Why I'll Serve my Family this Mother's Day
I've been getting the looks all week.
The "Poor you" looks. The "Oh it's so sad, dearie" looks. The "Your Sunday is ruined and you better start stewing on Friday" looks.
Oh believe me I know. I even let the looks speak to my soul a few times. I believed the lies. I stepped down into self-pity and self-indulgence and every self-hyphenating pit of sin that exists (there's a ton by the way...and they are right full of quicksand).
I believed the lie that says I must become the centre of my world this Sunday and if my husband is by necessity serving our family across mountain ranges and time zones and therefore I have to lift even one finger to make sure kids are fed, clothed and loved on then I have not, am not, will not be properly celebrated.
My Sunday is ruined though it's not yet begun.
Don't get me wrong, I'm all for blessing and affirming others and loving on those who serve and if you know me at all you KNOW I'm all about Moms out there getting breaks and encouragement and inspiration and truth, life giving, breath breathing, yoke freeing truth. And I know we get loved on other days of the year. I don't believe for one minute the Hallmark insinuation that this is an all-or-nothing occasion. I see it on Instagram and witness it in the flesh. I watch your family arise and call you blessed on Tuesdays and Wednesdays and Saturdays. I, too, am regularly blessed and encouraged by my husband and kids and friends and family.
But those looks. They ushered me right down deep into that quicksand.
So I closed my eyes.
Sometimes, sometimes you need to close your eyes and just not see the looks...and listen, listen for the truth that at one point you've allowed to settle deep in your spirit. Deeper than what you see with your eyes and feel with your flesh and think in your mind.
Oh there's sin in all of it - the lust of the eyes and the flesh and the mind controlled by it and the heart, that heart that our society proclaims as good if you go deep enough but the Gospel calls out as desperately wicked...yes there's sin in all of it, but your spirit, yes His Spirit - now the two becoming so entangled; yours and His - that Spirit speaks LIFE in those times and indeed, I heard it loud and clear.
So I opened my eyes and I saw it. The Servant King. Changing the water to wine without suddenly making the wedding all about Himself. Feeding the masses and rather than glad handing and basking in praise for the miraculous sign of creating something from nothing, He withdraws to a mountainside to pray. Riding into Jerusalem on a donkey, not revelling in the Hosannas of the people but weeping at the condition of their hearts. After rising from the dead He doesn't even let the women linger at His feet to make much of what has physically happened, but sends them off quickly on a gospel mission. This King who "did not come to be served but to serve" keeps on serving. Keeps on loving.
What do I do with that? What does the proud, self-absorbed, make-sure-my-good-deeds-don't go unnoticed heart do with this Jesus?
And what do I do with Sunday?
I think my answer is this: I'll celebrate by keeping on doing what I do. I'll celebrate being a Mom by being a Mom...and I'll joy in serving and loving and thanking Him for the Grace that allows me to do so.
I'll battle the lies and my flesh and crawl out of the pit that's named Self and before anyone's up I'll make our favourite breakfast, and place hand-written notes by each plate. I'll pray verses of blessing over those kids of mine and give them a gift, because I can, because I'm their Mom and I'm just so grateful I get to be. I'll open the cards that came home from school and FaceTime my Best Friend and tell him how happy I am that I get to be the Mom and he gets to be the Dad. I'll remember that the only thing that counts is "faith expressing itself through love" and I'll walk the talk of identity in Christ by cleaning the kitchen, filling the drawers with clean clothes and making the lunches for Monday morning. I'll lay on the floor to play petshops, I'll brave my son's slapshots out in the street and I'll tighten my belt so I can jump on the trampoline for a really, really, really long time. I'll make my husband's favourite cookies and hide them in the freezer because he's coming home in two days and I want him to know I'm really happy about it and so grateful for the way he loves me on Tuesdays and Fridays and all the other days, and that I know the sacrifice of being out of town some Sundays is loving me and our family too. And when the youngest brings me the too-big dress up shoes for the 40th time and looks up and says, "Help you Mommy?" I'll get on my knees beside her and slide her little feet into them. Again. And again.
Those looks? I know they're well intentioned. To have an unoffendable heart is to trust the heart behind the looks. And I love the lookers for loving me enough to care about my Sunday. But this heart, this desperately wicked heart needs always the reminder of Truth. And the truth of the Gospel is that His kingdom - that has now become my kingdom - is the Upside Down Kingdom. The Inside out Kingdom, where the least is the greatest and the greatest is the least, and the King washes the feet of the Servant and the Slave is declared free and as always HE is greater than I.
And I have found such JOY and FREEDOM in my upside down place in it all.
Maybe I'll celebrate by keeping on serving.
And I'll know I'm loved on a Sunday.
Oh, and friend? Whatever it looks like: I really hope you will too.
"The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love." - Galatians 5:6b
The "Poor you" looks. The "Oh it's so sad, dearie" looks. The "Your Sunday is ruined and you better start stewing on Friday" looks.
Oh believe me I know. I even let the looks speak to my soul a few times. I believed the lies. I stepped down into self-pity and self-indulgence and every self-hyphenating pit of sin that exists (there's a ton by the way...and they are right full of quicksand).
I believed the lie that says I must become the centre of my world this Sunday and if my husband is by necessity serving our family across mountain ranges and time zones and therefore I have to lift even one finger to make sure kids are fed, clothed and loved on then I have not, am not, will not be properly celebrated.
My Sunday is ruined though it's not yet begun.
Don't get me wrong, I'm all for blessing and affirming others and loving on those who serve and if you know me at all you KNOW I'm all about Moms out there getting breaks and encouragement and inspiration and truth, life giving, breath breathing, yoke freeing truth. And I know we get loved on other days of the year. I don't believe for one minute the Hallmark insinuation that this is an all-or-nothing occasion. I see it on Instagram and witness it in the flesh. I watch your family arise and call you blessed on Tuesdays and Wednesdays and Saturdays. I, too, am regularly blessed and encouraged by my husband and kids and friends and family.
But those looks. They ushered me right down deep into that quicksand.
So I closed my eyes.
Sometimes, sometimes you need to close your eyes and just not see the looks...and listen, listen for the truth that at one point you've allowed to settle deep in your spirit. Deeper than what you see with your eyes and feel with your flesh and think in your mind.
Oh there's sin in all of it - the lust of the eyes and the flesh and the mind controlled by it and the heart, that heart that our society proclaims as good if you go deep enough but the Gospel calls out as desperately wicked...yes there's sin in all of it, but your spirit, yes His Spirit - now the two becoming so entangled; yours and His - that Spirit speaks LIFE in those times and indeed, I heard it loud and clear.
So I opened my eyes and I saw it. The Servant King. Changing the water to wine without suddenly making the wedding all about Himself. Feeding the masses and rather than glad handing and basking in praise for the miraculous sign of creating something from nothing, He withdraws to a mountainside to pray. Riding into Jerusalem on a donkey, not revelling in the Hosannas of the people but weeping at the condition of their hearts. After rising from the dead He doesn't even let the women linger at His feet to make much of what has physically happened, but sends them off quickly on a gospel mission. This King who "did not come to be served but to serve" keeps on serving. Keeps on loving.
What do I do with that? What does the proud, self-absorbed, make-sure-my-good-deeds-don't go unnoticed heart do with this Jesus?
And what do I do with Sunday?
I think my answer is this: I'll celebrate by keeping on doing what I do. I'll celebrate being a Mom by being a Mom...and I'll joy in serving and loving and thanking Him for the Grace that allows me to do so.
I'll battle the lies and my flesh and crawl out of the pit that's named Self and before anyone's up I'll make our favourite breakfast, and place hand-written notes by each plate. I'll pray verses of blessing over those kids of mine and give them a gift, because I can, because I'm their Mom and I'm just so grateful I get to be. I'll open the cards that came home from school and FaceTime my Best Friend and tell him how happy I am that I get to be the Mom and he gets to be the Dad. I'll remember that the only thing that counts is "faith expressing itself through love" and I'll walk the talk of identity in Christ by cleaning the kitchen, filling the drawers with clean clothes and making the lunches for Monday morning. I'll lay on the floor to play petshops, I'll brave my son's slapshots out in the street and I'll tighten my belt so I can jump on the trampoline for a really, really, really long time. I'll make my husband's favourite cookies and hide them in the freezer because he's coming home in two days and I want him to know I'm really happy about it and so grateful for the way he loves me on Tuesdays and Fridays and all the other days, and that I know the sacrifice of being out of town some Sundays is loving me and our family too. And when the youngest brings me the too-big dress up shoes for the 40th time and looks up and says, "Help you Mommy?" I'll get on my knees beside her and slide her little feet into them. Again. And again.
Those looks? I know they're well intentioned. To have an unoffendable heart is to trust the heart behind the looks. And I love the lookers for loving me enough to care about my Sunday. But this heart, this desperately wicked heart needs always the reminder of Truth. And the truth of the Gospel is that His kingdom - that has now become my kingdom - is the Upside Down Kingdom. The Inside out Kingdom, where the least is the greatest and the greatest is the least, and the King washes the feet of the Servant and the Slave is declared free and as always HE is greater than I.
And I have found such JOY and FREEDOM in my upside down place in it all.
Maybe I'll celebrate by keeping on serving.
And I'll know I'm loved on a Sunday.
Oh, and friend? Whatever it looks like: I really hope you will too.
"The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love." - Galatians 5:6b
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