and desired nevertheless. In a moment I was reminded of how yelling makes him feel. How it scares him. How loud noises of anger make him hurt. I lowered my voice and said those three magic words which are so hard for me to say sans "but..."

You were right. 

I said, "You were right. I yell when I shouldn't and when I don't want to. I yell even when have I asked you not to yell and have consequenced you for it. I yell when I hate yelling. I am sorry for that." He visibly softened, and nodded at me. I went on, "This is why mommy needs Jesus. Because I will never, no matter how hard I try, be a perfect mommy. I am a big mistake making momma. I can't promise you I won't yell ever again. But I can promise I am trying not to.” He moved in for a hug, "I forgive you," he quietly said.

I want to be a perfect mom. But, if I were perfect- what need would my babies have for a Savior? If I were perfect, they would only need come to me and in my perfection I could masterfully solve every single one of their problems. Heck, in my perfection I might be able to fully shelter them from all potential problems. Then what would they do when I am dead and gone? Or how about this, can you imagine the pressure children would feel growing up under the guidance of a perfect mother? What a complex to foster! Could we agree Freud would have a field day?!

I type this half joking. But the implications are true. I am not perfect. I am a sinner. I have hurts and have hurt others. Also, I am saved by grace. And grace comes out on top, because love has already won. So, instead of modeling for them perfection- I get to model what it looks like to live under the great big umbrella of mercy.  I get to work out my victory day by day, step by step, falter by falter, right under the watchful eyes of family.

The words are in Hosea, and Jesus repeats them again in the New Testament, "I desire mercy, not sacrifice." I have been meditating on these words since the summer. Mercy, to me, is an active understanding of real life. Mercy acknowledges the human condition we all were born into. Mercy without knowing every detail of every situation, trusts that none of us, under any circumstance will get this life on earth 100% right. 

When I stop and really let myself take this truth in, what freedom!

We all know a Perfectionist is the absolute hardest person to fess up to. Confessing to someone who rarely lets on they make a mistake is absolute torture. Especially for another Perfectionist. Contrast a perfectionist with a person who lives under mercy, a person who doesn't hide their mistakes. What a vast difference, right? If we must apologize to someone what a blessing it is to get to say "I'm sorry" to one who actively owns the sins in their own life and chooses to be openly honest about how they are falling, getting up and then trying again and again and again. 

It has to start with me. I need to allow myself to live under mercy before I can genuinely give it, much less model it for my children. The moment in my bathroom, when I nearly let shame hang my head for me, was the real turning point. In that moment I got to decide, as we all must when we have messed up: will I acknowledge my failure and move forward in mercy or will I let it drive me back into the darkness of shame, where I can pretend to have the power to sufficiently beat myself up for not being perfect?

It is absolutely useless to apologize to someone and ask for their forgiveness if I have no space in my heart to let myself be forgiven. To truly accept the forgiveness Christ, in His abundant mercy, offered me at the cross, is to live in a continual state of forgiveness. I can freely ask my children for forgiveness because I am already forgiven, just as I can freely forgive. But my children cannot absolve me. They cannot take my guilt and make it go away. And I cannot absolve them.

No man can redeem the life of another or give to God a ransom for him- the ransom for a life is costly, no payment is ever enough- that he should live on forever and not see decay. Psalm 49:7-8

We can forgive me so we can work together towards restoration, but we cannot remove the blemish of sin. Blemish removal is the work Christ did for me on the cross.  It’s the work that is already done in the name of Jesus. The shame which pops up every time I mess up, backslide or, find myself stuck in all the old patterns, is my reluctance to accept the work Christ did on the cross. Shame is my unwillingness to receive the forgiveness He offers. In a twisted way, my attempts at shaming myself into better behavior is me- rejecting grace.

Shame is mercy resistance.

Perfectionism resists mercy too. Perfectionism is based on the belief one can redeem themselves by trying harder. Perfectionists have mastered the art of wearing shame as a badge of honor.

I don't want this way of living anymore. I want a home that lives squarely under the umbrella of mercy. I want kids who feel free to confess when they sin because they trust they are already forgiven. I want my children to know they will never be perfect, but by the grace of God they are perfectly loved. I want kids who freely offer forgiveness to each other (and to me!) because they know what mercy does: it frees up. It frees them up to be human, to stumble and to fall. Mercy frees us up to drink from the deep well of grace over and over and over again. I want our grace-well overflowing!

I desire a delightfully soggy home, soaked with the splatters of grace;

Fully protected from the rain of shame, as we live under the umbrella of mercy. 

This home I crave, I know it starts with me. I know it begins with my acceptance of correction (however misguided) followed by mercy, time and time and time again. I am not a perfect mom, as my kids have so generously professed. But oh, how I am a mom who wants desperately to dance in grace puddles under the wide and beautiful umbrella of mercy. It is my prayer, my children will dance with me.

Because there is certainly room for all of us under this covering.  This is the nature of mercy;

Mercy multiplies- 

the umbrella will grow bigger, expanding far and wide, if only we let it cover us first. Mercy is the umbrella meant to cover all of the fallen. Heaven knows I am one of them.

Be sensitive. Be creative. Be determined. Be Hudson.

 

My Dear Son,

This week you turned 8. Leading up to your birthday I watched your anticipation build. The official countdown sheet you created and hung on our fridge was diligently checked off each day for all of September. When they asked, you strategically split up your gift wish list between the Uncles. Saving the big items for Uncle Nate, "because he is rich." Oh, how I love watching your excitement grow. But that excitement, it also frightens me.

It frightens me because it makes me remember. 

It makes me remember my own pain.

It makes me want to protect you.

Protect you from the pain I so vividly remember. 

Your momma, well, I used to be a lot like you. I too had a sensitive heart just bursting with big excitement. Perhaps it was because my sensitive heart was always aware on some level of so much pain and hurt both in and around me, so I used giddy anticipation as a line of defense, as a relief from some of the heaviness of this world? Or maybe I simply loved birthdays, vacations, holidays just a little (okay, a lot) more passionately than other people… Oh how the growing excitement of these events would cause me to lose sleep for days! I would toss and turn in bed for the week before playing over in my mind how amazing things would be when the day finally arrived.

Of course, due to the nature of time my "big day" would eventually come. The day I had been waiting for!!! ...and I wish I could tell you it was always amazing. I wish I could say each birthday, Christmas, Easter, or whatever thing it was I was so excited for blew my mind. But I can't tell you this. Because sometimes (most of the time), it wouldn't be anything like I had imagined. To be honest, it was almost worse when it was as good as I planned, because then I had to feel the letdown which inevitably came from knowing the excitement was over and gone. There is a whole lot of disappointment to feel once I realized I must wait a whole year for another birthday to come.

I’m preaching to the choir here because you already know this, don't you? In your short 8 years you have already become well acquainted with the sting of disappointment. I have seen a very intimately familiar look on your face when you have had to come face to face with reality. It is the face that says, “What is wrong with me? Why does this hurt?” It is a sad, angry and confused face. I know what that face looks like on you and it hurts me that my hurts have so acutely been passed down to you. 

Your momma, remember, used to be a lot like you. I too had a creative heart just bursting with big ideas of how things could, should and would go. In my head I would create fantastic scenarios where I was so happy and so excited because everything went as planned. Everyone would remember my birthday. I would feel important all day. Mom would make my favorite dinner. Nate would be nice to me and not steal my concert tee shirt. Dad would get me my perfect present. My friends would treat me special. There would be balloons and fun and laughter and whatever else I dreamed up in my head that this birthday or celebration needed to be JUST RIGHT. The reason I couldn't sleep at night was because my imagination was too busy painting pictures and creating movies in my mind of how GREAT it was going to be. 

When in truth, nothing, no person, no scenario, no present, no cake could have fulfilled the expectations I had set. There are very few Christmases or birthdays of my youth where the memories aren't tainted with some feelings of disappointment. I remember crying many a holidays over the intangible, yet very real feelings of being let down. This! My son, this feeling of disappointment is what I want to protect you from!

Or is it? 

Because I now know how to make the feelings of disappointment go away. This I can teach you! People call it shame. Here is what you tell yourself, "I need to stop being so excited. I need to be rational, unfeeling and a little less fantastical in my thoughts. I need to toughen up- stop being so sensitive! Stop expecting so much from this life! And for all the love, just BE GRATEFUL. Be grateful for what I have, for what I've got, for how things turned out. Stop dreaming and be realistic." 

The part of me that is scared and wants to protect you from my old hurts has already introduced you to Shame. I have said these things to you, both out loud and in my head. I have tried to teach you how to blame yourself for your pain. Just like your ol' mom did to herself.  Shame will work.  You can kill your disappointment, your hurt, and your feelings of being let down. But something precious will die in the process. Good things along with the bad wilt in the throes of shame.

I solved my struggle with disappointment through shame. I took the creative and sensitive parts of my heart and named them “bad”. The parts of me that built up so much excitement, I blamed them for my disappointment. I believed myself ungrateful. I told myself, if only I were MORE grateful and LESS sensitive- I wouldn't feel sad. If only I had LESS excitement and MORE rational thought- I wouldn't be crying at Christmas. 

Back then I didn't know about balance. Back then I didn't realize how maybe my excitement and longing for all things perfect was less about being ungrateful and more about being created for a different world. A world without sin, a world that wasn’t fallen. I didn't know my sensitive heart was a barometer for just how far humanity had drifted in sin from the life we were created for.  I didn't know my imagination was a saving grace, a way to feel alive and help others feel connected. I didn't know creativity was a gift.

I believed sensitivity and creativity and excitement were my crosses to carry. And these crosses felt much too heavy a burden to carry. So I just laid them down completely.  It took me some time, but over the years, I shut those parts down. I learned to harden my heart and stopped feeding my imagination. In the process I learned some really great techniques for sleeping at night: just don't let yourself think about it. Don't dream, don't plan, don't hope and you will sleep like a rock. 

Thing I know for fact after years of practice: 

If you don't dream you will never feel the sting of disappointment.

But thing I also know for fact after looking back:

 If you never dream of something, different, better, more, new, exciting...

then you will never feel fully alive. 

Sometimes in writing, the words you type lead you to your own hidden answers. I call this the Spirit guiding, but whatever you call it, this is one of those times. Here is the truth as I just now see it Little man, I am not afraid of the pain you will experience from being let down and disappointed. I am afraid that the hard will make you want to stop. Stop dreaming, hoping, planning, anticipating and imagining. I am afraid you will mistake your gifts for curses and walk away from them in shame.

We are almost done with a Wrinkle in Time. Remember the Mrs W's gift to Meg? The gift was that her biggest struggles would be her strengths in a time of need. What Meg once saw as her "stubbornness" became her determination, resilience and a refusal to give up. She just needed to learn when and how to apply her "stubbornness" in the most effective way. This wasn't her cross to carry, it was just her path towards adventure and fully living. Her "stubbornness" was her gift to her people and to the universe.

So it is with us. Your strength my boy is found in your sensitivity. Your imagination and creative thinking, while troublesome at times, is your gift. God's gift to you and to your people and to the world. Gifts shine Light, so it is no wonder learning how to use them often feels like a struggle. The bigger the gift, the bigger the struggle in learning how to use it- because Darkness does not like light and it does not like gifts. 

Here is the thing, you are sensitive, creative and determined. Every single sensitive and creative soul on this planet has been gifted a determined spirit. They go hand in hand. The problem is, we hardly see it because we are too busy shaming ourselves for the pain. We are too busy figuring out how to make it stop instead of finding ways to listen to the pain, learn from the disappointment and observe the hurt for clues. But if you get real quiet and listen, you will hear Truth say- yes it hurts, but hurting is part of living. Numbness is simply death.

And I want you to live. Not just the breathing in and out thing, which goes without saying. But what I want is for you to feel fully alive. To be fully YOU. I want you to wear your sensitivity, creativity and determination with pride in who God made you to be. Yes, it will be a process but together we can learn how different and powerful the word "could" can be instead of "should." We can learn how to dream and while we are at it spend some time imagining how we can better respond to disappointment when things don't work out at planned. We can practice getting still together and listening. We can talk, share and collaborate on the hurts- they don't need to control us, we just need to pay attention to them so we can beyond them. We can practice getting back up again. Over and over, because we know we can. This is living.

Most importantly, we can remind ourselves time and time again that as long as our hope is in Jesus we will NEVER be put to shame. Because God has poured out His love on us and this love will never ever disappoint. When the dreams of this world shatter, when our imagination fails us- let us remember His is a love no mind can comprehend. It is that big and beautiful. This truth is fully living.

My gift to you this 8th year of your life is this: I promise to always try and see all your struggles as strengths. To not shame you for being you, but rather love and encourage the gifts you have been given. To honor who God made you to be- not who I think I would have an easier time with you being. 

Be alive this year. Dream big dreams. Hope big hopes. Create amazing things. Feel the feelings and share them- let them motivate you to help make things more loving and kind for everyone. You aren't alone in this- I am right alongside you determinedly holding your hand.  

I love you to Camazots and back.

Happy birthday, 

Momma

xoxo

 



  

Niederwalded

There is this big, beautiful forest behind the hotel we are calling "home" for now. Within this forest is a wonderful wooded running trail I have already claimed as my own. Husband told me each tree in (my) forest on base is tagged. Apparently the land is protected and Germany is all about keeping close tabs on the trees within protected land. To this I say, "Yay Germany!" 

However, a section of the forest has been chopped down. I'm not sure why exactly, but at least a football fields worth of trees along my running route have been recently removed, leaving an empty, sad looking lot. Hundreds of stumps still remain in the ground as if they have lost everything and are unable to go after it.

The first time I ran alongside this apparent travesty, this tree graveyard, I cried. No joke, real tears. Geographical relocation makes me spontaneously emotional. As do dead trees. Through my tears and sweat I found myself silently whispering to the stumps, "I am crying with you because I too have just been clear cut."

Moving and total life upheaval feels to me like a wide scale chopping down. Each sad good-bye might as well have been said with a loud and mournful "Timber!" For when the bags are packed and all is said and done I am left feeling a lot like a leveled forest. What used to be a tall, full, green and thriving forest of a life and community is now a brown and barren lot with only the stumps as reminders of what used to be.

But the stumps only tell half of the story. Underneath all the good-byes remains a system of hidden roots. Healthy, resilient, life giving roots. Roots that have been created to seek light. Roots that will do everything in their power to push upwards attempting to grow again. For every newly cut tree and sad looking stump there lies below a potential for new life. A stump symbolizes both death and the opportunity for a new beginning.  Because sometimes the roots of a chopped tree make it back up to the surface. Sometimes roots find light again... 

Tree people (do we call them botanists?), they call this a "shoot."

A whole new baby forest can grow from a completely leveled old forest. Tree people often do it on purpose, they call it coppicing. Coppicing is the intentional cutting down of old trees to make room for new trees. Usually it is done with the intent to make use of the fact that some trees grow quickly- thus allowing for faster harvesting of new wood. Turns out coppicing is a common and established (think, ancient) practice here in Europe. Germany in particular has its own fun word for it, "Niederwald." (If saying Niederwald doesn’t make you happy, what will?)

 I think it is fair to say I have been "Niederwald-ed." This is the military life. You grow as best you can, as tall and strong and interconnected as possible wherever you have been relocated to- knowing full well you will be clear cut again. But you trust the process, you trust that if you seek the light, soak up the water and push through, relying on the hidden root system that has yet to fail you- a new forest will grow. You can't rush this growth, you can't force it, you can't deny the fact that it hurts. It is equal part devastating and exciting.

Anne Lammot says every great truth creates a paradox. I believe her. I can't have beautiful new growth without some form of a painful death. The trick it seems is holding fast to my hope. Trusting with time, love and care, new shoots will emerge.

The problem is when all has been leveled and cut, it hurts and the pain makes me want to hide. I want to cover the stumps under my big blanket and cry. I want to nurse the injustice of it all. I want to be angry and retreat to my own dark corner of indignation. This is mourning. It is part of grief. What I found to be true though is some of those tears are necessary for regrowth. Some of those tears water and soften the ground. Tears can help nourish the roots pushing up, the hidden roots that are reaching out ready to emerge as shoots. The reality is, feeling the sad and angry and lonely parts of a clear cut are necessary for the regrowth.

Tears won't destroy shoots, however darkness will kill a system of roots every time. In the absence of light roots will wither and die. This is where openness comes in. Openness to light, to regrowth. Openness to new people, places, adventures and relationships. Openness to failing, openness to trying, openness to making a complete and utter fool of yourself. Openness to the pain and inconvenience of the whole messy, imperfect process.

Perhaps my favorite way to define faith is simply an openness to possibility. The Bible verse that comes to mind as I ponder this is from Jesus to his disciples, "I am the Vine, you are the branches. When you're joined with me and I with you, the relation intimate and organic, the harvest is sure to be abundant. Separated you can't produce a thing." John 15:5 The Message.

This is my faith. I am holding fast to all the possibility that comes from my clear cut forest. For it seems to me it is the unwavering hope in the possibility of regrowth which will maintain openness. Openness amidst the random tears and the unpredictably tricky grief/elation cycles and the messy, clumsy first encounters of each potential new relationship and opportunity.

Sidenote: Because let me tell you, rebuilding community is scary awkward, no matter how outgoing one may be. I have begun to make a game out of listing all the ridiculous one liners I have led with when meeting a new person I might hope will like me someday. 

After my run I went back to take a picture, not of the clear cut forest, for that is a new story, yet to unfold. I can't yet see or photograph what will happen to the hidden roots fighting to survive. Instead I stopped to take a picture of the neatly piled, freshly chopped trees. The rings of their trunk telling a story of years where they survived and thrived. This is where I find my hope. For it is in the looking back, in the seeing of God's provision every step of my life thus far that I am reminded He is good. And He is trustworthy. And I can be open to this process of regrowth because I am safe and loved. 

Old roots and new shoots, they aren't worried about growing, they just do what they were created to do: keep on pushing upwards seeking the light. I like that philosophy, I think I shall claim it as my own.

"Be strong and courageous. Do not fear or be in dread of them, for it is the LORD your God who goes with you. He will not leave you or forsake you."

Deuteronomy 31:6

No Spider Monkeys allowed.

We Honeycutt’s are kitchen people. A sign hangs above my stove which reads, “Kitchens are made to bring families together.” I acquired the sign while pregnant with my first baby, hoping someday my kitchen would be The Place. Our Place, our gathering place. It is a beautiful idea really. Well… in theory at least. I look back fondly at my naïve yet realistically idealistic self who purchased the sign ten years ago. That girl had no idea then what it would mean to have her relatively small kitchen be The Gathering Place for 6 people and a dog.

Pretty sign, lovely sentiment until you consider its literal ramifications.

I would guess during this season of my life approximately 60% of all waking hours are spent predominately in the kitchen. I am a made from scratch kind of cook because I genuinely do love cooking and I (usually) love feeding my people (although not as much as I love feeding myself). Turns out my people love to eat (as much as I do) and happen to love being around me during all my waking hours. (True Fact: The true essence of early motherhood is being constantly surrounded by little people who simply cannot get enough of you.) Since I am always in the kitchen my children, naturally also spend a significant portion of their lives in the kitchen, right alongside me, or under my feet, or in my arms, or on my hip, or on the counter, or lying right in front of the fridge as is the case with my four legged child. 

I’d venture to say, the sign in my kitchen wasn’t so much a prophetic purchase on my part, but rather a global reality penned by a seasoned mother who also had children who loved to eat and loved to be around her and whose sentiments were then marketed to me by TJ Maxx as an affordable, poetic and ironically charming sentiment for our home. Thanks TJ Maxx, it is not your fault I missed the irony. I was young and without children, I had no idea what I was asking for when I first hung your sign.

What I didn’t know when I bought the sign was this: Kitchens LITERALLY bring families together because children are always eating. Always. And since children are always eating, chefs are always in the kitchen and since chefs (usually) are the momma’s… one can bet that children are always nearby. Crawling up her legs, like a spider monkey coated in super glue with opposable thumbs, ya know, just in case she might run away or something.

Sidenote: my husband cooks too. However, never ever, ever does he cook with an entourage of Littles all up in his space. They never seem at all interested in what he is whipping up. What is this????? Children! Can't you see that Daddy too is intriguing as he cooks??? (True Fact #2: Fathers are not nearly as visible as Mothers at least when it comes to the day to day tedium of life. Jen Hatmaker calls this invisibility her husband’s superpower. I wholeheartedly agree.)

Anyhow, if you are lucky, as I am, some of those sticky spider monkey children of yours not only want to be near you at all times but will be supremely interested in what you are doing in the kitchen- from a more, let's say, technical standpoint. In short, they want to help. Oh, yes! All the yessesssssssss!  I adore the idea of kitchen helpers. I really, really do. But it is hard you guys. So hard to do anything productive with spider monkey kitchen helpers. If you cook and you have spider monkeys you know I am preaching to the choir here.

Spider monkey helpers spill, fuss, become inpatient, mis-measure, over stir, get burned. Spider monkey helpers slow the process right down to a screeching halt. In the best, most inconvenient and precious way possible. Oh, sure I can still get done what needs to be done, but the reality is, there is only so much “helping” I can manage before I need to clear the kitchen and get my work done. Alone. I am the chef and the chef needs to have opportunities to do her chef work- spider monkey free. Yes, Cutter my husband and love of my life, this includes you.

My husband likes to shadow me. He finds me so intriguing he too follows me, just watching me as I work. It is endearing, really. But sometimes it feels like he is sort of in my creative space a little too much. You know what I mean? I want him there, but I want him outside my work space. Just yesterday I kicked him out of the kitchen. I said (super nicely, like a Proverbs 31 woman, I promise!), “Husband, I want to have you near, but I need my space while I work, will you sit on the other side of the bar so we can chat?” He did, it was glorious. We got to be together and I got to work. In my own space. Poundsign WINNING.

I wonder if this is how God sometimes feels about me and my efforts. After all He sort of is The Chef and we are absolutely His spider monkey children. He really wants us near and He really wants us working alongside Him but to everything there is a season. Right? If my time in Hawaii has taught me anything, it is this: sometimes we cook, sometimes we prep, sometimes we watch and sometimes we get to try out our own recipe. But we always do best when we follow the direction of The Chef.

A.W. Towzer quoted an unknown 16^th century poet, “He wills thou do but look upon Him and let Him alone.” If I am honest, sometimes my desire to “help” God with His recipes, His work and His realm become my sole focus. Not in a good way, but in a "I know better than you" sort of way. I start trying to dictate His menu. I climb up Him with sticky fingers, not necessarily to draw closer to Him, but rather to demand in His ear what it is I want to eat and how it is I want Him to prepare it. 

In these moments I don’t trust the chef, I want to be the chef. I want to do-do-do the work for God but mostly for myself without much gazing upon The Chef, without much being still and letting Him do His work. Without much trust in his capabilities as Chef.

Four years ago I came to Hawaii like an angry, sticky spider money on the back of The Chef as He was trying to whip up His masterpiece of fine dining. I came to Hawaii screaming into God’s ear. I didn’t want to be here, I wanted His recipe changed. I was certain God had obviously made some horrible mistake in sending us to Hawaii and so I spent almost a full year demanding He let me cook. It was miserable. I was miserable. I made my family miserable. Apparently no matter how good my Chicken Pot Pie, Veg Chili or Three Cheese Spinach Lasagna is, I make an awful Chef of my own life. When I try to take control of the kitchen, I whip up recipes for anger, resentment and whole side dishes of self-pity.

In retrospect I can see what my soul really needed was to move out of the kitchen, sit at the bar top and just look upon Him- content in being in His presence while He cooked. I needed to chat with Him while He chopped. I needed to share my heart with Him while He sauteed. I needed to trust from my bar top vantage point that He wasn’t going to let the dish of my life burn.

Trusting is hard though. Sitting back and letting someone else cook without interference takes focused effort. It is especially hard when I felt certain I knew a better recipe than The Chef. I was recipe focused. Not Chef focused. I focused only on the recipe in the works and the disheveled state of the kitchen and that focus took my eyes off The Chef.  When my eyes come off The Chef it all comes apart.

It was then, when I came to the end of my own cookbook and found I was making a mess of all my recipes I sort of threw in the proverbial hand towel. I can’t pinpoint the exact moment I took off the apron I was wearing and stepped out of the kitchen- but I am pretty sure it happened in a flurry of depressive desperation and I am pretty sure I threw my apron in the Chef’s face with a measure of indignant disgust at His apparent lack of concern for my life goals. I am certain though, it was the Holy Spirit who led me out of the kitchen. And I am certain I shamefully hid for a bit before I slunk back up to the bar stool overlooking the kitchen of my life.

Looking back, the funny thing is, I have found my most productive spiritual times here in Hawaii have been the seasons I sat back and let God be God, with the full intention of just wanting to let Him be who He is so I can get to know Him more. Seems the best way to see the recipe unfold is by being still, watching and by simply talking with the chef as he cooks.

While the Chef and I talked I realized, I had been holding desperately tight to a meal plan that was no longer feeding me. Brett Trapp wrote in Blue Babies Pink, we like to feel right even when we are devastatingly wrong. This is beyond true for me. Finding a measure of God’s peace in Hawaii meant scrapping my entire meal plan and letting The Chef concoct all new recipes.

There is a vast difference between the experience of having my kids in the kitchen during dinner rush, as I am trying to fry up the bacon, toast the buns and check the temp of the BBQ chicken in the oven as the husband is watching the clock tick for Cub Scout departure time, because he doesn’t want to rush to be on time and the experience of having them by my side at the counter kneading dough for make your own pizza night. And there is infinitely more difference between the above and having them sit patiently on the other side of the kitchen counter just chatting with me and watching me as I put dinner together in my own way. As it is with God, I've experienced...

Coming to Hawaii was a spiritually frantic time for me. It felt like the rug was being pulled out from under me. My gut response was, “The oven is on fire! Put it out!” So I rushed into the kitchen right during the crucial dinner time hours. My motivations noble, my approach all wrong because it came from a place of fear. There were no fires to extinguish and if there were God was going to put them out. But I couldn't or wouldn't see that.

I have come to believe for me, spiritual maturity, this elusive place I want to grow towards means doing less and less so He will do more and more. Augh, goose bumps as I type! Hear this, please! The craziest part of walking with Jesus is the more I willingly sit outside the kitchen the more The Chef seems to invite me in.

Kitchens are best made to bring families together when it is on the Chef’s terms.

I don’t have this whole let Him cook thing mastered. Far from it. I am still trying to figure out where His holy strength and my effort should intersect. I suspect the Holy Spirit is a key player in this puzzle, but I'm not there yet. And the reality is I may spend the whole of my life trying to pin this one down. I guess I am okay with that. What I have learned for certain though, is the moment I begin to suspect the recipe isn’t coming out like I planned or hoped or dreamed up in my limited brain, I am best to head directly back to the stool overlooking the kitchen and sit for a while. I am best to resist the urge to spider monkey my way to the front of the stove. I know first-hand sticky kitchen spider monkeys start fires, they do NOT extinguish them.  Instead I am best to sit, watch and talk with The Chef first. Waiting patiently, in trust for Him to invite me back in. When the time is right.

   

 David wrote in Psalm 25:4,

Show me your ways, O Lord, teach me your paths; guide me in your truth and teach me, for you are God my Savior, and my hope is in you all day long.

If I want to learn from The Chef, I need to let Him show me His way, teach me His way, and let Him guide me through the cookbook of my life. This letting Him lead me thing happens best as I sit outside the kitchen and wait on Him. Trusting His recipe.

And all the kitchen spider monkeys say, Amen.

Incidentally a group of Spider Monkeys is called a Troop.
So, during dinner rush, I keep the troops outside the gate.
It is better for us all this way. 

The dance of Christmas delight.

Christmas is admittedly my favorite season.  Lights, carols, candles, gifts, trees, candy cane scented bath bubbles, sugar cookie hand soap, snow or the memory of it (depending upon where in the globe you are celebrating)… all of December is my favorite really... except for those few years when it wasn’t and I got a little lost and I tried to follow someone else’s script for how to do Christmas.

Admittedly for more than one holiday season I was chewed up and spit out by the Pinterest Holiday Excess Express and my overwhelming, unchecked and unholy desire to do all the pretty things all the other mommies were doing to ensure their babies had “The BEST Christmas Ever.” After at least three, maybe four Christmas seasons pretending to be someone I wasn’t, I sort of let go. I had no choice really. I was ruining my favorite holiday with an ideal that wasn’t mine. So, in a fit of exhaustion and not-very-merry weary I put down the manufactured holiday script. I laid down the expectations the Internet and the Blog-o-sphere had crafted for me and I decided to write our own holiday story. A story that didn’t require matching PJ’s, magic stinker elves and sparkling reindeer poop on the front lawn. Or was it reindeer food????

 It was a good re-writing and letting go. It was a letting go of pressure to compete for the best Christmas Mommy Award, a letting go of doing every possible event on the Holiday Schedule, a letting go of too many tedious Advent pockets on the hand crafted Advent branch- because for real, there are only so many flavors, scents and colors of homemade play dough a mother can make in one month while retaining her sanity. Also, those kid-friendly ornaments Pinterest peddles?  They are not for kids to make. They are for us moms to make all the while wondering with deep and pulsating anxiety what is so wrong with our children that they are unable to handle the “simple” ornamental construction and design that Pinterest clearly stated was a craft for children aged 18mos to 3 years old?!?!?! That is a true story. But even more true? Pinterest is drunk. Your kids are fine.

Two year olds don’t craft- they create. And mostly they create messes.

There is a huge difference.  See? This nonsense is exactly why the letting go was good for me.

Three years ago I intentionally let go of much of our holiday excess in search of a Christmas season that gave life and peace to my heart instead of sucking it dry, thus freeing my children of the burden to Martha Stewart 25 straight days. For three years now I have sat back and felt my way through the Christmas season, attempting to listen to my heart and to figure out what seems right for my family and our celebration of it. Except for my excessive use of indoor Christmas lights that could possibly lead one to believe we live in a 24-7 rave, Advent in our home now feels simple and uncomplicated. Mostly though, it feels like it fits us.

Yet this year, as I unpacked Christmas decor the day following Thanksgiving (as all normal people should) I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was missing something. The feeling bugged me a bit. I wondered… Did I cut back too much? Have I eliminated something integral to the season? Or is this just my soul succumbing again to the pressure of the world to do more? For all my pondering I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

Then, near the last page, on the last day of the 6^th Annual November reading of Ann Voskamp’s One Thousand Gifts I read yet again her wisdom, basking in each word. But this time, when I read this line something happened inside me. I read…

“Is there a greater way to love the Giver than to delight wildly in His gifts?”

It was as if her words were in special italics and bold print just for me. Sometimes through another person’s words my God seems to whisper directly to my heart…

“Just don’t forget my beloved; the delighting is the best part.”

Within one small sentence something happened inside me, this connecting of dots, this finding of a missing piece, this soul of mine was reminded yet again: He delights in me! He rejoices over me even! (Zephaniah 3:17) He loves me so much He sent His son to rescue me! And what better way to give thanks for His gift of extravagant love than to delight with wild abandon and celebration for Him, my Giver!

I know now what I had missed as I planned for this new season of Advent. I had lost sight of the true object of my delight. In all of the scaling back I somehow made simplicity the idol. Simplifying became the main event. I know this because if I am achingly honest,  I got a little high on my horse, a little puffed up and a tiny bit holier than thou whenever I considered how much better the Honeycutt holidays are because we don’t partake in over doing it or obscene excess. You know, over doing it like, well, like everyone else.  And the pride just oozes out. Oh, how quickly a good thing becomes an unrighteous idol. I am super fantastic at worshiping my own good works.

In my genuine attempt to make space for peace I lost sight of the delight and the One in whom I delight.  When I think of delight, I naturally think celebrate and when I think celebrate, I think party. What exactly is advent is if it isn’t the building up to the big party? A birthday party nonetheless! Is there any better kind? A month long party of the heart as it gives thanks for this God baby who came to save the world.

 Jesus did not come to invite me into just a relationship of peace and simplicity. While those are great and holy things in all the ways, He also came to invite me into a relationship of ridiculous celebration. Sometimes Christians like me are awful at this. I kind of think this is why a lot of people might avoid churches. I myself know that I tend to keep “Jesus events” very separate from actual fun events. But I think we as Jesus people actually could be really, really good at it if we opened ourselves up to the possibility that Jesus wants to party with us. He wants us to celebrate. Celebrate Him, celebrate True Love come down. He delights in us so we may delight in Him. This is where heaven on earth, eternity even begins! Can we even see it?

 I am literally giddy at the thought of this.

So, today on the first day of December in the 2016 Advent season it has been decided. Officially. This season the Honeycutt’s are partying all month long. We are delighting in Him whom delights in us, who came to give us life, who gives us gifts of love every single day. I just spent all of last month writing them down, writing down all the things in my life He has given me- beautiful and bountiful gifts of nature, people, art, feelings, words and love. What better response to that list than expansive praise, thanksgiving and delight?!

This year we will simply delight with a full month of hearts wide open, joyful celebration.  I’ll say it again, because truly, what is Christmas if not a birthday party?! Since it is for Jesus, I am pretty sure a whole month of party isn’t being too excessive… as long as drunk Pinterest stays away. Unless of course Pinterest and all of her shenanigans help you find your best celebratory spirit! Then by all means, Pin away!

“For God so loved the world He gave His only begotten son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life.” John 3:16

This! This makes me want to sing and dance under the Christmas lights like a girl intoxicated with love for the Lover of her soul! We are invited to throw a party! To delight! To rejoice! To celebrate His love for us!

Sing and dance with me? Le’s be Advent-ers of celebration first and then let simplicity and peace flow from there.  Dancing isn’t your thing? Then maybe start with the most beautiful of questions, “Do I believe He delights in me? Do I believe He showers me with gifts of love?  If so, how may I delight in Him this Christmas? How might I truly party with gratitude?”

But come on… let’s dance it is the best way to party! He delights in you.  Dance with the delight of it. 

Ghost Ants Behind the Oven

She recently named them for me. "Ghost Ants", Jaci calls them. They are a nuisance, appearing out of nowhere and ridiculously hard to annihilate. If you find just one Ghost Ant in your house inevitably there are three point two billion secretly waiting somewhere to take first little buggers' place after you smash it. If you are lucky you might be able to locate their entrance point and block it off with toxic repellent or lavender oil if you are feeling especially tree huggerish.  Other times, like their name suggests, it is as if the Ghost Ants magically multiply out of thin air and for the love of all that is good and precious it is impossible to identify where in Sweet Moses' wilderness they are originating. I suppose I could just call them a "pest" and you would get the gist, but I truly want you to feel my pain here. Hawaii is hard people. Hard.

During breakfast today one such pest appeared on my counter. I brushed him off. Okay, that is a lie, I killed him. Three seconds later, another came strolling past my toast. I "brushed" this one away too. Sure enough, another was right behind him. I waited and watched while I sipped my coffee. Obviously my newest Ghost Ant family had moved in over night. Lucky for me these suckers had an identifiable origin, they were coming from bum, bum, bummmmmm, wait for it... behind the oven.

Okay, maybe not so lucky for me, because...

There are two detestable places I avoid cleaning at all costs: 1) inside the refrigerator and 2) underneath the oven. I loath them. I just do. I typically manage to successfully ignore said locals until, well, until I just can't any longer. Usually this comes in the form of fate or an act of God. For instance, a massive spill on the top shelf of the fridge that floods all shelves beneath. (Apple juice, it is always the apple juice spilled by am understandably evasive culprit). Or, as was the case of the oven this morning... ants. I simply can't un-see bugs in my house, much less successfully pretend they are not hiding behind my oven.

In my search for the leader of the ants I reluctantly, against all my better judgement- pulled out the oven. If you have an oven, you know what this means. You are choosing to confront all the accumulated nasty. All the crumbs, dirt, dust, spillage and crud that has been silently collecting beneath the shiny, usually wiped down exterior of your stove top. Any person with an inner Martha Stewart will agree, once a mess like this has been seen, it must be acknowledged and significantly mitigated. Inner Martha won't let you have an ounce of peace until you do.

And so it was, I found myself in my pajamas, at 6:30 on a random Wednesday morning vacuuming, scrubbing, spraying, dusting and sanitizing while exterminating the microscopic ants behind my oven. Praise Jesus for cold cereal and PBS Kids- because I cannot actively parent while cleaning out the backside of an oven and still maintain my sanity.

The whole process lasted until well past 8 am. Much longer if counting the four hours it took to run the self-cleaning oven feature followed by the subsequent scraping off and vacuuming up of remaining oven debris. (The self-cleaning oven feature you ask? Why? There were no ants in the oven?! Well, inner Martha always has lofty goals for me. She is pure nuisance once I let her voice be heard.) For almost two hours my normal, very busy and productive morning routine was pushed to the side, children virtually neglected and my own breakfast postponed all because the trail of Ghost Ants compelled me to look behind the shiny exterior of my stove top. I will say it again: Once you move the stove, the reality of the mess will undeniably haunt you, just like a Ghost Ant, until you clean it up. It doesn't matter how clean I keep the front of the oven or the top of the stove- once I've been face to face with the underbelly of gross- the pretty facade I keep up on a daily basis is purely negated.

Perhaps it was the OvenOff fumes, but while I was back there scrubbing it struck me, this is my life right now. I am actively cleaning the hidden parts of my oven while I am figuratively cleaning the underside of my life. And with that simple correlation all sorts of grace for myself came flooding in. I have learned that any time I feel a flood of grace wash over, I best pay attention because something is happening.

I am just now coming out of an oven cleaning season. In many ways, because of my need to deep clean a few hidden heart places, other usually prioritized areas of my life were neglected. I've felt a tad guilty about this. Guilty and discouraged as I battled thoughts that perhaps all the hard work was for nothing.  I wondered if maybe I was selfish for spending so much time behind my oven. But cleaning the actual backside of my oven put it all into perspective for me.

The reality, I so easily forget, is this: we are given a finite amount of emotional energy to tackle a day's worth of troubles or to embrace a day's worth of joys. This is why anxiety or fear of the future is so devastating. Anxiety and fear use up today's resources on tomorrows potential trials, all while still attempting to accomplish today's stuff. This is exactly why anxiety and fear lead us to feel exhausted, all the time. We only get so much energy for today.

Now, it is extremely frustrating to encounter these people, but some people get a larger share of emotional energy than others, it is part of that whole "you are unique movement" God began. And it is true that some people have learned to manage their allotment of emotional energy much better than others of us. However, this does not change the facts: what we get, is what we get. Figuring out how to make the most of it is key. Pretending that we have more than we actually do is risky. I feel feelings hard and often, so when I am in a season of intense emotional work, I use up a lot of emotional energy. Accepting that I do not have the emotional space to do it all is huge for me. Grace whispers, some things can wait because He has already done the frantic soul redeeming work for me. As in, it is finished.

The way I see it, how we manage our emotional energy is much like how we manage the hours on a clock. Sure, we get 24 hours, but some of those hours must be used to eat, sleep and poop. They cannot all be "productive" working hours, as most of us measure productivity. However, it is my humble opinion that eating, sleeping and using the bathroom are all incredibly productive activities and should actually constitute as "work". (This could be due to the fact that as the mother of babies I need to plan, strategize and implement to find time to use the toilet alone. I'll save elaborating this thought for another time.) Emotional energy is the same, we can't be "on" all the time- we need soul food, peace, quiet, rest and release.  And from time to time we must make space for the healing of our hearts. This is how we guard our hearts- the wellspring of our very lives. It also means that when big heart issues descend upon our lives, our emotional energy is going to be reallocated. For me, understanding this is crucial to healthy living.

Let us go back to the oven. If I am the oven, which is fairly accurate because I can get hot too, I spend most of my time and energy on keeping the front and top sides clean. This just makes sense, they are the parts I use most and the parts that are most visible. It doesn't take a lot of energy to keep the top and front clean. I spray it, wipe it and move on. The oven will then sit pretty until the next meal which inevitable comes 20 mins later. (Kids. They eat ALL THE TIME.) This system works well, when things are going normally well. I clean the bare minimum on a daily basis, thus saving my energy for more important tasks like the actual cooking of the food. On most days, people can look at the oven (me) and say, hey- she has it together, look how clean and and shiny her oven top is! In fact even if people came over and looked around at my oven, they would have to look pretty hard to see the Ghost Ants. From a distance, or even up close my oven has got it going on.

Yet, there is an underside to the oven. There is ALWAYS an underside. In our rampant Social Media, put your best of three hundred selfies out there world, it is so easy to forget this. The hidden parts of an oven are just as important to the functioning of the oven as the top is- maybe even more so. However, for the most part, an oven is going to run just as smoothly with or without the dirt, crumbs and gunk that has accumulated underneath. But cleaning it out from time to time is just good sense. Maintenance and cleaning help avoid long term problems. Problems like Ghost Ants. The issue is, cleaning out the backside is a painstaking process. It takes considerable time and more importantly, it takes extra emotional energy.

What if we are all ovens? We go about our day doing all the things, using all of the energy, living fantastic lives. We, are a people who are great with keeping the stove top wiped down and our exteriors nice. Most times this is all we need to do. We have busy, meaningful lives. We have important work to do and children to raise and causes to champion. We are all changing the world to some degree or another. All of this takes time and emotional energy. There just isn't a lot of space for the deep cleaning work. Let's face it if given the choice, dirty diaper or moving out the oven? The baby in the diaper will win every time.

Then a Ghost Ant appears. It will happen. Sure as we all have undersides, Ghost Ants will come. When they appear we have one of two choices, look away and pretend they aren't there, or follow the trail to the backside of the oven. Granted, sometimes it is wise to look away. Sometimes one or two ants are nothing but an annoyance, worthy of ignoring until another, better time. Other times, we have no choice but to move the oven and peek behind.

Cleaning the underside of the oven happens when we are called to address the big heart issues. The hidden things in our lives. The things only we know are there. These are soul searching, heart repairing and often gut wrenching seasons. They can be seasons of self improvement or grief, loss and mourning. They are seasons of hard, focus and utter determination. Nevertheless, they are seasons we are adept at putting off and avoiding.

But I don't think we avoid deep cleaning because we are lazy or ignorant or even careless. In my own experience the reasons are far more nuanced and usually practical.  Here are my top three, OvenOff induced reasons why:

1) Cleaning behind the oven offers little concrete, obvious reward.

No one sees my hard heart work and thus there is little encouragement or extrinsic reward. In our culture of "carrots and stick" motivation, we have a hard time staying focused on tasks that don't bring immediate gratification. I am no different- I like to see my results NOW, yesterday even. This is why I believe I gravitate to weight loss goals. As I achieve them, people see my results. I see my results every time I look in the mirror. I get all sorts of positive feedback from others as I lose the weight. I don't think I am alone in this because I see it time and time again. Yes, we can lose the weight but fail to do the hard heart work that might have preceded the weight gain or was caused by carrying extra weight. So we inevitable gain the weight back. Hence the yo-yo diet and patterns that cause us to re-lose the same ten or twenty pounds year after year.

Almost always, the purpose of cleaning behind the oven means healing on some level. Healing takes up so much emotional energy with often slow and difficult to measure gains. It leaves one feeling unaccomplished at best, as many of our typically routine day to day tasks are left unfinished or poorly done because there isn't enough energy to do all the things. Prioritization can be demoralizing on many levels. Since none of us like a dirty stove top, this is also disheartening. Leading to a loss of motivation.

Deep heart work is when we are doing something that NO ONE ELSE knows we are doing, unless we tell them. This means there isn't a lot of external motivation for cleaning the back of the oven. There is no tangible gold star or accolades from admiring fans for our efforts beneath the oven. Heck, sometimes the rewards for hard heart work aren't visible to us, ourselves until months or maybe years later. It all hinges on hope, we roll up our sleeves and get to it because we believe it is the only right thing to do for ourselves and the big picture.

Hear me though, a shift in energies while we are doing hard heart work is not neglect or carelessness. It is compromise and is a necessary part of hard heart work because we cannot do it all, all at the same time.  

Long term, sustainable change happens on a heart level and is the product of incremental, barely visible change that is intrinsically motivated. That means the only reason we are doing the heart work and going behind the oven is not because we want to please other people, but rather we move the oven because it is important to us and worth the sacrifice it requires. Which leads to the next reason...

2) Cleaning behind the oven requires sacrifice.

If we only have a certain amount of emotional energy for each day and cleaning behind the oven takes extra amounts of energy- something will have to give. It might mean some or all of the below: needing extra quiet, alone time,
feeling unwanted, troublesome emotions we usually keep buried,
leaning how to manage those feelings differently,
money and time for therapy appointments or medications,
vulnerability with others as we solicit their help in meeting the needs or accomplishing usual tasks we are momentarily unable to because of our energy shift (THIS is why we have spouses, family and friends and why if we are part of a team some people will need to know the true oven situation), or
not appearing as put together to others as we are accustomed to (it is really difficult to keep the front of the oven shiny as you are digging out year old crumbs from the underbelly of your appliance).

The above list is not exhaustive, those are the ones I have personally experienced. I am certain everyone's level and nature of sacrifice for heart work looks different. This might also highlight why sometimes we need to leave buried things buried for a bit. Some seasons make hard heart work impossible. For instance, right after you have a new baby? New babies make for a terrible time to start cleaning behind the oven. If possible, waiting for the right time to move the oven is wise, with that said we can't ignore it forever.

3) Cleaning behind the oven will often lead to uncomfortable feelings of selfishness.

This is the Big One for me. Cleaning behind the oven can be a selfish endeavor. Yet, in the same breath I add, it is often the most selfless thing we can do for the people in our lives. Isn't it ironic, don't cha think? See, most of the time my problem is, I love being a martyr. I love the self-righteous feeling I get when I ruminate on how hard I work and how much I give up for all the people I love. Sure, it breeds resentment and anger in the long run, but what a small price to pay for how noble I feel about all I sacrifice for those ungrateful little punks. I joke, my Littles always graciously thank me for all I do and are perfect angels.

I'm not all evil though. Yes, I relish my martyr role a little too much but, part of me also genuinely wants the best for my people and I want to go above and beyond when it comes to meeting their needs. I love them and I really do love serving them (most days). My role as mother and wife brings me joy overall- even the parts that require losing sleep when I would rather selfishly be sleeping.
A lot of motherhood thus far has meant putting my own immediate needs on the back burner of the oven. Allowing for lots of character growth in the realm of patience, priorities and compassion. Bonuses of growing up alongside my kids? I no longer feel naked without mascara or self-conscious for not brushing my teeth. I don't crave designer jeans or feel like a trapped animal when I can't get out to the bar and dance like a hoochie momma at least once a week. The world is probably a better place overall because I became a mother, except maybe that whole teeth brushing situation... you guys, 1 PM! Yesterday I did not manage to brush my teeth until 1 PM. Yet I PROUDLY walked my kids to school and hit the grocery store sans clean teeth. This IS maturity at its' finest.

For all of its encouragement of self-growth in some areas, motherhood has also been a breeding place of genuine self-neglect, especially of the hard heart work variety. It is hard to find any time to move the oven when I am constantly, without hardly a break between meals, snacks and mini-disasters, trying to keep the stove top tidy. I gots all sorts of tiny people in my life whose mission is straight up ensuring my stove top never stays too clean. Amen? Amen.

Bottom line?  I often feel guilty for taking too much time for me. Especially when that time away seems to detract from my immediate ability to accomplish my daily goals. In oven speak, it seems ridiculous to clean the backside of an oven when the oven is functioning adequately and the stove top is clean enough for guests. This is especially true since cleaning the backside inevitably means extra catch up cleaning once I finally finish the added behind the stove work and finally push things back into place. A mess waits for no mom. That should really be a saying.

Hard heart work has to happen. At some point, healing must occur. Focused, deep, self-care, reflection and ongoing healing must be a part of our lives.

We need to be selfish at times to be our best version of selfless. 

If we don't, we break down. We end up with not just one or two Ghost Ants to be quickly brushed away, but rather a whole haunted colony living behind our shiny stove top. Once that happens, it no longer remains a hidden aspect of our heart where only invited people see it, but rather it becomes evident to the masses. Neglected hard heart work eventually hurts the people we are most trying to protect. I speak from absolute experience. Without proper cleaning and maintenance inevitably the oven malfunctions and the mess creeps above, onto the stove top for all to see.

I don't know what is behind your oven. Maybe you've got nothing right now or maybe you just don't know because it has been awhile since you looked. And that is okay. As I said, I myself am coming out of a two month season behind my oven. I had some serious messes that needed tending. It was hard. It isn't over, but I don't regret pushing that oven out for even one minute. I share this because I want to be a source of encouragement or maybe just a big ME TOO for you. If you are there right now doing some of this hard heart work of which I speak, you have this. You are doing good. Other people might not be seeing your efforts right now. Heck, you might not be seeing the results of your efforts yet either. But there is freedom on the other side. Pushing that oven back into place, knowing in your heart that things are fixed up and cleaned out- it will be worth it. A whole, healed heart is always worth it.

There is so much grace and freedom in realizing we cannot do it all, all at once. If now is the time to prioritize yourself to free up some emotional energy to pull your oven out, I say do it. I whole-heartedly believe you, your goals and your people are worth the hard effort, sacrifice and temporary setbacks of the normal routine it will require. You might be the only person who knows what work is being done, but God sees it, is with you in it and I am certain He thinks you are worth it too." No where does Jesus say in the Bible, "your heart isn't worth healing." Instead, I believe quite the opposite is true. He came to heal and bind up the brokenhearted. He is in the business of oven repair and deep cleaning. Ghost Ants best beware.

One last thing, my inner Martha and I suggest a face mask if you decide to use OvenOff. Full disclosure, these words may or may not be the product of toxic oven cleaner hallucinations. Because really? "We are all ovens????" Thanks for that OvenOff. Next time I am definitely using protective face gear... you're welcome.

The Evolution of Mom

It is dark. Her weight is heavy as we rock. She settles soft on my chest, head nestled in my neck. Breathing slows, little fingers wrapped tightly around my hair. "This moment, this moment, this moment," I repeat, "enjoy this moment." I rub her baby smooth, perfect little back in small circles, intentionally soaking in her newly one year old little self.

Seconds later she jerks away, weary of the cuddle already, or maybe trying to give me a clumsy kiss. In the process my nose is smashed. I yell, it hurts. She's startled and cries. The moment is gone.
Just. Like. That.

Seems to me that motherhood is guaranteed to be at least two things: painful and fleeting.

The second boy of mine turns seven today and I can't believe how fast it has gone, yet at the same time it has also been a long seven years. The first five years of mothering him were really hard for me. There was a lot of hurt as he and I struggled to figure each other out. We clashed, mostly because we are a lot alike. We both firmly believe that we are always right, in all things. I never realized how sensitive or stubborn I was until I parented an equally sensitive and stubborn child.

Things are better now between us, sometimes peaceful even. Of course, I am not naive enough to believe that more hard years won't come again, but for now I can say we have turned a corner and I am no longer living in fear of what may come. With this boy I already spent far too much time on the hurting parts to live in fear anymore.  For the first five years I fed into the power struggles, I resisted them while engaging them. There was hurt and confusion made it me feel angry and helpless all of the time.  I didn't understand yet that being a mom would be hard. At least not heart hard.  Like every new mom I anticipated the sleepless nights, added stress and more laundry.  What I didn't expect was the heartache I found and the paralyzing sense of helplessness my two year old helped to drudge up within me. To say the least, the hard parts unsettled me and I created a pattern of parenting that revolved around fear and the suffocating sense of inadequacy as his mom.
 
I can now give myself some grace for those early years, I was young and overconfident.  While those years weren't lost by any means- I can fully admit they were not savored. Those years were spent reeling. Jumping from one meltdown to another. What I didn't know then (well I knew because everyone and their mother had told me), but what I did not know-know then was that those years wouldn't last forever. So each mini-crisis felt like further confirmation that I was ruining my baby, that he and I were destined to destroy each other with our powerful wills of opposition and highly sensitive ways of relating.  It felt like it would never end. I remember it as such, vividly.

I didn't know-know then that over time I would get better at this parenting thing. I didn't know-know that I would eventually find some mommy maneuvers that would work, that maturity would happen (to both of us), that new techniques of relating would come into play for he and I or that a book (nay, all the books) would shed insight. I didn't know that if I stayed committed to my calling as his mother, time would have a way of smoothing rough edges and that what once felt unbearable would eventually become okay- good even. I didn't know time and experience could soften me if I would just allow it. I was oblivious to just how capable mom's are at adapting to challenges and to evolving in ways we never imagined possible.

Instead, those first years were spent consumed with the struggles of parenting a spirited, strong willed, sensitive sort of child. (Yep! I have read all the books!) While he is all of these things at times, he is also none of these things often. Regardless, who he is was never the problem. Looking back I can see it was more often my response to his personality which created the hardest struggle. I was consumed. All I could see was The Struggle. All I felt was the failure and the fear. If I am being honest, I was genuinely convinced that my life would forever be marked with melt-downs and emotional outbursts. Because it certainly felt like we were engaged in a battle constantly. Had I been asked three years ago, I would have assured you this battle would last 'till the end of time. I couldn't see progress, there was no light at the end of the tunnel and if one more person gave me a parenting "tip" or told me "this too shall pass" I might have hit them in the face. (Okay, not really- but really.) I was stuck in the struggle and it was this pattern of thinking that made things so much more difficult than they needed to be for me and for us. My belief that things would never change was strangling all hope of hope.

Of course I remember the feeling of the struggles- the struggles were my adversary and were eating me alive. I seem to remember well my opponents. Sadly though, what I don't remember near as clearly is our lovely moments.  He and I snuggling, playing or even laughing.  I can't recall them because I am not sure I ever let myself enjoy them, much less see them. See, even when things were fun- I've looked back at the pictures, there was lots of fun- I was always waiting for the other shoe to drop.  I was waiting for the next meltdown, trying to outsmart and outwit what I knew for certain was inevitable: the next power struggle. There is no beautiful way to paint the ugly that is a mother engaged in war with her toddler or preschooler.

This is no way to parent and maintain sanity. I sacrificed beautiful memories to learn this lesson. Yes, some children require extra parental vigilance.  They are sensitive, feisty, strong willed, diagnosed, medicated or loaded up with all the therapies. These Littles will take more energy, more tears, more strength, more prayers and heaven help us more community.  I have met these Littles, loved these Littles, parented one of these Littles and worked with them professionally. They just need more. More everything, except for more someone's who are always expecting the worst from them.

The opposite of expecting the worst is to look for the best. These Littles, they also need to have more good things seen. More good recognized. And cherished. And remembered. And written down. Not just for their benefit, but for us moms! In the midst of difficult parenting years, diligently searching for and remembering the small, fleeting beautiful moments will be worth every effort. Write down the beautiful things your harder Littles do. Write it all down. Write it down to go back to them over and over and over again. Even if it is one thing a day.  Heck, one thing a week! Month, even. Good things are happening, growth is there, the Holy Spirit is in this hard place somewhere- look carefully for any and every bright spot or glimmer of beauty and write it down every chance you get.

In the midst of struggle, especially parenting struggle when the relationships at stake are the ones you cherish most, it is so important to remember. Yes, those moments might be few and far between, momentary and  nearly imperceptible- but look for them. They are there, although sometimes just blinking might cause you to miss them.

This is what I wish I had done differently: look for the good in him, then write it down. Then I would have looked for the good I was doing and write that down too.

Yes fellow mom's we are doing good. I know good is happening because you, as a momma are growing. Each new struggle, parenting challenge, day, week, year that passes you are getting better at this. Your baby is growing up, yes, and the reality is some of your hard stuff might actually get harder and last longer than it has for me right now.  I can't promise that the behaviors or diagnosis of your baby will get better.  I won't promise that because for some of our kiddos it will not. I hate that part. I hate that some grow out of it and some will not. It feels unfair in all of the ways.

What I can humbly offer up is my experience-
if you don't give up,
if you keep showing up for your babies
and keep doing your best,
if you seek community
and invite people into your life who will help you see the beauty in your child
and remind you of it constantly,
if you look for the good moments
and hold onto them in lieu of your fears for the future,
if you give yourself loads of grace
and time to figure this out,
if you ask God for every ounce of strength
and patience He has to offer you-
things will get better.

Maybe not because the situation has changed, but it will be better because you will have gotten better, better at this messy, often hard and always crazy motherhood thing.

Remember, motherhood is two things for certain: painful and fleeting. In between the tears, through them and often because of them we will grow. It is hard to see because of how fast the moments seem to happen and how much seems to happen all at once. But it is happening.

This is the tricky dichotomy, the moments are fleeting yet growth happens over long periods of time within and outside of the moments. Growth is slow and painful.  It is really hard to see our progress in moments.  Especially in hard moments that seem to drag on indefinitely into full-on seasons of despair. Mindfulness in the moments is good, but progress is best observed when we stop and quietly look back. The rear view mirror keeps us moving forward safely. This can be a hard pill to swallow in our On Demand, fix it fast, get results overnight culture- especially when we just want to be Super Perfect Mom for our babies RIGHT NOW. Unfortunately, there is no magic pill for becoming a magic, perfect mommy. I've looked. Instead this is a give it time, keep on showing up and don't stop trying sort of gig. The evolution of mom happens a lot slower than most of us would like or expect.

How is your rear view mirror? Have you paused lately to look back? Are you seeing any of the good things you are doing? The hugs given? The patience extended? The new way you handled that old, familiar battle? The vulnerability you shared, the vulnerability when you asked for help or prayer, the smile you offered another mom? The time you gave your own self a time out instead of leaving the house for good? Right along with our babies we are growing up too. It might be beautiful or messy or both and even hard to see- but this is your life too and life and growth IS happening in you.

Mom's are really good at marking big moments in their babies lives. Birthdays, first teeth, words and steps are often written down. We take pictures of their first and last day of school, bike rides and first sleepovers.  But when is the last time we marked for ourselves a Mommy Milestone?  Milestone's don't stop when we reach a certain age, it's just that the older we get the harder it is to see them. Being a mother means you are constantly working towards and reaching your own milestones as you grow, change and evolve as a mommy. Let us honor the progress we see in one another, let us honor the progress we find in ourselves.

If someone hasn't told you in awhile, let me: I know what you are doing, how hard you are working, how you would do anything and everything to give your babies the world. I know that if you don't give up, this hard thing will pass.  It might not pass like you had hoped or imagined, but you will get so much better at managing it, responding to it and being okay in it! Still can't see it? I understand, I have been there too. So go find a friend and ask them. Say, "Tell me one thing I am doing good as a momma, please?" Ask this question and let your friend bless you with all they see in you, things you might not be able to see yet.

I used this verse in another post recently and I will share it again because I need to hear it again: "Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up. Galatians 6:9" In order for a harvest to occur, change must be happening! Trust this, if you are leaning on the Lord you are growing and getting better.

Five years ago mindfulness was not on my radar, at least not in the context of parenting.  Five years ago I would have not allowed myself a moment like yesterday to enjoy rocking my baby.  My mind would have been reeling and probably preparing for a battle of some sort. Five years ago, had my nose been smashed during a snuggle I would have broken down in tears, convinced it was proof my second Little truly did subconsciously hate me. I am sad to say that for my first two babies I missed a lot of beautiful moments because I was too busy caught up in busy and struggle and fear. Too preoccupied with juggling all of my perceived inadequacies as a mother. But I am not that same momma, I have grown. I have not perfectly arrived (far from it!), but I am different.  I have changed. I know-know things now that I did not understand then. This is proof of my evolution and I will honor it.

These words today are for my birthday boy. I can't get back years to re-cherish them or re-do them. But I can choose to use those years to make me be a better momma for him now. I have come to believe the best gift we can give our kids is to grow right along with them. This means we don't start off perfect. We start off as good moms, with all sorts of room to grow. This means we consistently look back and see all the things we would now do differently if we could go back in a time machine. And this isn't regret, this is the harvest of growth. Relish in it because you have toiled for it.

With all my heart, in honor of my H2's seventh birthday I wish that my words, story and struggle can help even one mom see herself and her baby in a new, forgiving and more grace filled light.

Happy birthday my curious, creative, contemplative and loving little boy. Thank you for teaching me each day and each passing year that I am not where I thought I would be, but I am certainly not where I once was. This is gift, growth and all good. You are loved Sugar Plum. Tonight we will look at all of the pictures and let the photos remind us of all the good and of all the growth. By the grace of God we will create some new memories to cherish from here on out. You are my blessing my handsome boy.
Love always,
your always growing Mom