Just Breathe

Just Breathe...

The Christian life is like breathing in 

(pulling into our souls the life-sustaining power of the Spirit)

 and breathing out 

(expending that life-giving power to others). 

The Christian life cannot function without both actions.

--Robert Benne

Awkward Honesty

When children force mama to keep it real....
(throwback post)

In our women's Bible study, we have been talking about how salvation "by grace alone" in Jesus radically changes everything. For example, knowing we are truly loved and saved by grace allows us finally to be truly honest with ourselves about our sin, to God and to others. We can admit we need help, and ask for it:

With that request for help comes and end to our playacting before the imagined audience of God and the people around us. We also receive relief from the intolerable pressure to demonstrate how much spiritual progress we have made and to show how spiritually mature we have become. (Grace Upon Grace by John Kleinig p. 39)

My children are so good at forcing me to put abstract theological ideas into practice.

This week, my daugther skipped over to me, excited to tell me about her day at school. First, English class:

"Mommy, at school today we read a sentence that said, 'The mommy was patient with her active child' and I said (snort), 'That's not my mommy!'"

"What do you mean by that!?" I protested. She giggled and went back to her painting. Painting. Mothers with no patience do not let their children paint, do they? Not to mention there were FIVE other children painting along with her at that very moment!
I pressed her a little bit, but she probably sensed my defensiveness. "What do you mean I am not patient?" She shrugged and smiled and continued painting.

Hm, did she tell her teacher that too? I wondered. As a litany of my own "good deeds" ran through my head, I thought about sharing them with her. I wanted to make her believe that I am a patient mommy, show her how many of the things we do every day would be impossible if I really had no patience whatsover! I even thought about lecturing her about how hard it is to be patient with little boys; a fact she ought to know, as she loses her temper with her brothers at least as often as I do!

But who would I be kidding? This is my daughter we're talking about here. The one that sees how I get up in the morning, bleary eyed and staggering to the coffee pot, kicking children out of the way as I go. She knows the wild-haired person I am after a day of time-outs and failed nap attempts.

I wish I was always patient, compassionate, and kind to my children, and I hate that I am not. I know that I cannot fool God on this point, but I still would really like to fool my children. I would like to hide my sin at least from them, to never let it hurt them or discourage them. I wish they did not have to know that even mommy is selfish and ugly, even mommy must come to God as a pathetic beggar, relying only on His grace.

Grace. That is what keeps me going. The grace of Christ, who takes my sin from me and nails it to the cross, who cleanses me, who gives me what I lack, who cares for me even though I sin; this grace is my only security, the solid foundation on which I stand even when my works are tried by fire and found wanting.

God reminded me of this grace, and helped me to speak, "You are right Lorraine, I do not have enough patience. I am glad we have Jesus who forgives us and helps us, aren't you?"

It felt very unnatural, to let my sin lay out in the open in front of my child, and to refrain from covering it again with my words. But hiding my sin would teach them to hide theirs, instead of exposing it to the light and receiving grace and healing from Jesus.

But if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus, his Son, purifies us from all sin. If we claim to be without sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us. If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness. 1 John 1:7-9


originally posted 4/11
I added the giant pregnant wooden lady to this post because 1. She's awesome and you can see her at Bernheim forest outside Louisville and 2. Pregnant ladies with big bellies can't help but keep it real. She's a good model for all of us.

Kicking it in

When I ran track in high-school, middle-distance was my "specialty."  This was not my choice, but it was my lot, because I was not built to sprint, and I was too wimpy to train harder for long distance. So by default, the half mile became my race.

I was in terribly good shape at that time, and I remember running at nearly full speed for that entire half mile. I remember the muscle fatigue, the absolute exhaustion and burning lungs that seemed to persist through the whole race. I remember getting a little dizzy and feeling the temptation to slow down. I remember the rock that marked the spot where I was told to "kick it in," the last 150 yards of the race where I was supposed to draw on strength from who knows where and go even faster when what I really wanted to do was lay down on the soft grass.

The rock meant it's almost over!!!! and was a welcomed sight. Yet it also meant one last burst of energy, muscle pain everywhere, and becoming so tired my eyes no longer wanted to focus. The final efforts squeezed the absolute last drops of energy out of me, until finally, the finish line, the collapse, and the eventual catching of breath.

What made me think of this experience this week?  My evenings.  That last bit, between about 7pm and 830.  The end of dinner has become my new "rock," the moment of time that shouts "your're almost there!" and encourages me to pour out the last drops of energy for the last 100.  Minutes, that is.  Until I can collapse.

My list after dinner: kitchen cleaned, coffee ready for tomorrow, baths perhaps, 6 children in PJs, three in diapers, teeth brushed, clothes out for tomorrow, lunches packed, checking homework, buddies located, music on, closet doors closed, night lights on, "hug kiss and tucks," breaking up the last few fights, and then finally, quiet.

By the close of dinner, I am out of words, or at least I would like to be. I have kept pace with the kid chatter all day long and I just feel like there are no words left inside me at all. Yet as we go through our list, their words continue to bombard me.

"Mommy we forgot to do my word cards! Can you do them with me?"
"Marcus dumped water on the floor mommy!"
"Mommy where is my Curious George?"
"Mommy daddy's reading to Eldon, can you read to me?"
"Can we wrestle?"
"Mommy! He's watching me put my PJs on MAKE HIM STOP!"
"Can we go to the park?" No, it's dark out. "Can we go tomorrow?"
"Someone didn't flush the potty!"
"Can we watch a movie?" No. "OK then can we tomorrow?
"I can't open the toothpaste!"
"Can we paint?" No. "OK then can we tomorrow?  When?"
"Eldon bit me again Mommy!"
"Mommy when can we go to Michigan again?"
"Mommy look at this beautiful picture! Can we send it to grammy pammy right now?"
"Mommy can we listen to the story about the flower girl?"
"Mommy can you brush my hair? Button my PJs? Find my blanket? Kiss me, tuck me, tickle me?"

Inside I say to myself, "You can do it, just a little bit more, you're almost there, just a couple more things, the house will be quiet soon... kick it in kick it in kick it in!"

But it's not like track.  Yes, I am exhausted.  Yes, it would be more efficient and I would get to collapse sooner if I rushed through the last part of the night as quickly as possible.  But it is no longer just about getting a good time.

It's about finishing the race with kindness.  With grace.  Tucking them in and sharing their giggles, and saying "I love you" in a way that actually communicates "I love you" and not "Oh please, just stop talking now."  To me, this is about as natural as running with grace, or even worse, cheerleading.

God, give me strength for that last hour of the day!  Give strength to my muscles and to my heart, and teach me to finish the race of the day with grace!  I need to borrow all of it from You!



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UPDATE:
I wrote this one 8 years ago- now, three of them are teens! My mother-in-law warned me long ago: "When you have teens, most of your parenting happens after 9pm. That's when they "come alive" and they want to TALK and share their lives with you, so you're going to need to learn to stay up a little later!"

She was right, people.

Some days, we go on walks at 10pm. Or we stay up late, sitting on couches,  talking about Big Things, and I try not to think about the coming of the next morning, or if I do, I comfort myself with the promise of extra coffee.

And some days, we get sucked into the Cosby show or some other entertainment, and they watch one more episode while I sneak off to bed at 9. "Tuck yourselves in, guys. I'm done." And they do.

"Kick it in, mama," I tell myself, not just for one evening but for these last years. Because I can see the finish line--we are beginning to look at colleges for our oldest-- and I want to finish strong.

*originally published on 3/27/11