The Importance of Taking my Three Year Old to the Potty.

At the almost end of a very long day, at a meeting to which I was a little bit very late, in the back of a crowded room where I was trying to herd sneak in three kiddos without drawing attention, you whispered to me in a defeats-the-purpose-of-a-whisper kind of whisper, “Mommy. I need to go potty.”

I drew in my breath and closed my eyes and faltered for a second. But potties can’t wait long for three year olds and so almost as soon as I got to the meeting I was exiting the room again to find the nearest potty.

“Come on, hurry, we need to hurry. Come on, honey. I’m already late. I didn’t come here to take you to the potty. That’s not why I’m here.”

Wait a minute. It’s not?

As soon as the words left my mouth I heard them, actually heard what I was saying to you, my daughter. 

I’m not here to take you to the potty?

Because, now that I think about it, that’s exactly why I’m here.

Martha, Martha, you are worried and bothered about so many things; but only one thing is necessary.

I’m worried about being late. No, I’m worried about what other people might think of me because I am late. I am bothered by not being able to sit in a meeting like a normal grownup rather than wrangling three ants-in-their-pants children in the back of the room with any semblance of dignity. 

But really? Only one thing is necessary. Only one thing really matters.

And right now? That one thing is you.

Because in the middle of worries and distractions and inconveniences, my Savior really only asks me to sit at His servant feet and take His yoke and bear His heart to the least of these. And right here, right now, is an opportunity for me to lay down my life for you. To meet your (urgent) need with grace and joy. To see what a gift it is to lay my pride and plans and comfort aside and show you that you are more important than a thousand meetings.

And so as long as you are mine, as long as motherhood is a part of my own upward call in Christ, I am here to take the graciousness of Christ that has been granted to me in my desperate need, and lavish it on you. And when I start to think of it as an inconvenience rather than a privilege, may I find myself like Mary, back at the Savior's feet, choosing the better part, and allowing His grace to cut through my pride and set my heart straight again.

I probably never thought I would sum up my life in a moment like this, but yes. I am here to take you to the potty.

Nine Years Ago

Nine years ago…

On a Wednesday night after church, my wedding director was trying in vain to get the timing right for the bridesmaid processional as I did the Roger Rabbit down the aisle. I couldn’t help it. How could I possibly walk normally when I felt like I was in the clouds? I actually probably danced everywhere that week. Nine years ago, I was giddy.

On a Friday night, we celebrated at our rehearsal dinner with friends and family. I ate an incredibly large portion of macaroni and cheese, we watched a slideshow of our lives so far, and then we said goodnight to each other, knowing that the next time we laid eyes on each other it would be to become husband and wife. Then I went home for one more night under my parents’ roof, and I crawled into bed with my little sister. Nine years ago, I couldn’t sleep.

On a Saturday afternoon, I was dressed all in white. The music started, the doors opened, and my daddy looked at me with tears in his eyes and said, “Have I told you lately…?” And I nodded my head and willed my mascara to stay on my eyelashes and looked up and there you were. And I grinned all the way down the aisle and through the next half hour as we said “I do” and “I will”, not really even knowing yet what that would mean. Nine years ago, I became your wife.

Nine years ago, when we told each other “I love you”, we meant it. But now there is a history behind those words. There are nine years of experiences and emotions, of sanctification and wrestling with pride and deepening awareness of our selfishness. And there are nine years of learning to depend on God alone for fulfillment and strength and grace, and of learning to forgive and be forgiven. Nine years ago, I was on a cloud, but now I know, as Ben Rector puts it, 

“There are way too many love songs
And I think they've got it all wrong
Cause life is not the mountain tops
It's the walking in between
And I like you walking next to me”

So, Coach, nine years later, you are still the only Coach I ever want. I would like to keep writing mushy stuff here but I keep getting interrupted by two lovely young girls who are very (im)patiently waiting for me to come to their “rest-ra-not” to eat some fake bean soup. This. This is the walking in between, and there is no one I would rather walk with than you.

Nine Years Later :)

Daughters Like Me

You.

From the moment I first laid eyes on you, all seven pounds and wide-eyed, I was breathless in awe. Our Father is such a brilliant Creator, and you are a marvelous work of art. I see His craftsmanship all over you – in your beauty, your logic, your intuition. And I’ve always found it so special to see little pieces of your daddy and myself in you – in the way you smile, or the way you look when you are sleepy, or the color of your eyes. I feel so happy when people say, “Oh, she looks just like you!” Thank you. I am so glad she is mine.

And at the same time, I see other resemblances between us. Like when you will argue until you are blue in the face before admitting that you could possibly be wrong. When you reason your way out of a mistake and end up convincing yourself that you were right all along. In those times, I think someone who knows me well could say, “Oh. She looks just like you.”

Or when you freak out every time we ask you to try something new…when you would rather miss out on the fun just to avoid the risk of failing. You look a lot like me.

So I want you to understand something.

There will be times when you come face to face with your sin and yet you dig in your heels because you don’t want to admit you were wrong…or when you are petrified of trying something new because you just might not be good enough…

And when those times come, I might confront you. I might say the hard words. I might push you toward that thing you are so afraid of. But I want you to know, dear one, that I understand and that I feel every ounce of your struggle and that I am on your side. I am on your side.

And you.

You, with your sweet, funny heart. Your daddy asked me last night, “Couldn’t you just eat her up sometimes?” Yes. Every single day. God gave you a free spirit and a tender heart and I love to see His handiwork in you. And when people say, “She looks a lot like you!” I smile and say, thank you. I am so glad she is mine.

And then there are those times when you start to crumble. You get so tired and overwhelmed and you just want to be at home instead of doing a million other things throughout the day, and you fall apart. I do that too. We’re just the same.

And sometimes you look us straight in the eye and lie. You don’t want us to know that you have disobeyed. You don’t understand that telling the truth is a thousand times better than lying to get out of trouble. Where do you get that from? I don’t have to look far.

So please hear my heart. When you want to hide from the world…when you are afraid of what will happen if you tell the truth…I get it. I might make you go out of your comfort zone. I might bring unpleasant consequences when you lie. But you must know that this is because I love you infinitely, and I can sympathize with your struggles, and sweet girl, I am on your side. I am on your side.

 

And God help me, I want to show you the grace that I have been shown. Because I have a Father who sees every single one of my failures and still delights in me. I have a Savior who knew exactly how messed up I am and still died for me. I have a God who walks with me and shepherds me with infinite love and compassion and whispers…

I am on your side.

Dear Mom

Dear Mom,

I didn’t know.

I didn’t know how hard it must have been. Until I had three babes of my own, I didn’t know how exhausting it is to go for months on end without one solid night of sleep. I didn’t know how even the sweetest chatter and the most innocent questions, when incessant from dawn till dusk, can threaten someone’s sanity. I didn’t know that the fear of being buried alive by an ever-growing laundry pile is a real thing. I didn’t know how daily responsibilities like cleaning and paying bills and always and forever feeding little people could fill up the day until you realize that is all you did today.

I know you must have felt those things too. But when I look back at my childhood, I do not remember the you that was tired or frustrated by life with three kids. I remember the you that always had a silly song in the morning and a special nickname for each of us. I remember the you that listened to my never-ending chatter with a smile. I remember the you that created special little traditions like having sausage and cheese balls on Groundhog Day, or green grits and green eggs on St. Patrick’s Day.  I remember the you that always reminded me as I walked out the door as a teenager, “Remember who you are and whose you are…”

So I’m trying to do that still. I’m trying to remember that I am equipped for this task, that I have everything I need for life and godliness, that I can do all things who Him who gives me strength. I’m trying to remember your favorite question, “Is is going to matter in eternity?” as I fill up my days. I’m trying to remember that I am chosen for this task, and that if at the end of the day I have loved well, then that is enough. 

I’m sure at times you felt like a failure. I feel it so acutely myself now. But seeing God’s faithfulness in your life, His strength in your weakness, and the simplicity of providing a home that made us feel safe and loved, gives me hope and courage. 

When I was young, you were my mom. Now, you are my hero. I love you a million, a thousand, and six!