Because Mothering Matters...

From one sometimes-snarly-and-snippety-mom to my fellow moms out there...who I assume are sometimes snarly and snippety, too. You are, right? It's not just me? Whew...

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Recently I read a list about the many hats we mothers wear and it made me smile. It also made me tired. In this roll call I recognize many of my day-to-day demands:

I am...

a mom,

a personal assistant,

a chauffer,

a singer,

a cleaning lady,

a laundress,

a hero,

a boo-boo kisser,

a librarian,

a swing pusher,

a bug killer,

a chef,

a big ole meanie,

a toy package dismantler,

a teacher,

a student,

a referee,

a stroller-pusher,

a dancer,

a mess.

Maybe I cried a little bit when I hit that last one, because it's so painfully true. Sometimes this role of mother is glorious and I hold my head high, proud of my role as mom:  when my daughter sticks her cartwheel on the balance beam or when my son surprises me with a hug (in front of his 6th grade buddies). When my girl snuggles up with me on the couch or when my littlest tells me that the best part of her day was me.

But honestly, many mornings and often in the afternoon, motherhood is more like trumping through the mud-slogged trenches than it is singing and traipsing across the mountaintops.

Kids fight.

Milk spills.

Laundry multiplies.

Meals flop.

Germs infest.

Toys breed.

To-Do lists lengthen.

Homework disappears.

Tempers flare.

Patience thins.

And just as I reach the end of me, inevitably another desperate need rears its ugly and demanding head and I have to dig a little deeper and stretch a little farther, knowing deep in my weary heart that I'll start the battle over tomorrow. Hence my tearful response to that final line...I am a mess.

But within this mess of mothering, I find meaning because mothering matters to God. 

He tends His flock like a shepherd:

He gathers the lambs in His arms

and carries them close to His heart;

He gently leads those that have young.
Isaiah 40:11

This gentle reminder that God cares for me in the midst of my caring for my family stirs something deep in my soul, stirs up a desire for my day-to-day to be different. It would seem that I have two choices when I face the endless demands of my household:  I can put my head down and tackle my chores purely out of a sense of duty because that's what "good moms" do (blech). Or, I can ask God to transform my attitude and empower me to embrace each task as a sacred responsibility in tending to the welfare of my family. In this light, the above list takes on an entirely new vibrancy...

A personal assistant with the unique responsibility of preserving our family-time, hands linked around the dinner table.

A chauffer with regularly scheduled quality time with my kids when they're strapped into their seats and can't get away from me.

A singer with the privilege of introducing my kids to the wonder of 80's music and utterly embarrassing them by belting out the lyrics.

A cleaning lady with the unique honor of making this house a haven for my family.

A laundress with the weekly blessing of praying for each one in my family, from the tops of their heads to the holes in their socks.

A hero because I can tell you where to find almost anything in the house, be it your shoes, your homework or the exact location of that sticky rubber frog you got at the doctor's office.

A boo-boo kisser with the capacity to comfort my kids, whether it's a skinned knee or a wounded heart.

A librarian sharing in the joy of exploring new and incredible worlds without ever leaving the living room couch.

A swing pusher with front row seats to the uncontainable joy of feeling the wind in your hair and the sheer exhilaration of flying.

A bug killer who is sometimes a bug rescuer, teaching about the preciousness of life and the need to respect and care for God's creation. (Unless it's an ugly spider...then squish.)

A chef with the responsibility to care for the insides and outsides of my brood by making sure that what goes into their bodies is beneficial for them, while also passing on a passion for good food and kitchen dancing.

A big ole meanie with the tough job of instilling in my kids a healthy respect for authority with the willingness to sometimes "not be cool".

A toy package dismantler with hands on opportunities to model patience, restraint and a muzzle over my mouth in challenging and frustrating situations.

A teacher. Every. Single. Day.

A student learning from inside this crucible of motherhood about God's goodness. And also learning a lot about new and complicated ways to do simple math.

A referee striving to teach my children about fairness and justice. And about the hidden blessings of serving and letting someone else have the last package of fruit snacks.

A stroller pusher with daily opportunities to stop. Slow down. Explore the habitat of roly-polies. Marvel at the wonder of springtime. 

A dancer laughing as my kids either sit slack-jawed or clap their hands over their eyes as I demonstrate my amazing dancing skilz.  

A mess...I'm still a mess, but a mess with a purpose.

This shift in perspective has not altered my mother lode of tasks but it has had a life-altering impact on the load this mother is able to carry. As long as I remember that my mothering matters.

As we enter into this weekend and pause for a moment to honor motherhood, I hope you will find a moment to acknowledge that while you are exhausted, you are exhausted for a good reason. And I pray that you will hear clearly when God whispers to your heart that you are an amazing mother to your children and your mothering matters. In ways you can't even imagine.

A snapshot of a moment when I remembered
the sacredness of my mothering.

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I added a few additional "jobs" to the above list, roles that I find myself filling on a regular basis. I'm sure you have a few you would add, too, and I hope you can find a lighter and brighter perspective on those jobs, as well.  Blessings on you!

The original list can be found here.

small things {lies}

small things #20 ... lies

I consider myself a truthful person.  And yet I'd be a liar if I didn't confess that I lie.

Hey, can you take care of these phone calls?

Sure.  No problem.

Are you available to come in and help out on Friday?

You bet.

I need to be at the doctor.  And I need to be at gymnastics.  And I need to be home.

Okey-dokey.  I can do that.

Any chance my kiddo can come over Wednesday afternoon?  And have dinner, too.

Sure thing.

I need my leo for this afternoon and it's in the dirty laundry.

Don't worry.  I'll wash it after breakfast.

We're out of milk.  And pull-ups.

I'll make a quick stop at Wal-Mart.

Screech!  Scream!  Shriek!

Here, let me hold you.

Can you warm up my lunch and bring it to school and when you pick up Sissy?

No problem.  I'll bring it up.

There's a spider in the bathroom!

I'll squish it.

I want to scooter home after school.  Me, too!  Me, too!

Sure.  I'll load three scooters and three helmets in the stroller and meet you at the crosswalk.

Can you sign my permission slip?  And make my lunch?  And make a salad for the PTO?  And copy the MOPS newsletters?

You betcha.  I've got it all under control.

Yep.  I lie.

It would appear from my responses above that I can "do it all".  But I can't.  Not even close.

I am a super mom, but SuperMom, I am not.  

As I was thinking through my compulsive lying, a song came unbidden to mind ... altered just a bit.  Let's see if you recognize this revamped 90's number:

If there's a problem,

Yo, I'll solve it.

Put up your feet and I will resolve it!

SupaMomma!

I'm SupaMomma!

SupaMomma!

I'm SupaMomma!

Lies ... tying me up in puppet-strings; orchestrating my "I've got it covered" dance.

Truth ... freeing me to live within my human boundaries of time, energy and only being in one place at a time!

It's time to sing a new song!  (Sorry Vanilla Ice...)

__________________________________________

Prompt #1 ~List of lies you consistently tell.

small things {bummer dude}

small things #19 ... bummer dude

Last week I shared about a precious snapshot about my two little pocksicle-loving girls.  In order to be on the up-and-up, I thought I would share about another trip outside for pocksicles and playing.  A little snapshot to reassure you that live isn't always all grins and giggles around here.

After a rather whiney and messy lunch, my two little girls started in with the standard, "Can we have a sweet treat" negotiations.  As I wiped ranch dip and ketchup off the table and off a few faces, I declined the option of dessert.  And the moaning began.

"I didn't have a pocksicle last time.  I didn't!"

"But you said we could.  You said so.  You did.  You did, Mommy."

"When did I say that we would have dessert after lunch?"

"I didn't have a pocksicle last time.  I want a white pocksicle."

"You said that Aaron was having ice cream with his class and maybe we could have something sweet."

...sigh... "Okay.  Okay ... you may head out and have a popsicle.  Scoot, scoot."

I finished up the few remaining dishes and heard the girls laughing out in the garage.  On my way to check on them, I was reminded of the load of laundry waiting to be folded and the load waiting for the dryer.

"Mommy!  You said you were coming outside."

"Give me a minute.  Let me get this folded and I'll be right out.  I can see you from here."

As I folded underwear and matched socks, my girls stumbled up the stairs and into the laundry room.  Their blue faces told me they had really enjoyed their treats.  Blue right up to their cheek bones.

"Wash your hands and faces, please.  And try not to touch anything."

"Mommy ... we want to race our bikes.  When are you coming out?"

"In a minute ... do you see how much more laundry I have to fold?  Just a few pieces ... give me a minute."

As I finally stepped out into the garage, I found Ashley with her helmet on and ready to go.  She had also been busy pulling all our lawn chairs out toward the mailbox.  It was apparent that she'd been setting up bleachers for the upcoming races.

Lydia, on the other hand, had no shoes on and her helmet was on backwards.

"Liddy, honey, please go get some shoes on and then I'll help you with your helmet.  Okay girls ... we have about 10 minutes until it's time to go in and read and rest."

And the moaning began again in earnest.

"But we didn't get to play yet!  We wanted to have a bike race.  We haven't even gotten all the chairs out."

(Please tell me I'm not the only one with kids who plan and prepare for hours ... but never really get around to actually playing.  They set up and get organized, but never play.  Unless you count the last five minutes when they're crying and whining about not ever getting to play.  Ugh.)

"Well ... we have 10 minutes so you can either spend that time racing or telling me you never got to race.  It's up to you."

At this point, Ashley began to slowly bike around the culdesac.  With a frown on her face.  And she was shooting angry looks in my direction.  The saddest little bike rider ever.

Meanwhile, Lydia had parked her bike in the gutter and was furiously pedaling nowhere as her back wheel spun around two inches off the concrete.  She was also unhappy.

"I's stuck, Mommy!  I's stuck!  Help me!"

It was at this particular moment that I remembered the camera I had brought outside with the hopes of some fun new snapshots of my girls enjoying the chance to be outside.  Hmmm ... maybe I don't want to capture this type of fun.

"Aaahhah!  It's in my eye!  Owww!  It's in my eye!"

Ashley was suddenly screaming and crying as she clutched her eye and screeched.  Lydia paused mid-pedal and looked stunned.  As I approached Ashley, I could see her nose running and tears were squeezing past her fingers, running down her cheeks.  I looked in vain for a kleenex in my pocket.

"Stop scratching, honey.  Just let it tear.  Let your tears wash it out."

The squeezing, rubbing and wailing continued.  Lydia sat frozen on her bike.

"Okay.  Close your eyes and let them cry.  Now climb off your bike and hold on to my pants and we'll walk you and your bike up to the garage.  Keep your eyes closed."

Tissue in hand, we dabbed her eye and found the culprit:  A little seed blown on the wind.

"Are you okay?"

She nodded and sniffed.

"Alright.  Well, let's take our stuff in.  I think we should do our reading and resting."

"NoooO!"

"Yes."

"I don't want to!"

"Bummer dude."

We made it in doors.  We read two books.  We climbed, crying, into our beds.  We still had blue mouths.

We left the chairs in the front yard ... hopeful for the next time the girls come out to race.

Bummer dude ... our favorite saying when life doesn't go our way.  

And the relief that life isn't always so bummer-ish. 

Snapshots of the Heart ~ Honesty & Integrity

We recently had one of our little people have a run in with the Honesty Police.  It wasn't pretty.  For the sake of protecting said "liar, liar, pants on fire", let's call him or her "Pat".  And we'll even go one step further and "pull an Elmo" by never using a personal pronoun.  I'll leave the choice up to you as to whether you use a high-pitched squeaky voice as you read along.

Pat had a pretty amazing story to share after school one day.  Poor Pat ended up in a fight of sorts.  Pat got punched in the stomach after a bit of an altercation on the playground.  This punch was delivered by a classmate ... let's call this person "Cameron" ... who has a bit of a reputation for being rough around the edges.  According to Pat, Pat didn't do anything to deserve said punch.  Pat's friends had two reactions to this uncalled for wallop.  One of Pat's friend tried to slug Cameron back.  Another of Pat's friends ran for help.

As you can imagine, Pat's mom (that would be me ... you can call me "Morgan") was surprised to hear this news.  Pat's mom asked some additional questions regarding this playground brawl and Pat had a ready answer to each question.  Pat's mom rubbed Pat's back and told Pat that she was sorry for such a yucky experience.

Later on in the afternoon, it struck Pat's mom that she probably should have heard from the school office or at least the teach regarding this whomping Pat experienced.  So ... Pat's mom asked Pat if Pat's teacher was aware of the problem because she would like to talk to her about it.

And that's when Pat's story began to fall apart.  At the seams.

Pat began to hem and haw.
Pat began to stare off into space before responding to further questions.
Pat began to sweat.

But Pat also stuck to Pat's story ... hanging on to this web of lies like Pat's life depended on it.

Poor Pat.

Pat's mom sat down next to Pat on the couch.  She phrased her next question very carefully.

"I need to know what really happened because if you actually got punched on the playground, I need to talk to a teacher about it.  I intend to call the school tomorrow.  Is this what happened?"

Pat finally broke down ... "No.  I just made it up.  I thought it would be cool.  Cameron just drives me crazy.  I'm sorry, Mom ... sniff, sniff, sniff ..."

Oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive ...


The worst part of this entire experience was the fractured trust between Pat and Pat's mom.  For the days and weeks following this integrity issue, Pat's mom found herself listening to Pat's stories and scrutinizing Pat's words and inflection.


Pat paused for a minute before that last account.
Pat is chewing on Pat's fingers ... does that mean anything?  
And, is it my imagination, or are Pat's eyes looking shifty?


And Pat found that Pat's mom asked unnerving questions.

Did this really happen?
Are you being truthful?
Is this an honest recounting of the experience?


Fortunately, Pat and Pat's mom have managed to overcome this honesty incident.  But it didn't come easily.  Pat had to exhibit evidence of honesty and integrity and Pat's mom had to pray a lot and try to trust.

One little lie ... weeks of recovery ... one tough lesson.

"May integrity and honesty 

be their virtue and their protection."  

Psalm 25:21

The Christmas Rush

Well ... there's only 15 days until Christmas!  And you know what that means ...

Time to hit the stores!

We have yet to get our kids out to shop for each other so you can imagine us at Target sometime this weekend, wading through the crowds, wandering the aisles and wondering who would like what.  If you feel the urge to pray for me - now you know why!

I hope to have a smile on my face and maybe this song in my head ... it would help me to keep the true focus of Christmas close to my heart.



"With peace and love, I'll never be poor!"

I love this perfect a capella reminder that no store (no matter how fancy) holds the answer to what our hearts need.  That can only be found in a crude, wooden manger; surrounded by braying and mooing livestock; in the life and love of the Son of God.

With His peace and love, you'll never be poor.

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Thanks, Mike, for sharing your amazing gift with us ... what a treat!! :)


Song written by: Mike Tompkins & Bryan Tompkins

Special thanks to Chris and Kayla for helping with this video!

The Christmas Rush - LYRICS

I hit the mall, spendin' dollars.
To show people what they mean to me.
Got trampled trying to find an elmo.
Got pepper sprayed, guess that was free...
They gotta know, that gifts mean love.
I got my Mom MJ's glove.
And as for pops, a crystal bird house.
It doesn't really even matter what Christmas about baby.

I bought the fam lots of crap for Christmas,
Forgot who I bought it for yeah.
It won't be Christmas without presents,
Spending till my card gets sore yeah.
And who knew,
that this holiday could make me so poor yeah.
And who knew,
That i'd almost break my pelvis in a revolving door yeah.

I got my bro some N'Sync earmuffs,
then fought off Britney tryin' to steal from me.
My sis is gettin' a brand new loofa,
the jokes on her cause it was free.
This time of year the stores get nuts.
Who knew that meat mitts could cost so much?
I think the Mall Cop just grabbed my butt.
I'm gettin' kind of sick of this Christmas rush baby.

I bought the fam lots of crap for Christmas,
Forgot who I bought it for yeah.
It won't be Christmas without presents,
Spending till my card gets sore yeah.
And who knew,
that this holiday could make me so poor yeah.
And who knew,
That i'd knock a granny over face first on the floor yeah.

Feeling sweaty, feeling nervous.
Shopping's not supposed to make you bleed.
I got a feelin' there's more to Christmas.
Then buying stuff that no one needs.
Look around you and find somebody,
who matters more than you can believe.
This is love so spread it around you.
Love's a gift that all can receive yeah.

I don't need all this crap for Christmas,
Don't matter who I buy it for yeah.
It's still a Christmas without presents.
To me it means so much more yeah.
And wooo,
You can't buy love from any store yeah.
And wooo, with peace and love you'll never be poor yeah
And wooo,
You can't buy love from any store yeah.
And wooo, with peace and love you'll never be poor yeah

Full of Surprises!

Brett had a terrific surprise for the kids this Saturday!  Our old theater downtown, the Avalon, was showing Kung Fu Panda 2 and Daddy, being the amazing Daddy that he is, took the brood for a matinee showing.  That was the first surprise.

The second surprise was sprung upon them at their arrival.  The movie was stuck in a snow storm in southern Colorado.  Bummer.

This was followed quickly by a third surprise ... free admission, free popcorn and front row balcony seats to watch the first Kung Fu Panda.  What do we say to that?  Boo-yeah!

It was okay that this was their fifth or sixth viewing of the movie ... it's one of our favorites!


... Legend tells of a legendary warrior whose kung fu skills were the stuff of legend. ... He was so deadly, in fact, that his enemies would go blind from over-exposure to pure awesomeness!  ... Hey, what you got? You got nothing because I got it right here. You picking on my friends? Get ready to feel the thunder. Come out with the crazy feet. What you goin' to do about the crazy feet. I'm a blur! I'm a blur! You never seen *Bear* style! ...

Yeah ... you gotta love Po!

Our fourth surprise came the next day over lunch.  As we slurped our shakes and munched on popcorn (our traditional meal after church), Brett sprung a question on the kids:

What parts of Kung Fu Panda remind you of something from the Bible?


Here's a little bit about what we talked about ...

Oogway is kinda like God.  He is wise and seems to be ageless.  At least until he flies away with the blossoms!  He is the one who chooses the Dragon Warrior to be the savior of the people.  Chosen to save them from horrifying Tai Lung.  Even in the face of his odd choice for the Dragon Warrior, he is confident that there are no accidents.

Tai Lung is kinda like satan.  He had been trained by Master Shifu and began his training with great promise, but because of his hunger for power, he fell away from the good he could have done and turned on his Master.  Sound familiar?

Po could be compared (rather loosely perhaps) with Jesus.  He is chosen as the Dragon Warrior but the reception by those in the village and those in the Jade Palace is less than luke-warm.  They are incredulous that this simple, noodle-slurping, dumpling-munching, poochy-bellied panda is The One they have been waiting for the past thousand years!

They expected someone more warrior-ish ... and a little less Po-ish.  Much like the comments that followed Jesus around - more king-ish and less carpenter-ish.

⁴⁵ Philip found Nathanael and told him, “We have found the one Moses wrote about in the Law, and about whom the prophets also wrote—Jesus of Nazareth, the son of Joseph.”
 ⁴⁶ “Nazareth! Can anything good come from there?” Nathanael asked. (John 1:45-46)


“What’s this wisdom that has been given him? What are these remarkable miracles he is performing? ³ Isn’t this the carpenter? Isn’t this Mary’s son and the brother of James, Joseph, Judas and Simon? Aren’t his sisters here with us?” And they took offense at him. (Mark 6:2-3)


Not necessarily shining commendations for the Savior of the world!  I'm sure glad they were wrong!


Our final insight into the movie had to do with the Dragon Scroll - the scroll that was supposed to have great power for the owner, the Dragon Warrior.  To Po's great surprise, the scroll was blank!  The true secret to the scroll was not magical words, but the need for Po to believe in himself.  To believe that he was, indeed, the Dragon Warrior and that he had within himself the power to save his village from the evil Tai Lung.


Similarly, our salvation is not evoked with magical words and it is not based on anything we own or any special abilities have.  Our salvation is simply found in the need to believe and then declare what we believe:


⁸ ... “The word is near you; it is in your mouth and in your heart,” that is, the message concerning faith that we proclaim: ⁹ If you declare with your mouth, “Jesus is Lord,” and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. ¹⁰ For it is with your heart that you believe and are justified, and it is with your mouth that you profess your faith and are saved. (Romans 10:8-10, emphasis mine)

As Po acted out his faith, he became the Dragon Warrior ... much to everyone's surprise!  His final victory came as he surprised (and conquered) Tai Lung with the Wuxi finger hold.  Skadoosh!

Where else does God astound you with spiritual truths?  If we open our eyes, we will find them in the most astonishing of places!  

Surprise!