Beauty on the Backroads

Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns

change

Who I am and who I want to be

Ten minutes before we were supposed to head out with some friends for trick-or-treating, I was arguing with our 4-year-old daughter over shoes. And trying to coerce our almost-3-year-old son to pick up a mess he’d made in the living room. I was seconds from throwing my hands up and canceling the whole trip because I was overwhelmed, stressed and out of control.

Turns out we all left the house wearing appropriate clothing, the living room wasn’t a disaster and we had a great time.

As we strolled the neighborhood with our kids, us mom friends joked about not having “the mom gene.” The next day I affirmed my lack of “the mom gene” on Facebook after a particularly tough day with the kids.

Mom gene or not, some women just seem born to be mothers. They thrive where others of us merely survive, and motherhood seems extraordinarily kind to them. (Do they even have stretch marks or C-section scars, I wonder?)

Prone to play the comparison game, I examine my life and motherhood in the light of these shining examples. And I feel dull.

I picture myself on the other side of motherhood–oversized (from too much chocolate and stress-induced eating) and overwrought (I can see my frazzled hair and the wild look in my eyes)–not even knowing who I am, feeling like life passed  me by while I was raising my kids (as if life can’t be found in the midst of mothering).

I do not want to be that woman. She’s resigned. And bitter. Lost. And unlovely in all ways. She’s given everything for everyone else and has nothing left for herself.

And I know that the choice to be or not to be resides in the now. Will I make the choices that lead me down the path of resentment or face the uphill climb against what I feel toward the mountain of contentment?

Because let me tell you, contentment, though it sounds easy, is far from it.

Content to wipe rear ends and clean the bathroom and say “no” for the hundredth time and answer the millionth question? I’m not that there yet.

Emotions and circumstances conspired against me this week to give me a foul mood. Or maybe I just used those as excuses for being cranky. Life will never be perfectly perfect and even if it was, I’m sure I could find something amiss. (I’ve been “blessed” with a critical spirit. Lucky me.)

So I must submit to this training ground, this life that cannot be exchanged like an unwanted Christmas gift, and trust that the pruning of all things self isn’t going to kill me and leave me useless and unfruitful but will sever that which drains the Life out of me and will make me more fruitful.

© Dan Wallace | Dreamstime.com

Perhaps those moms with the mom gene learned these lessons long ago or have submitted to them earlier or have less to learn in this area. I try not to envy their lives because I don’t see the whole picture, but some days, I long for greener grass. Mary DeMuth in her book Everything reminded me this week that greener pastures lies not in a change of location but in a deeper devotion. She says:

We live in a culture of comparison. We tend to measure our growth not against ourselves but against those folks around us. We see a champion of the faith and feel small. We see a struggling pilgrim, and we amplify ourselves. We forget that growth is a dynamic relationship between us and our Savior. … We have to cooperate with the Holy Spirit in our lives if we want to thrive. Simply put, the grass isn’t greener on your friend’s property; it’s greener where you water it.

© Winterberg | Dreamstime.com

I’m not much of a gardener either, but I know the importance of water. And spiritually speaking, Living Water is the only cure for what ails me.

And I am a thirsty soul.

Saturday smiles: unexpected pleasure edition

Less than a week after missing my kids like crazy I’m counting the minutes till bedtime again. It’s been a stressful, tiring week. (Is there any other kind? I’m hopeful but I haven’t seen it yet.) We’re adjusting to a new work schedule for my husband and a new set of circumstances for the kids and me. Change always brings a bit of friction, doesn’t it?

But like those car commercials featuring Ted Allen explaining a type of fruit at a market and Peter Frampton filling in for a local band’s ill guitarist, this week held some unexpected pleasures.

Like our kids being super cooperative car travellers. This isn’t really unexpected because they’ve been subjected to these cross-country car trips their whole lives, but I keep thinking one of these days, we’re not going to be so lucky. So far, that day hasn’t come.

On this trip, Isabelle, our 4-year-old, made up her own game called “Dress the Houses.” The idea was that if you saw a house, you pretended to dress it: with a hat on the roof, overalls on the “body,” etc. Where she came up with that, I have no idea, but it gave us some laughs. Then we decided to try the story game, where one person starts a story and the next person adds to it and so on. I thought we were going to crash the car, we were laughing so hard. Isabelle titled the first story “Twins of the Heart.” I gave the “twins” the names “Lucy” and “Goosey.” She decided the parents would be named “Warzone” and “Exit.” (No prompting. I have no idea what goes on in that head of hers.)

Later she said, “I can’t keep my thoughts in my head.” Boy, do I know that feeling. Our second story featured a community of alligators. When some people came to visit the alligators “ate them to death” according to Isabelle. She also said her hair was the color “dipped in lizard.” It was all much funnier at the time, probably because we were road weary. School for her ought to be interesting. I’m dreading the parent-teacher conferences already.

We were housebound most of the week, which is unusual for us. I found some joy in the domestic arts of cooking and cleaning. I stocked our freezer with cream of carrot soup and homemade chicken stock. I made dinner every night this week except one. I even tried my hand at homemade cinnamon rolls this morning. (I need more practice.) I scrubbed the bathroom floor. I dusted. I kept the dishes clean. I washed and folded laundry. We still have areas that are messy in the house, but the next couple of months might find our house the cleanest it’s been since we’ve lived here.

We went trick-or-treating with another family, who have all become good friends to us, and even though it was dark and cold and we had to approach people’s houses (I get anxiety just thinking about it) and stand in a long and winding line at the local retirement home for safe trick-or-treat, we had fun. And the kids have enough candy to last us all till next year, at least.

We reconnected with another set of friends and had an afternoon of play that not only broke up the monotony of the week but encouraged me in many ways. Sometimes when I’m stressed and not feeling quite myself, I retreat from other humans and find comfort in books. This week, friends were a blessing. Not unexpected but I easily forget what I need.

I’m in no danger of buying a Buick anytime soon, but I can agree that this week, unexpected pleasures were the best part of life.