Tonight has been rough.

Nothing major happened that doesn't normally happen. Except that last night I didn't feel good so I only half-cleaned the kitchen which meant after work today I was greeted with a half-cleaned kitchen. Then came my son's announcement that he was on red light at school today. And the reminder in his bag of when orders for the school funraiser needs to be turned in, when money is due for the class field trip t-shirt and when the book orders have to be in. Oh, yeah, and the weekly newsletter gave me a list of skills I need to be reviewing with my son every night.

Beyond the school recap, we needed to get supper. I have one child who only wants meat and another who only wants bread and I'd like for them to at least pretend to eat their veggies.

By 6:15 I was frustrated and overwhelmed. Honestly I just wanted to crawl into bed, pull the covers up and let someone else deal with it. It's really not so much stuff. But today it felt like a mountain of un-doable tasks and I snapped. I snapped at my children and at Josh. My frustration quickly became the family frustration. Katie whined. Josh retreated to his computer. Malcolm asked a bazillion questions just to get my attention. Yeah, all that helped a lot.

Suddenly our Sunday School lesson came flying back to me. We're studying about the words we tell ourselves. And getting to the root of our negative feelings, actions and self-talk. And what God really thinks about us.

Why exactly did I feel overwhelmed and frustrated in the face of a bare minimum of requests and tasks? Perfectionism. Self-worth tied to what other people think about my parenting skills. What if we don't sell enough in the school fundraiser to carry our weight? What if I forget about the book order and Malcolm's left out when the other kids get their new books? What if my children turn out obese and malnurished because I didn't insist they eat veggies instead of just providing them? What if my house turns into an actual pig sty?

Silly? Yeah. But when my mind is telling me I'm a horrible, lazy parent who will bring up lazy, uneducated, obese children the "what ifs" don't sound so silly.

In Sunday School we are connecting the fruit to the vine to the root. My fruit is frustration and snapping at my family. The vine is the what ifs and the root is the false thought that my value as a parent is based on how many rolls of wrapping paper and magazines we sell.

How do I fix it? First, I have to start at the root and remind myself that none of this determines what kind of parent I am. Then I go to God's Word. He tells me I can do anything through Him, that He has plans for me and for my children, that He knew my children before I did and He chose me to be their parent. Surely all those things count for something.

I'm feeling a little better already. I'll not think about all the skills Malcolm needs to learn by the end of the first 9 weeks or how we've missed all the revival services this week. God has a plan for us. He put us here as the parents of our particular children for a reason. That's enough to get me through another day. (That and the fact that my kiddos are in bed now!)

Thanks for letting me share my round-about preaching to myself.

It's been 15 years, but I still remember the excitement. The steamy August afternoon. The butterflies in my stomach. The sound of college girls giggling and screaming outside on the lawn in front of my dorm and in the hallway outside my room. And my sister and I waiting. Waiting for the knock on the door. The knock from one of those college girls holding a tshirt and my invitation to belong. The fear and anticipation mounted as I waited. This wasn't just any knock or any invitation. It was THE invitation of my college career. An invitation to join with a group of girls who could (and did) become my best friends for the next four years, who could help me navigate the growing up process away from my family and the life I'd known for 18 years, who could (and have) remain my life-long friends.

Now, I'm waiting for a phone call or a letter in the mail. But this time it's not for me. This time there's a little piece of my heart walking around outside of me. He doesn't always do what I tell him to do and doesn't always act the way I want him to act, but he's a piece of me, and I love him beyond words. And I want the world to love him and nurture him and help him to grow--an impossible hope for a cruel world, I know. For five years I've guided his friendships, attempting to group him with children whose parents share similiar values. I've made efforts to know his preschool workers beyond simple hellos. And I've watched his preschool teacher love him and nurture him for two years. And the phone call I'm waiting on comes from his Kindergarten teacher.

We are venturing into the great unknown of public school. We moved to our community because we wanted that school district and I'm still confident in that decision. But I don't know the teachers. I don't know many of the students. And I certainly don't know their parents. Kindergarten (and every year beyond that) is a big year. His teacher will help him learn to read and can foster a great love of learning and help him create friendships that will last for the next 13 years and beyond. So you can see how important this phone call is. But even after the phone call I have questions that will go unanswered. Will she love his tenderheart? Will his classmates play with him at recess? Will he be on red-light at the end of the first day? Will his classmates' mothers like me? (a selfish one I know, sorry).

I've looked forward to this day for 5 years. And now I'm scared to death. I wonder if Malcolm knows how big this move is for him. He doesn't seem scared. He seems excited. And I'm encouraging that. And praying for a good start to a big year.

Last night while Malcolm was taking his bath he wanted me to close the shower curtain so I couldn't see him. I did, but warned him he needed to be taking a bath not playing when I opened it again. You all know where this is going. When I opened it, he was playing. So I left it open and made him finish his bath. His reponse? "I don't like you anymore. You aren't my mother any more. I don't have a mother any more."

You can imagine my hurt/anger/frustration. He's five so I know he's just upset about not getting his way and he's trying to put off bed time as long as possible. But I'm his mother, whether he likes it or not, and he really shouldn't talk to me like that. We finally finished his bath and I told him if he had a mother she might help him dry off but since he didn't have one I guessed he was on his own. I know, mean mean mama. But I really needed to get some space from him and he's perfectly capable of drying off and putting on his pj's without any help.

Ten minutes later, as I'm drying his hair, he said his mouth hurt and wanted me to look at it. I told him that sounded like something a mama would do and since I wasn't his mama anymore, I couldn't do it. He informed me that when I started drying his hair, I became his mama again.

My response:"Malcolm, I will ALWAYS be your mama. Nothing you can say or do will EVER change that. So no matter how mad you get at me, please do not ever tell me that I am not your mama again. I have dedicated the last five years of my life to caring for you and loving you and for you to tell me that I'm not your mama over a shower curtain is just hurtful."

And at that moment I caught my breath and almost stopped talking mid-sentence because I could hear God's voice so clearly in my head and my heart I was certain it was audible to the world. "Now you know how I feel."

Boom.

Just like that. I went from a frustrated, tired mama to a child of God who needed me to hear Him right then. I wasn't looking for a lesson from God in the midst of bedtime struggles. But there He was. Teaching me.

I can't say I've ever just thrown up my hands and said "You aren't my Father anymore" to God over any particular incident. But isn't that what I'm doing every time I sin? Aren't I saying "Your sacrifice doesn't really matter that much."?

And isn't that what our wold has done? "You aren't my Father ANY MORE! Because You said no to what I wanted to do. Because You sent me places I don't understand. Because You insist that I keep the shower curtain open and remain accountable to You even in the mundane tasks of life. And I'm tired of it."

If I'm protective of my position as Malcolm's mother after denying myself a few pleasures like a medium-well steak and all the caffiene I could manage during 9 months of pregnancy, after spending countless hours awake in the middle of the night and untold miles walked up and down our hallway while he cried as an infant, after thousands of dollars spent in medical bills and after choosing a family vacation over a tropical trip for 2 for our ten year anniversary, can you imagine how protective God is over His position as our Father after He gave up His Son? He's not playing the martyr. He loves us enough, He'd do it again. But He longs for us to recognize Him as our Father, even when we are hurt or angry or mad or frustrated. He doesn't deny us those emotions, but asks us to bring them to Him instead of jerking away.

I snuggled Malcolm as he went to bed last night because even though he says and does things that hurt my feelings, I love him. I'd make all those sacrifices all over again just for him. And if you think my love for my child or your love for your child is strong and un-matched, you've not seen anything yet! God loves us and our children even more than we love our children. And just as I welcomed Malcolm "back" as my child, so does God. Malcolm never stopped being my son, you know that. And once we are God's children, we never stop, even when we are angry or hurt or mad.

I don't know who needs this word today. Maybe it's just me. But I had to share it. 

--Hilary