I have Mother’s Day all planned out. First I’m running a Mother’s Day 5K. (They give you a rose!) Then I’m going to my favorite coffee shop (alone!) to write my annual I Love You So Much letter to each of the kids. Then after church on Sunday, hubby and kids will take a hike with me. Even if some of the offspring aren’t exactly into hiking. It’s my day, doggone it.
Hubby points out that a lot of my Mother’s Day choices seem to involve me being alone.
Whatever. I seriously don’t feel guilty about that.
I revel in the joy of being a mom! No guilt at all as I celebrate Mother’s Day by replenishing my soul to love for the long haul.
The other 364 days of the year however, I carry pervasive, low-grade mom guilt.
Heavy, heavy weight.
At the core: “Am I doing enough? Am I providing enough: opportunity for growth and responsibility and discernment of their callings?”
My true breath of freedom and hope comes when I take time away. To fill myself up on a regular basis. The irony is that sometimes the best way to serve my family is to step away.
So I sit quietly with Him. Just on the edge of my bed, a blanket wrapped around me because I’m usually cold in Colorado.
I look out the window and marvel at the towering, graceful tree across the street. I drink in the serene blue of the sky. The distant, snowy point of Pike’s Peak.
I open His Book, and His true Words pour into my heart.
“I love you. I love you differently than I love other people. Not because I change. But because you are unique. I love you out of the overflow of Who I Am. I Am Love.”
So He fills me up. He quenches the thirsty, wistful parts.
And in little ways I can parent without guilt. I am loved deeply. His overflow helps me to love them deeply. Each one uniquely.
Who knows how my beautiful children will turn out? I don’t.
He gives me patience to keep sowing. To keep loving. To keep disciplining. To keep doing laundry and making meals. To keep having kid dates at McDonalds. To keep reading stories and listening and laughing.
There really doesn’t seem to be much to show for all this little humble work.
But it seems like when Jesus died and rose again and returned to heaven, there wasn’t a lot of showy produce among His followers.
And yet His sacrifice had watered and fertilized the scattered seed of His children. And they grew- slowly, steadily, awkwardly- into the global Body of Christ.
I will trust Him again (for today, anyway) to produce beautiful fruit in the lives of these beautiful, human children.
Walking by faith.