That crying feeling, it comes back, after a day off. The family sleeps and I sit up alone, quiet, knowing its name. Depression.
Ugliness, designed by God, produced by my endocrine system. And why? I always want to know why.
The traffic in my brain, here is what it says: There's nothing to look forward to. You, your life, it's ordinary. Nobody cares or notices your presence here. Beat the clock to get breakfast, lunch, dinner, produced on time. Socks and underwear in drawers. Clean towels for all. Do it all over again the next day. You like to write but it doesn't matter. Tons of writers, they spill words no one reads. Too many people like to write, too few like to read. Worthless pursuit. Too hard and nobody cares. Forget that ache inside to produce beauty and meaning. Forget it.
My three-year-old beauty with post-nasal drip, she stops the traffic, cries in the night.
I go in the dark room, lay next to her, pull her close. She presses herself as close as she can, receiving my love. She nurses and I marvel.
He says it, maybe?
This child, she cares. Her sister deep in slumber one bed over? She cares too. And they need you. They're my gift to you. Give them your life.
I think of Jesus, forced to carry his own cross. The living God came as a baby, humbled and needy. He could have fought and killed his enemies, but he gave up his greatness, his strength. He gave up everything.
Is that what motherhood is like? Giving up everything? I give up my need to write something pretty? I give up my need to stimulate my brain by reading online stuff that pulls me away from my babes, but lets me escape from the laundry? From the monotony?
Is God telling me that my only claim to fame, to anything out of the ordinary, is in choosing to give up myself...for them? That like a recovered alcoholic must choose every day to stay sober, I must choose every day to give up myself? Are we addicted to ourselves, the way the alcoholic is to drink?
Motherhood, it's about staying in the shadows, not the limelight. It's investment in someone else, with possibly no return.
I think of that blog, the one with the brainy content. Several days a month, it really draws me in like a vodka and I neglect my kids for theological discussions. Not all day, for there are meals and laundry, but still, it feels sinful. I know it is, when I think of the discussions I can have with my children instead.
Investment. How many times can we choose something else, and still say we invested in our kids?
Our interests and pursuits, they can feel very important. But He lets us know when we've crossed the line. How many mothers cross the line with their smart-phone addictions? Or with the PTA or that church ministry? Name your passion. Shame on us all.
I don't really want to write something pretty after all.
I want Him to infiltrate my mind every moment of every day, so I can invest in the most precious commodity...the children He blessed me with...the children He trusted me with. I want to bring Him glory, not let Him down.
We have this ugly thing inside. This draw of some sort. What do I even call it? It makes us seek our own greatness, instead of His, like Satan fighting God in the Garden. He wasn't content to be just an angel. He wanted it all. Eve, she wasn't content to just commune with God. She wanted to be like God.
Is it Satan fighting us mothers, wanting us to pursue something other than investment in our children? He tells us it's not enough? That motherhood--servanthood--is too lowly?
When we seek not our own, we choose Him. Therein lies the fulfillment we hunger for. Only in Him can it be satisfied. Not in writing something pretty, or participating in something brainy. Not in being noticed, or receiving accolades.
I go back to the depression that started all the traffic, that led to the truth. Is there a purpose, then, for the depression every month? Does it force us to look squarely at our sin, as we look for a route out of sadness?
I don't know. But now, as I finish this, it's gone. No sadness remains.
Just purpose. His, not mine.
Ugliness, designed by God, produced by my endocrine system. And why? I always want to know why.
The traffic in my brain, here is what it says: There's nothing to look forward to. You, your life, it's ordinary. Nobody cares or notices your presence here. Beat the clock to get breakfast, lunch, dinner, produced on time. Socks and underwear in drawers. Clean towels for all. Do it all over again the next day. You like to write but it doesn't matter. Tons of writers, they spill words no one reads. Too many people like to write, too few like to read. Worthless pursuit. Too hard and nobody cares. Forget that ache inside to produce beauty and meaning. Forget it.
My three-year-old beauty with post-nasal drip, she stops the traffic, cries in the night.
I go in the dark room, lay next to her, pull her close. She presses herself as close as she can, receiving my love. She nurses and I marvel.
He says it, maybe?
This child, she cares. Her sister deep in slumber one bed over? She cares too. And they need you. They're my gift to you. Give them your life.
I think of Jesus, forced to carry his own cross. The living God came as a baby, humbled and needy. He could have fought and killed his enemies, but he gave up his greatness, his strength. He gave up everything.
Is that what motherhood is like? Giving up everything? I give up my need to write something pretty? I give up my need to stimulate my brain by reading online stuff that pulls me away from my babes, but lets me escape from the laundry? From the monotony?
Is God telling me that my only claim to fame, to anything out of the ordinary, is in choosing to give up myself...for them? That like a recovered alcoholic must choose every day to stay sober, I must choose every day to give up myself? Are we addicted to ourselves, the way the alcoholic is to drink?
Motherhood, it's about staying in the shadows, not the limelight. It's investment in someone else, with possibly no return.
I think of that blog, the one with the brainy content. Several days a month, it really draws me in like a vodka and I neglect my kids for theological discussions. Not all day, for there are meals and laundry, but still, it feels sinful. I know it is, when I think of the discussions I can have with my children instead.
Investment. How many times can we choose something else, and still say we invested in our kids?
Our interests and pursuits, they can feel very important. But He lets us know when we've crossed the line. How many mothers cross the line with their smart-phone addictions? Or with the PTA or that church ministry? Name your passion. Shame on us all.
I don't really want to write something pretty after all.
I want Him to infiltrate my mind every moment of every day, so I can invest in the most precious commodity...the children He blessed me with...the children He trusted me with. I want to bring Him glory, not let Him down.
We have this ugly thing inside. This draw of some sort. What do I even call it? It makes us seek our own greatness, instead of His, like Satan fighting God in the Garden. He wasn't content to be just an angel. He wanted it all. Eve, she wasn't content to just commune with God. She wanted to be like God.
Is it Satan fighting us mothers, wanting us to pursue something other than investment in our children? He tells us it's not enough? That motherhood--servanthood--is too lowly?
When we seek not our own, we choose Him. Therein lies the fulfillment we hunger for. Only in Him can it be satisfied. Not in writing something pretty, or participating in something brainy. Not in being noticed, or receiving accolades.
I go back to the depression that started all the traffic, that led to the truth. Is there a purpose, then, for the depression every month? Does it force us to look squarely at our sin, as we look for a route out of sadness?
I don't know. But now, as I finish this, it's gone. No sadness remains.
Just purpose. His, not mine.
2 comments:
Motherhood=eternal investments, dear Christine. We both know that we will never make it into the world's limelight as long as we are keepers at home, but we are investing in the future of our nation...with every runny nose we wipe, and every snuggle we give. And I agree - that is His purpose.
I hope your week-end is very blessed. :)
Amen! A mother's legacy is far reaching, for both her own family line and all those it touches, and the nation and world. The more she loves, the more glory He gets.
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