I’ve been waiting for the perfect occasion to use this photo I snapped at a mountain zoo in Colorado last summer. I LOVE everything it represents…the detail it captures, and all the emotion it evokes.
This little babe had been born just 6 days prior to our visit and it took everything in me to peel myself away from the glass and pay attention to any of the other animals. Personal loin-fruit included.
I was utterly entranced by this breath-stealing scene.
So this particular post seemed like a good fit…because succeeding surviving as a parent takes the strength, resilience and basic wherewithal of this maternal giant…and because, just maybe, while blatantly blurring dictionary definitions, parenting can feel like guerilla warfare on occasion.
—
I heard a story of a family who set out on their 22 hour journey to Disney World for a long-awaited vacation, laying down the ground rules for their 4 kids as they pulled out of the driveway…
“there will be no whining, arguing, bickering, fighting or otherwise unpleasant behavior in this vehicle. If you choose to not follow these simple rules, we will turn this van around”.
Within an hour of departure, Sally had pinched Fred, who had smacked Charlie, who had whined that Liz wasn’t sharing. Without skipping a beat, dad pulled off the highway, drove the overpass, and headed for home.
4 miserable children lugged their bags back into the house and sat, bewildered, on their beds.
Mom and dad, on the other hand, snuck smiles and winks to each other as they quietly sipped coffee in the kitchen…because they were wickedly smart parents. They knew their Disney reservations were for the following week.
7 days later, when the family van pulled out of the driveway, 4 practically angelic children sat quietly, spoke kindly and shared generously all the way to Florida.
Now THAT is what I call brilliant parenting!
—
Preparation is a game-changer, and is not to be confused with expectations.
I don’t know about you, but the expectations I had coming into this parenthood gig are wildly different from my reality.
Why, I was a positively fabulous mother before I had kids!
I had simply inserted myself into all those happy pictures of mothers with children, smiling, running, flying kites, laughing out loud with their perfectly white teeth and gorgeously manicured nails. Hair coiffed, make-up fresh, abs tight, eyes twinkling.
And those billboard kids… always happy, cute, well-dressed. Angelic.
That was going to be us! If those pictures were scratch-n-sniff…peaches and cream would have been the scent.
I could almost taste the bliss that lay before me.
But I’m almost 6 years into this thing and I’d like to know one thing, people…where the heck are the magazine ads of snotty nosed mongrels, squinty-eyed and defiant, with their bedraggled mums, cold coffee in hand, hiding in the bathroom? Overnight bags well packed beneath their eyes, hair slicked back into pony-tailed convenience, muffin top overflowing from 3-day-old yoga pants, boobs deflated and sanity hanging on by a thread? Where.are.they?
Sweet mother of cookie dough, will the real-life moms please stand up?
(And just take my word for it…you don’t want to scratch or sniff these pictures)
I remember dragging myself out to purchase ‘The Strong Willed Child’ within the first 9 months of parenting because I was utterly convinced my little lass was one and I was desperate for help. For wisdom. A solution. Deliverance. Something that would shed light on why this process of adjusting from ‘couple to family’ was so excruciating for me.
I found little relief between the pages because, as it turns out, she wasn’t actually strong willed, she was simply a human child.
Who knew?
As prepared as I thought I was, nothing could prepare me for what parenting in the wee hours, in the weary hours, would look like. And feel like. And smell like. I had no clue that 35 pounds of toddler could reduce me to a heap of blubbering mess in a matter of seconds.
And, seeing it’s all hanging out anyway, I should mention that I didn’t realize I had an issue with anger until I became a mom. It was classic Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde stuff…suddenly this gracious, patient, well-composed female would erupt into an angry, yelling, hairy-eyeball delivering son of a gun. All because of spilled milk. Again. Ah-gain!
This is tough stuff, friends. Why do so few admit it? Why do those who really wrestle with the realities of daily dying to self in the trenches of toddlerdom – and all the many layers of discomfort this involves – feel so isolated and alone?
Are we embarrassed to admit that motherhood didn’t come quite as naturally and sweetly as we had anticipated?
I have, just in case you’re wondering, already established that my children will need therapy when grown. Maybe I’ll start a savings account.
Parenting has been the single-most refining role of my life. Not defining, but refining.
Marriage is hard work, yes indeed, but parenting – at least for me – has been something else entirely!
Becoming a mom has been, hands down, the hardest, most uncomfortable thing I’ve ever done. It refines me daily.
And by refining I mean…transforming and purifying by way of heat. Intense heat.
Okay…raging fire.
But that’s often what it takes to work the ugly out, to rid the silver of the dross. To massage the self-absorption from the fabric, and to bubble the deeply seated perfectionist-control-freak to the surface, so it can be extracted.
So I’m clinging to the knowledge that it is in these high-pressured, uncomfortably dark places, that sand grains become pearls, and coal lumps become diamonds.
And that, beloved, is worth the long nights and thankless days.
Because while it’s been hard – so hard – it’s also been one of the most strikingly beautiful, deeply satisfying, most life-transforming journeys I have ever had the honor of taking.
I’m daily amazed by wild grace and brave growth. By belly laughs. By wiggly toes, and as of yesterday, wiggly teeth. By the twinkle when they finally understand something, and by the sheer volume of dirt a 3 year old boy can be encased in without suffocating.
Hindsight is a wonderful thing, isn’t it? The further into my thirties I go, the more I recognize the triumph in tragedy, and the character birthed through struggle.
The more I let go of the unimportant ‘big things’, and embrace the seemingly insignificant ‘little things’.
As the master Sculptor continues to chip off my rough edges, soften my tough spots, and mold me more into His likeness, the more I recognize the tools in His hand…
They bear a striking resemblance to my children.
Why is it that we study for tests, prepare for driver’s training, and train for races…but put little to no thought into preparing ourselves for marriage and parenting? The greatest marathons we’ll ever run in life.
We have a choice, my friends. We can meander through this crazy world of raising human beings with our heads in the clouds, or shoved elsewhere in classic displays of asshattery, or we can be intentional about the way we flesh out before their little eyes the basics of a life well lived, sweetly spent, wisely invested.
Becoming “mum” has afforded me endless opportunities to love, to learn, to say “I’m sorry”, to start over, to pray, to cling, to weep, to laugh. To grow. And model growth.
To long for wisdom, pray for grace, yearn for patience.
I think it’s fair to say, whether we realize it or not, that we all long to raise kids who are healthy, hope-filled, independent, resilient, courageous, forgiving, gracious, confident and outward-focused.
But we cannot give what we do not have.
The truth of the matter is…you and I HAVE to know who we are, and whose we are, before we can teach our kids who they are. Before we can instill value and identity, security and hope in our children, WE need to pursue wholeness ourselves. We have to stop finding our worth in our roles and titles, and find it rather in the One who created us. We have to stop comparing ourselves to everyone else. We need to work through the wounds of our past, pursue healing, and restore the lost art of letting people off the hook.
We need to learn how to truly love. The 1 Corinthians 13 kind of love.
…Love is patient, love is kind.
It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.
It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.
Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.
It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
Love never fails.
And to give love, we need to know Love. To learn how to live loved.
To live as one extravagantly loved changes the way we flesh out our existence in every single area of our lives. Nothing and no one goes unaffected by the security, hope & strength it cultivates in us.
It launches us… propelling us to give without expectation of return, to love lavishly, to care deeply without passing judgment, to press in and press on…and to nurture growth and cultivate new life.
Hmmm.
Kind of like parenting.
Because parenting, I am finding, sure ain’t for sissies.
In part 2 (coming in a few days), I’ll share some of the ways we intentionally cultivate security, significance and strength in our kidlets, as well as some of our favorite parenting books.
So stay tuned, sweet peeps!
