No more Pinterest parties (I'm tossing my "mommy guilt" and you should to!)

Once upon a time, mom's didn't plan the birthday party of a small child for months in advance. With the occasional exception of a special milestone birthday, a child's birthday was mostly a small affair: a special dinner, cake, a present or two and maybe a party with a handful of family and friends. If a party occurred, you may have seen a piñata or some candy bags and participated in a game or two. The most you would see in regards to a theme was matching cups, napkins, plates and a table cloth (maybe the piñata, if there was one.)

Fast forward to the age of Pinterest, where mommies laboriously begin planning birthdays months in advance, over stimulated by all the creative ideas to work into a theme. The days of matching paper goods have been replaced with full on affairs, often times complete with projects that take days (or weeks.) And these affairs aren't just for milestone birthdays, they are for every.single.birthday. As if raising a child in today's world wasn't difficult enough, now we are served up a heaping portion of "mommy guilt" if we don't plan and craft our wee ones' parties to be "Pinterest-worthy."

I say, no more.

No more guilt, no more pressure.

For the mommies who are uber-crafty and don't mind staying up all hours of the night to hand-make all the intricate crafts to go with the theme, more power to you! I have a sister-in-law who fits in this category. She now has 4 children and manages to throw beautiful children's parties, complete with all the details I would have never even considered (like when she threw a super hero themed party and painted a sheet to look like a city sky line for people to take "hero" pictures in front of.) But here's the thing about her, BEFORE she was a mom, she was totally crafty and loved doing all that stuff, it comes naturally to her. For me? Not so much. I am artistic and creative, but I wouldn't go so far as to consider myself crafty.

In the past, I tried to plan parties with a theme, but my efforts usually didn't go past the invitations, cake and an activity or two. This year, I started pinning away a few months in advance, with an idea in mind. Then, life happened. To make a long story short, my two boys shared their "party" on a weekend in between their birthdays. It had to be rescheduled due to rain and the morning of, on the way to the baseball game my oldest was playing that day, we stopped at the store, picked up a pre-made cake from the bakery (not specially ordered, but personalized with names) and some plates and napkins and *bam* my party preparations were over. Because of the chaos of schedules, barely anyone showed up. Seriously. You know what? My oldest told me it was his favorite birthday ever.

On the day of our boys' birthdays, we make a big stink about them. Cook them something special or take them out to eat, have dessert and they get a (small) present. We lavish them in love and sing happy birthday. At their party, we sang happy birthday, ate cake, let them open their couple presents and let them run around. In the days leading up to the party, as I was wallowing in "mommy guilt", I realized I wasn't feeling bad for my boys, I was feeling bad for me. My boys had a great time (as my oldest reiterated to me later.) They had sugar, presents and the freedom to run: it was everything they cared about.

Kids, at least in the young ages mine are (6 and 2), don't care about themes and decorations. They don't care about matching invitations and cutesy snacks with special names. Let's be honest, those things are really for us moms, so we can post the pictures on Facebook/Instagram/Pinterest and bask in the glory of the comments and the shares.

So it is with this realization that I am bucking the trend. I will not be subject to worrying about the decorative details of a birthday party for a 3 year old that no one will likely remember in 20 years (unless they see pictures.) I will not lose another minute of sleep staying up late to work on invitations or goody bags. I will not stress and ruin the day because I am measuring myself to the fantasy world of Pinterest.

Instead, I will worry about providing my children with the things that will make them feel special on their day: hugs, kisses, birthday songs and plenty of love. If I lose sleep, it will be because I am taking care of the child I am raising day by day, year by year. I will measure myself against the perceptions of my child, in whose eyes I am rocking this party thing.

To all you moms who have beat yourselves up as failures because you didn't ace the party theme like your neighbor/sister-in-law/friend/Pinterest board, I am calling on you to join me against the insanity. Let's worry more about showing our children love and less about getting likes. Let's bring children's parties (and childhood in general) back to the simple things of cake and fun, because that is all they really care about.

And to all you crazy, crafty moms out there who are going to keep raising that bar higher and higher: keep on crafting if it brings you joy! I love looking at your pictures and ideas, but I won't be measuring myself to them anymore.

This Old House

One of my guilty indulgences is watching home renovation shows. My favorites are the ones where they go into an old house and attempt to restore it to its original beauty. In the beginning, a viewer sees the before shots of peeling paint and wall paper, broken windows, sagging floors, damaged everything, but the person restoring the home sees the beauty of the build. At the end of the show, viewers are often treated to all the after shots of the home in all the beauty it possessed.

Many times, these renovation shows like to show people as they live in the house during renovations (and often try to take on some of the tasks on their own, even though they have never done anything like that before.) During that 35 minutes in between the before and after, the viewer is treated to scenes of chaos, frustration and exhaustion. But, as a general rule of thumb, the closing scenes show the homeowner gushing over the changes and reveling in the beauty of their new abode.

At the end of these shows, viewers can garner a couple lessons: 1. An old, damaged home still possesses the ability to be beautiful. 2. Restoration and renovation can be painful.

I have a painful history. My story has been marred by the effects of generational sins and the cruelty of some of the people that have crossed my path. While I was spared from some of the severe casualties of childhood, I have had my fair share of suffering and pain, including some events that would come as a surprise to many. My story is not unique, except in the details. In many ways, the things that happened to me as a child and adolescent have damaged this "house" of my mind.

I have struggled (mostly quietly) for years in a battle against depression. Though on the surface, for the most part, I can manage happiness in a moment or string of moments, deep down I have longed for the type of joy that is unmarred by circumstances. When I speak of joy, my Christianese wants to speak up and say, "that joy is found in Christ alone." This is true and I know this, but there is something deeper.

Not long ago, I was reading my Bible and crying out to God, "Lord, why can't I just be happy. I know you are the source of joy, but why can't I feel it for more than just a moment? I just want to feel joy and be okay." Then, I read (for the umpteenth time) Psalm 23:3: "He restores my soul," and God gave me a vision of an old house like I described above. Sure, He could slap on a band-aid of "happy" like one could slap on a fresh coat of paint or lay down some new flooring, but if the damage underneath the band-aid wasn't restored, it would eventually reappear: the new floor will begin to sag over the old, the new paint will peel, my moment of happiness will fade into one of bitterness or resentment.

In that moment of revelation, God helped me to understand that, for some (like me), it isn't as easy as slapping on a new coat of paint and going forward with life. Some of us have to go back and deal with all the damage that has been done before we can embrace the potential beauty of joy.

I am deep in the throes of this restoration process. And, like the poor souls on TV who are living in the same home that is being restored, I am having to live in the chaos this restoration creates. The flooring was ripped up to reveal an issue with the foundation, a wall was torn down and revealed electrical issues, there is dust everywhere, and the garbage pile just keeps getting bigger. Going through these old hurts has brought about a new pain. Things I had forgotten or pushed from my memory have resurfaced and I am having to deal with them for what feels like the first time. Most days, I don't want to feel these things and feel so overwhelmed with it all that I want to run and hide under the covers (or put this place up for sale and go find a newly built Condo!) But then, I remember the vision and the promise: He restores my soul.

God is like those crazy homeowners on TV. He looked at this broken, dilapidated house and saw the beauty that was inherent in the build. I imagine this in-between phase of chaos, frustration and exhaustion will take much longer than the 35 minutes the TV shows allot, but I am also quite confident that the "after" will be even more beautiful than any TV renovation and I will be shining with His beautiful glory.

The day after Easter.

Last week, as Easter weekend approached, I felt the desire to write a post in relation to the wonderful holiday. As the days ticked away, I felt left with nothing more than trite words that left me underwhelmed. The weekend came and went with the flurry of excitement of my oldest's first baseball game and the creation of an Easter feast in my kitchen (with help from the hands of that same baseball playing child.) Then, Monday morning came with the jig-inducing Celtic rock tone I have as my alarm and the poignant words I longed for never came.

When I arrived in my office today, I was the only one here, as I often am early in the mornings. I turned on my office lights, put my food in the fridge, put away my bag, unlocked my files and pulled out my Bible (turns out getting to the office early leaves me with some perfect time for quietly reading my Bible.)

I opened to my current bookmark (I have many,) tucked away in the Psalms (going through them again, for the second time in the last year.) There, in black and white was a verse so perfect for what was on my heart:

Blessed is he whose transgression is forgiven,

Whose sin is covered.

Psalm 32:1

Yesterday morning, I woke up with my neck hurting and my arm numb because my little baseball player had managed to wander across the house in the middle of the night and stake claim on my side of the bed. I pulled on my soft blue flannel as I sleepily made my way to the kitchen, excited to have a cup of coffee and get started on my meal preparations for the day. We have had some warm weather the last few weeks, but yesterday morning was cool and rainy, which only increased my excitement for the coffee.

For Lent, this year, I gave up sugar. Not just sugar, but any and all added sweeteners. The only sugars I consumed were naturally occurring sugars in things such as whole fruits. What I didn't realize when I made the commitment to give up sugar was how many other things I would end up relinquishing for the time. Coffee was one of the side products of my fast; I tried a couple of days with coffee with milk only, but it just wasn't worth it, so I ended up going the rest of Lent without coffee (or any other form of caffeine.) 

As I opened the kitchen curtains and began my work in the kitchen, I couldn't help but think of how immensely blessed I am. I am married to a man I am head-over-heels in love with, he is an incredible father to our two amazingly beautiful, healthy, intelligent boys, we own our own home, I have a job I enjoy, I have my health... the list goes on. Though our lives are far from perfect, I have to be deliberately ungrateful to not acknowledge my many blessings.

While allowing my thoughts to dance across all the ways I have been blessed, I came to pause on a simple thought, that really is not that simple: What if I didn't have all of this? Could I still easily call myself blessed? Instantly, my Christianese kicked in saying, "Yes, of course. His grace is sufficient...." But I halted the thoughts and made myself really consider the question, truly evaluate where my heart stood before God.

I continued to flit about the kitchen, soon being joined by my oldest, who was eager to help Mommy get the cake baking. I stared at his smiling face, with his freckle splashed nose crinkle, and my heart kept going back to the consideration of my blessings. As much as I love my husband, my children, the few luxuries we have, and all these other worldly blessings, I realize that none of these blessings would mean anything without my salvation.

The gift Christ gave on that cross truly is the greatest blessing I will ever receive (and not just because that's what I feel like I should say to be a "good" Christian.) At my core, I am a mess; a mess that has learned well how to look like I've got it all together, but still a mess. I know the ugly thoughts I have kept to myself because to share them would cause people to judge me disapprovingly (they cause me to judge me disapprovingly.) Yet, Christ has also known these ugly parts, and said He loves me anyway.

Short of denying His grace, there is nothing I can do to stop His love for me (even then, I don't know that I actually stop His love...) When I fail as a mother and a wife, He still loves me. When I fail as an employee, He still loves me. When I fail as a person, He still loves me. When I choose to be selfish, His forgiveness stands ready and His love never ends. He stretched His arms out wide on the Cross and said, "I love you this much." He meant every word. He meant it for good days and bad days, for Lent, Holy Week, Easter and all the mornings after. 

We did communion as a family last night, it is one of our own little Easter traditions. As we read the story of the Last Supper and broke our crackers, I was never more aware of how His body was broken for me. As I took a sip of the bitter wine, I thought of how sweet His sacrifice was: He poured out His life and took my death purely that I may know Him more. He took on my death, so that my mistakes would not hinder me from knowing His love. Wow. If that's not a blessing, I don't know what is.

early morning blessing

During this season in our life, we have been functioning out of one vehicle (my husband's work van.) Though it isn't always easy, we have been able to make it work for us. Part of the way we have done that is through utilizing public transportation. In the mornings, I schedule a ride on the shuttle-bus to pick me up and take me to work (in the evenings, my husband and the boys pick me up.) Though I have to wake up a little early and usually arrive to work early, this arrangement has shown to work very well for us.
This morning, my ride was late. As I was staring out the kitchen window, feeling annoyed that I could have gotten more sleep, my oldest sleepily wandered into the kitchen and inquired as to why I was staring out the window. I explained and asked him if he was awake because he had a bad dream. He replied, "No. I just want to cuddle with you."
My heart melted as I leaned down to lift him up (becoming quite a feat now, as he is nearly half as heavy as I and less than 2 feet shorter.) I held him in the kitchen for just a moment then suggested we move to Mommy and Daddy's room, where he could lie down and I could sit next to him and "cuddle" as I watched out the bedroom window instead. He consented and the next twenty minutes were spent with my eyes straining in the darkness to make out his face while running my fingers through his hair and praying over him as he drifted back to sleep.
He will be 6 in a few short months. His head is now nearly as big as his entire being when he first exited my womb (granted, he was premature and tiny.) He has a sprinkling of freckles across his nose that I adore; even in the darkness, my heart flutters because of them. He kept opening his sleepy eyes and smiling at me, his smile is beautiful and contagious. He looks like a miniature version of his father, with just a little bit of me sprinkled in (that must be why I am so fond of his freckles.)
As the first rays of sun began to break through the darkness, I sat in awe and praised God for the amazing gift the morning had surprisingly brought. Not just this morning, but so many times over the years I have found myself lacking in sleep, annoyed and desiring more, yet presented with the opportunity to just love my child with no distractions (granted, this morning I did have the small distraction of checking out the window for my ride...) I shamefully have not taken advantage of all of these opportunities, allowing my desire for sleep to distract from the fleeting moments of childhood.
I know that the time when my children no longer seek my comfort in the night hours will come far too quickly. While a part of me wishes it to come sooner than later (I really am just tired,) I know one day, I will long for those sleepy little bodies heavy in my arms. I want to pledge to not miss another opportunity, but I know I am human and will more than likely be tiredly selfish again. I will, however, try to remember to seize the next opportunity and all the ones after. And I will store this memory away safely, to be treasured in those days when I have all the time to sleep and no more little ones to cuddle.

But... what if it doesn't get better?

You know all the trite and clichéd sayings:

"This, too, shall pass."

"It can't last forever."

"Chin up! Things will get better."

(Does anyone actually say "Chin up" anymore?)

"It's only a season."

The list goes on. All of them about being positive while you wait for the inevitable change. I have been guilty of reciting these, and others, to hurting people in the past.

This morning, on Facebook, I read this quote attributed to a famous "prosperity preacher" (I refuse to acknowledge his name, because I don't want to bring him extra glory.)

"Don't wait for your situation to change to be happy, 

be happy while God's changing your situation."

I usually get upset when I read the tripe he (and other prosperity guys and gals) spews, but for some reason this one really dug into me today.

Here's the thing. I don't discount the encouragement that is supposed to go along with these sayings. I don't argue that we (specifically Christians) should maintain joy in all circumstances. (Philippians 4:11-12) What bothers me is the promise of "better." The promise that things are changing, so you can hold onto the hope for when this season passes.

But, what if it doesn't get better? I know, I know, God has promised joy in the morning. (Psalm 30:5.) But, what if the "morning" doesn't dawn until we have exited this life and fully embraced the eternal? What if, no matter how many hours we spend in prayer and how strong our faith is, our earthly situation never gets "better"? 

Currently, I am in a difficult season of life. It has been difficult for quite some time now and has had repeated moments where it seems I can see the light at the end of the tunnel before being further pushed down into the darkness of the situation. In the present, it feels as though we can see the light again, but my weary heart fears the push is coming.

These statements of clinging to hope because change will come do little for a weary heart that has been beaten down again and again. The reality of our world is that sometimes, things don't get better. Sometimes, they even get worse. And worse. And worse. And the only "better" is when death ushers us into an eternity in the presence of our Savior. (Oh, how my heart aches for people who have not accepted the Gospel.) 

Paul wrote of his own "thorn in (his) flesh" that wouldn't go away in 2 Corinthians. He said he prayed numerous times and was still stricken with the thorn. To our knowledge, he died with this thorn. Most would not contest that Paul was a faithful man, fully committed to Christ and spreading the Gospel. Where was his "better" in that situation? A study on his life would reveal that he did not receive much "better" in his life (especially the way we Americans would define it.) His situation didn't change, does that mean God wasn't working?

Habakkuk (one of my favorite Old Testament books, easy to miss if you aren't looking) revealed a heart of one who cried out to God for change that he didn't get to see. Though he was unable to see the answers to his prayers, God responded that He was, in fact, working behind the scenes, so to speak. 

Poor Job lost everything. Every. Thing. He was a boil-covered, homeless, broke, lonely mess before he ever saw his "better."

What if Habakkuk or Paul had their cries met with answers of, "This too shall pass" or "...be happy while God's changing your situation." (It's been a while since I've read Job, but I think he was met with some trite "encouragements" and we see how that worked out for him...)

Hurt and struggle are very real things that afflict many. For some, the hits just keep coming. It makes me think of a line from a Metallica song (how often do you see the Bible and Metallica quoted together...) "Then it comes to be that the soothing light at the end of your tunnel Is just a freight train heading your way." When you are met by a freight train in your dark tunnel, hearing encouraging quotes about life getting better often elicits feelings other than joy.

So, what do you do if it isn't getting better? What do you do when you keep getting hit by that train and being told the secret to making it out of the tunnel is a happy disposition? You cling to TRUE hope. Don't know where to look for that? I'll give you a hint: it's at the foot of the cross, covered in a blood shed by grace. 

This is mostly a note to self, but if you are reading this and find yourself in that never-ending dark tunnel, there is hope. I can't tell you life will "get better" any time soon, but I promise, it is the only hope that cannot be shaken. Christ came and suffered so one day you may be FULLY relieved of your suffering. There is a perfect peace that can only be found in Jesus; this peace trumps any dark tunnel you may find yourself in. Look to the cross and cling to Jesus, it's the only sure-fire way to get out of this messy, heart-breaking life alive.

I don't want to be a good mom.

I remember when I was growing up, dreaming about one day being a mommy. I always thought of all the things I would do that would make me a "good" mom. When I was in middle school and high school, I baby sat. Parents and kids loved me, that was affirmation that I would one day be a good mom. When I was pregnant with my first, I heard more times than I can count that I would be a good mom. Since having my children, I have been told I am a good mom.

Can I make a confession? I'm not a good mom. At least, not the way I measure myself. I cannot even begin to tell you all the times I have failed as a mom. I have been irritated in the middle of the night when my child(ren) won't sleep and I have tried everything I can think of to get them to rest. I have had so many mornings where my children's smiling faces are ready to start the day and all I can think about is another hour of sleep. I have yelled and gotten angry too many times. I have allowed my emotions to rule me. I have placed unrealistic expectations on my children and been upset when they don't rise to them. I haven't baked enough cookies, colored enough pictures, read enough books or played enough games. I have allowed my children to wear mis-matched socks. I have skipped bath nights and not kept nails neat and trimmed. I have let them eat junk for dinner. I press "play" on the DVD player too often. I spend too much time looking at a screen myself. I have told my child(ren) to just wait until I finish dishes/laundry/whatever chore has presented itself as more important. I have allowed my idolatry of self-worship to take precedence a shameful number of times. 

My failure to be a "good" mom has worn hard on my heart. I have spent a good portion of the last couple years lamenting about my failures. I have climbed aboard my pity train and refused to get off. I have struggled day after day, telling myself, "Today, will be the day I am a good mom." Every day, I fail in some way. I have come to the conclusion that I will never be a "good" mom. Last night, I had an epiphany, I don't want to be a good mom anymore.

I want to be a grace-filled mom.

I don't want to measure the success of my mothering by all the things I always thought I should and shouldn't do to achieve "good" mommy status. I don't want to feel as though my life could be cataloged in beauty on Pinterest. I don't want to be a super mom who always has her home shining, clothes folded and put away, freshly baked cookies on the counter and a smile on my perfectly make-uped face. 

No, I want to be a mom who fills my home with love and joy. I want to be a mom who can grab a roll of paper towels and clean up the spilled paint water without gritting my teeth. I want to be a mom who rests in Jesus when I am weary from another sleepless night. I want to be a mom who clings to grace, each and every moment of every day. I want to be a mom so full of the love of Christ that my children will come to know Him, not through the pounding in of Bible verses but through daily seeing grace in action. I want to be a mom that is always a safe place. One who teaches my children that it's okay to make mistakes, because His grace is big enough to cover them. I desire my path of motherhood to be one that points to the cross. 

Yep. Forget being a "good" mom. I want to be a grace-filled mom.

e(STRANGE)d

es·trange

verb\i-ˈstrānj\ : 

: to cause someone to be no longer friendly or close to another person or group

: to cause someone to be no longer involved or connected with something

es·tranged||es·trang·ing

transitive verb

1:  to remove from customary environment or associations

2:  to arouse especially mutual enmity or indifference in where there had formerly been love, affection, or friendliness :  alienate (source)

____________________________________________________

I remember the first time I heard the term "estranged". It was on a show, talking about an actress and how she had been seen in public with her estranged father. I was still fairly young at the time and had to look up what it meant. Even after looking it up and understanding its definition, I always felt it an awkward term. It felt peculiar to refer to a family member (or other relation) as "estranged." Wasn't there some other term to explain such a situation?

In my thirty years on this planet, I have unfortunately seen this verb in action in my life. For numerous reasons throughout the years, loved ones have been distanced. For the most part, wounds have healed and relationships were mended (to some extent or another.) At the moment, there are some relationships in my life that have been wounded and ties severed (or mostly severed,) intentional and unintentional. Through experiencing this verb in action, I get it.

I get why estranged is such a perfect term for these relationships. Not just because of the denotative meanings. While the definition fits the moment, the feeling of strangeness is overwhelming. How strange it is to desire to reach out to someone you love and care for, but not allow yourself out of necessity of self-preservation. How strange it is to look at pictures of moments where you were once so at home, yet see yourself missing from the new memories being made. How strange it is to long deeply for the connection you know will only bring hurt. How strange it is to feel like something is missing, unresolved. How strange it is to feel torn between desiring healing and desiring even more distance.

I don't believe it was God's design to have families estranged. I am pretty sure that was Satan's naughty little idea, to come in and corrupt something sacred and beautiful with the kind of hurt and pain that makes people want to turn their backs on the very people who are part and parcel of their being.

The thief comes only to steal, kill, and destroy... John 10:10(a)

I know this. I have lived it. I still live it. And yet, it all feels so strange.