The Glory of Messy Days

It all began at breakfast with three boys scarfing oatmeal down their gullets, talking about getting school done fast so they could play football in the basement. Middle brother quipped to older brother, “I’m better than you at math,” and older brother challenged, “well, I can read better,” and little brother piped in, “I can read too,” and big brothers laughed at little brother saying, “you can’t read at all,” and the one-upping ramped up until somehow—no one really knows how—the old-fashioned pencil sharpener sitting on the table with a black belly full of wood dust upended in a bowl of oatmeal. Pencil dust coated slimy oats as the bowl tipped over, spilling grey-streaked porridge onto the yellow tablecloth.

I stared at oatmeal sludge oozing off the table onto carpet and asked myself: “So, just what does it look like, in this moment, to live out Jesus In me?” I knew yelling, “what were you thinking?!” at the frozen faces in front of me wasn’t the answer (I’d tried that before!), so I barked, “Don’t touch it! Go get your schoolwork while I clean it up!”  

But one mess just led to another.

Big brother teased screechy little sister while I tried to teach middle brother that “aw does not say ew.” Then little brother picked his boogers and bled crimson droplets across the carpet while little sister front-flipped over the couch onto her back and didn’t stop wailing for half an hour. When I finally sat down during “rest time,” a loud crash, tinkling glass, and little brother screaming, “It was an accident! It was an accident!” shattered my momentary peace.

So now, at the end of this messy day, I return to my question: “what does it mean to live out Jesus In Me?” How does the truth of “I am with you always” change me from the inside out?

I used to think Jesus In Me meant he’d inspire super-spiritual strategies like, “When Angry, Count to Ten.” But counting to ten before disciplining the kid drawing on the wall with a Sharpie just plugged the flow of nasty words and failed to reach the source—my sinful heart.

I’ve learned over the years that my heart, bent on self-sufficiency, is often blind to the true power of Jesus In Me.

But Jesus—rich in grace—transforms me from the inside out by helping me see.

Jesus opens the eyes of my heart to see Him, and seeing Him changes how I see everything.

  

Jesus in Me is the greatest gift, and seeing his beauty isn’t a choice I make, it’s a gift He gives.

So, on messy days when I’m blind to Jesus in Me, blind to his beauty, my prayer is this: “Jesus, help me see you! “

Because seeing the beauty of Jesus transforms even the messiest days into Glory. 

“One thing I ask from the Lord, this only do I seek;

that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life

 to gaze on the beauty of the Lord,

 and to seek him in his temple. ”

(Psalm 27:4).

The Glory of Messy Days

It all began at breakfast with three boys scarfing oatmeal down their gullets, talking about getting school done fast so they could play football in the basement. Middle brother quipped to older brother, “I’m better than you at math,” and older brother challenged, “well, I can read better,” and little brother piped in, “I can read too,” and big brothers laughed at little brother saying, “you can’t read at all,” and the one-upping ramped up until somehow—no one really knows how—the old-fashioned pencil sharpener sitting on the table with a black belly full of wood dust upended in a bowl of oatmeal. Pencil dust coated slimy oats as the bowl tipped over, spilling grey-streaked porridge onto the yellow tablecloth.

I stared at oatmeal sludge oozing off the table onto carpet and asked myself: “So, just what does it look like, in this moment, to live out Jesus In me?” I knew yelling, “what were you thinking?!” at the frozen faces in front of me wasn’t the answer (I’d tried that before!), so I barked, “Don’t touch it! Go get your schoolwork while I clean it up!”  

But one mess just led to another.

Big brother teased screechy little sister while I tried to teach middle brother that “aw does not say ew.” Then little brother picked his boogers and bled crimson droplets across the carpet while little sister front-flipped over the couch onto her back and didn’t stop wailing for half an hour. When I finally sat down during “rest time,” a loud crash, tinkling glass, and little brother screaming, “It was an accident! It was an accident!” shattered my momentary peace.

So now, at the end of this messy day, I return to my question: “what does it mean to live out Jesus In Me?” How does the truth of “I am with you always” change me from the inside out?

I used to think Jesus In Me meant he’d inspire super-spiritual strategies like, “When Angry, Count to Ten.” But counting to ten before disciplining the kid drawing on the wall with a Sharpie just plugged the flow of nasty words and failed to reach the source—my sinful heart.

I’ve learned over the years that my heart, bent on self-sufficiency, is often blind to the true power of Jesus In Me.

But Jesus—rich in grace—transforms me from the inside out by helping me see.

Jesus opens the eyes of my heart to see Him, and seeing Him changes how I see everything.

  

Jesus in Me is the greatest gift, and seeing his beauty isn’t a choice I make, it’s a gift He gives.

So, on messy days when I’m blind to Jesus in Me, blind to his beauty, my prayer is this: “Jesus, help me see you! “

Because seeing the beauty of Jesus transforms even the messiest days into Glory. 

“One thing I ask from the Lord, this only do I seek;

that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life

 to gaze on the beauty of the Lord,

 and to seek him in his temple. ”

(Psalm 27:4).

The Sanctifying of Mama She-Hulk

The van wouldn’t start this afternoon. I turned the silver key in the ignition, white lights flashed on the dash, orange dials spun in half-arcs, and something under the hood said “click-click-click-click” and I smelled smoke, or thought I did, and Micah yelled from the back seat, “I’m getting out before we explode!”

“Wait!” I yelped, trying to prevent the super-hero leaps of three scared boys into the middle of the street.

I opened the driver’s side door, walked round our Dodge Caravan to see what I could see, and noticed the back right tire was flat too. Lovely! Tomorrow’s Friday and we’ve got a conference to go to this weekend!

I sighed, kicked the flat tire for good measure, then called Jon and left a message—“the van’s dead and the back tire is flat.” Stuffing my phone in my back pocket, I reached over and yanked hard on the passenger side door, the one that’s supposed to open automatically, and announced to the three wide-eyed boys huddled on the back seat, “Well, the van’s broken so we’ll just have to go inside and wait till Dad can get it to Mickey’s.”

The three boys took the disappointment pretty well, given they’d been hoping for an afternoon shooting hoops at the gym. We traipsed inside in silence and hung up coats. I sighed again saying, “Man! This is disappointing. I doubt we can get the van fixed before tomorrow, but that’s life. I’m sure God has a reason for it.”

Micah plopped onto the living room floor, pulled off his Reeboks, and said, “Wow, mom, what’s wrong with you?”

“What do you mean what’s wrong with me?”

“Well, usually when something doesn’t work, you know, like your computer, you act like the Hulk.”

“How do I act like the Hulk?”

“You say ‘AHHHHHHH.”’

I had no words. I wasn’t sure if I should feel insulted that my son just compared me to a green monster or humbled that he’d noticed my less-than-holy attitudes when faced with less-than-ideal circumstances.

“Well, I’ve been praying a lot, Micah, that I would remember that God is with me all the time, even when things don’t go right.”

“That’s good, Mom!” he said as he threw his shoes into the closet and turned to shove Josiah and Isaiah to the carpet in a wrestling maneuver.

As grunts and giggles swirled around me, I marveled at the reality of God with me, sanctifying this Mama She-Hulk, helping me trust that a broken van was part of the plan.

Emmanuel. God with me, changing my heart, helping me see Him at work in and around me.

And this—the seeing—is Amazing Grace.

When You're not Mama Enough, Woman Enough: He is Enough

Esther Sophia,

You are six months old, slobbering trails across the carpet as you pull your slim baby legs towards the pile of red and blue Legos scattered just beyond your slender fingers. You look back at me, your mama, and smile till the dimples on either side of your mouth press in and those brown eyes light up my world.

Esther, there’s nothing more beautiful and terrifying than being your Mama.

I dream of years ahead—of tea parties and picnics on green grass, of dressing you in white lace and pink tulle, of mother-daughter giggles in the dark after bedtime stories. These are things my Mama never did with me and I wished she did.

My Mama hid in her sewing room, hid behind baking bread, teaching Bible studies, and grading papers.

My Mama hid her soul from me.

When I was nine, I sent my Mama notes scrawled in red crayon across pink construction paper saying “I love you,” craving for the words, “I love you too.”

To love and be loved,

To know and be known,

This was my soul-cry.

Esther, being your mama scares me to death because the same fear that kept my Mama from knowing and loving me threatens to keep me from knowing and loving you.

I’m afraid I’m not woman enough for this world, mama enough for you.

Just like my Mama, I’ve hidden behind to-do lists, Bible talk, and pretty clothes, desperately trying to prove I am enough!

But I’ve finally learned: hiding from the truth never works out very well.

Eventually you run into another woman who’s stronger, prettier, more organized, more talented, and in order to prove you are still enough, you tear down the feminine soul in front of you—the mama next door, the gal in the pew in front of you, the daughter crawling under your feet.

Esther, my fearful-feminine heart is tempted to cage you in a tiny box—as my mother caged me—and this caging, it's the cruelest form of tearing down.

Caging squelches the soul--the passion and personality that is you so I don’t have to face the truth about me—I am not enough.

But God—

Oh how I love the pregnant grace of these words—But God!

Rich in mercy,

Full of love,

He is enough.

This cage-breaking truth—that God is enough—brings me to my knees again and again.

It’s only when I’m on my knees that I’m woman enough, mother enough because HE is enough.

So, Esther Sophia, my daughter,

As we begin this mother-daughter journey together,

My soul believes God is enough,

And because God is enough,

I am mama enough for you,

You are daughter enough for me,

And together we will play, laugh, cry and fight our way

To know and be known.

To love and be loved.

To the Glory of the God who is Enough.

Love,

Your Mama

 "But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me."

(2 Corinthians 12:9)

When Mother-Love Falls Short: A Christmas Prayer

I scoop up my wailing daughter, Esther Sophia, from the living room rug, her eyes blotchy-red from fitting, cheeks slippery with saliva, pink dress smelling milky-sour as she sucks air between sobs.

Cupping her ruffled bottom in my blue-veined palm—

I tuck Esther under my chin, neck-to-neck, heartbeat to heartbeat, her chick-soft hair tickling my cheek, our pink flesh and blood throbbing, mingling with the crimson pulse of living.

My heart fills with loving this daughter, my Only daughter.

I wish this love—fallible Mother love—could fill Esther’s soul well to the brim, fill it so deep she’d never hurt.

But in this broken and bruised world, Mother love can’t fill the soul well, can’t give lasting comfort, perfect peace.

My Father’s Only Son is the Only One who fills the soul well: “As a mother comforts her child, so I will comfort you. . . . [I] will quiet you with [my] love.”*

Esther stirs, lifts head, little fists digging sharp with fingernails not yet cut. Holding squirming Esther on my knees, I glide on the rocking chair. Her back arches as balled fists flail. I smile saying, “Hello, my sweet girl,” and dimpled cheeks smile back as she babbles: “Aaah, waaa. Aaah waaa.”  I kiss her downy hair, gently brushing my palm across her scalp, fingers dipping over the soft spot—the tender spot—where bone has yet to cover brain.

And I wish Mother Love could cover the tender spots in Esther’s heart—the rejection and pain that life inevitably brings. But I’ve learned through dark days of my own:

My Father’s Only Son is the Only One who covers our tender places.

Esther, still perched on my knee, lets out a quiver-cry, and I pull her close, snuggle her against my heart. She lays her downy head between the curve of my cheek, the slope of my neck.

As Esther rests in the earthly comfort of Mother-Love, I deep-heart pray she comes to know the heavenly Comforter—Jesus.

Only Jesus—God-man born in a stinking manger stall, to a frail human Mother like me, because he Loved the World!—can fill the soul with perfect comfort, perfect peace.

As my mentor-Mother once said to me: “The prayer I pray for my sons and daughter is this: that they have more and more of Jesus, because if they have Jesus, they have everything.”

So this Christmas, and every Christmas, my Mother-prayer is this: Grace, eternal comfort—Jesus—overflowing in the souls of my children.

Isaiah 9:6

⁶ For to us a child is born,
    to us a son is given,
    and the government will be on his shoulders.
And he will be called
    Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
    Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace

1. Isaiah 9:6 : S Ge 3:15; Isa 53:2; Lk 2:11
2. Isaiah 9:6 : Jn 3:16
3. Isaiah 9:6 : S Mt 28:18
4. Isaiah 9:6 : Isa 22:22
5. Isaiah 9:6 : S Job 15:8; Isa 28:29
6. Isaiah 9:6 : S Dt 7:21; Ps 24:8; Isa 10:21; 11:2; 42:13
7. Isaiah 9:6 : S Ps 90:2
8. Isaiah 9:6 : S Ex 4:22; Isa 64:8; Jn 14:9-10
9. Isaiah 9:6 : Isa 26:3, 12; 53:5; 66:12; Jer 33:6; Mic 5:5; S Lk 2:14
*Isaiah 66:13, Zephaniah 3:1

Related Post: When You're Not Woman Enough, Mama Enough: He is Enough

Seeing God in Everything

I read this poem in my devotions recently (while sitting on the couch in damp workout clothes, nursing Esther, and pausing to explain a math problem to Micah . . .) 

“SEE GOD IN ALL THINGS, great and small,

And give him praise what’er befall,

In life or death, in pain or woe,

See God and overcome your foe . . .

Life will, indeed, a blessing bring,

If we SEE GOD IN EVERYTHING.”

A.E. Finn

As I read this poem, I couldn’t help but wonder: why don’t I see God in everything?

The heart-honest truth is this: it’s hard to SEE GOD in the day-to-day “pain and woe” of midnight feedings, bad attitudes, sibling spats, failed homeschool days and hurtful words spoken in stressed-out-anger.

During weary mothering moments, I’ve preached to myself: I don’t see God in everything because I’m blinded by selfishness!  

But even after preaching “don’t be selfish, don’t be selfish . . . ” through out the day, I still fall into bed at night body-weary and soul-weary.

Then a couple evenings ago, while our kiddos ran around the back yard chasing bouncy baby crickets, I chatted with my neighbor, Jana. As we chatted, I sat in a green lawn chair patting Esther’s back. Watching my hand pat-pat-patting, Jana said, “I think mothering is the most unselfish thing you could ever do. I mean—you give up sleep, food, money, hanging out with friends, and all to raise a kid.”

I replied: “Yes, good mothering requires selflessness, but I’ve found mothering shows me over and over again how selfish I really am—I don’t like giving up sleep, time, or brain cells!”

But as Jana and I watched our kiddos run red-faced through the grass, as we listened to high-pitched-squeals of delight when they snagged a kicking insect leg, when they ran with wriggling insects between fingers to where we sat on lawn chairs and stuck kicking bugs under our noses saying: “Look! A cricket!” a verse popped into my mind:  “He has made everything beautiful in its time.” (Ecclesiastes 3:11b).

My heart-eyes opened as I realized:  I’m trying to see God by focusing on Self! All day long I preach “don’t be selfish” and I miss the God-Beauty around me because I’m still the focus!

My focus must be outward and upward rather than inward!

My children—in spite of bad attitudes, screaming fits, and messes—reflect God’s beauty! They reflect his beauty as they catch insects (and let them loose all over my living room floor!), as they fight over who gets to feed baby Esther her bottle, as they learn a new concept in school, as they chase each other round the playground shooting each other with “super-hero” lasers.

Beauty: Three Boys Feeding Baby Esther

And there’s soul-purifying beauty in midnight feedings and newborn fussiness because there’s Beauty in focusing on the needs of my little girl rather than whining about my lack of sleep or inability to complete my tasks.

So, to change my focus from Self to God, I must bend my knees and pray this:

“One thing I ask from the Lord,
    this only do I seek:
that I may dwell in the house of the Lord
    all the days of my life,
to gaze on the beauty of the Lord
    and to seek him in his temple.” (Psalm 27:4).

God is Beauty and his temple is everywhere!

Lord, grant me the eyes to see Beauty—to see You—in everything, especially the hard things.

Above: More Beauty: Boys Hunting For Crickets Below: Catching Crickets

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