Let This Cup Pass Me By...

Ever have "one of those days"?


You know the kind I mean... those days when the simplest thing can tinge your day with difficulty, can burden your soul, can reduce you to tears and doubts.

Today was one of those days for me. (I know, I know, reusing blog photos...)


Even though I know that my husband is probably my most consistent reader, having this blog still feels like a confessional, like I'm sending my spirit out into the world like a dove to find dry land. There's a degree of anonymity, of release, of freedom in sharing my humble thoughts with an audience that, regardless of what the truth might be, at least to me seems captive and engrossed in my day-to-day doings and musings.


And so I share with you my weaknesses, my fears, my wee difficulties, in the hopes that you might somehow understand, commiserate, or at least know. Knowing someone out there knows spreads some of the weight around.


I started this blog to chronicle my quest to balance my life as musician, as mother, and as minister. Lately (and by that, I really do mean the past few days), I've been struggling a bit with my role as mother.


Take today for example: Matthew generally takes a solid nap in the mornings, and I count (oh how much do I count!) on having that blissful, blessed time to myself to do the things that I WANT TO DO. Today was no exception: I cheered to myself as the baby went down oh-so-nicely for his nap, and thought to myself: "Ok, I can finally sit down and finish reading that book, well, AFTER I clean up the house, and exercise, and scarf down some lunch, and get those business emails done..."


I'll bet you can tell where this is going... I got done all the things that I HAD TO DO, but when that blissful, special time came for me to relax... I heard a not-so-musical cry from the baby room, and that was the end of that.


I can't tell you how many times that has happened over the last 11 months. But it got to me today. My heart literally sank, and I couldn't shake this feeling of disappointment.


I have to confess, I'm TERRIBLE at relaxing. I always would rather work, work, WORK for an intense hour, get everything done, and then settle in for some quiet, peaceful reading. Problem is, now that I have a wee man on my hands, my time for me shrinks weekly, and my need for it grows exponentially.


I love my lil man, but he is a demanding child who requires (read: commands) much of my attention and energy. It's hard not to feel smothered by a baby who just wants you 24/7 (although he is really cute). As a mother, you are never off duty. And it's definitely wearying.

I can promise you this: it's worth every second. My son is so unbelievably sweet and loving. But it is hard. And some days, I just need to get things out there and out of me. I don't have any answers or deep ponderings or wisdom to offer with this post. But I know I'm not alone. And I know I'm so blessed. And I know, above all, that I love my Matthew with every fiber of my being.

Lift Up Your Hearts: Part Two

Part Two of the talk I gave for the "A Few Minutes With God" website. May you be blessed!


Finally, hope is so integral to our spiritual lives because it distinguishes us, sets us apart, allows us to embrace who we are – heirs to the Kingdom of God, His sons and daughters. Without hope, we could never fully embrace this rich inheritance or believe in its possibility, let alone its reality. While in the midst of difficulty, it is hard sometimes to remember and claim our dignity. We forget the price He paid so that we could be free. We doubt our inheritance, our worthiness. We say to ourselves, “I’m not good enough, I’m worthless, it’s too hard to keep believing otherwise.”

 

But hope empowers us to embrace fully this inheritance that we have in fact already received by virtue of our baptism. Although we cannot see the kingdom of Heaven that awaits us, we are hopeful because we believe in Christ's promise. We embrace the birthrights of princes or princesses, because we have hope in Christ who makes them a reality.

Something They Might Not Have Told You About Babies...

I mentioned in an earlier post that I would share some more about my early experience with nursing my Matthew. Ladies, let me be the first to say it, if someone has not already broken this news to you: Nursing is NOT always second nature. It is not always easy, and the baby, regardless of how soon after birth he lies on your stomach and you place him on the breast, sometimes does not quickly attach or begin to nurse automatically. It took Matthew and I quite a while to achieve this supposed instinctive and natural skill.

Become As A Little Child

Incredible, how frequently each day I must sacrifice myself. A few weeks ago, I asked the Lord how I could be a better mother, what I could do to love better, and He said to me, "Little one, every single act you do as a mother is one of selfless love." It overwhelms me, and I fall to my knees and beg for the grace and strength I could never have on my own. My heart simply isn't big enough. But His grace is sufficient and He supplies all we lack.

Today, I endured one of the heartbreaking moments of motherhood. Not my baby bumping his head or falling off the couch (Thank God), but still another source of mommy anxiety (at least for me): baby vaccinations. Matthew is such a champ, and only cries for a little bit, but with every sob my heart aches a little more. 

Now, I did my research for myself, and will not use this blog as a soapbox to iterate the pros/cons of vaccinations. Every mom needs to decide that for herself and for the best good of her little one. I chose to give Matthew his vaccines, and as such have to steel myself every two months for my little one's chubby thighs (oh-so-delicious and squeeze-worthy) to be pricked with needles. I know the benefits are undeniable, but let me tell you, the mama bear in me wants to rip the needles out of that nasty nurse's hands and chase her out of the run for wounding my baby. And while I'm hyperventilating and racing through Hail Mary's ten at a time, Matthew is crying, and then sniffling, and then hiccuping, and then... a smile. All better, Mommy. And I smile back at him through my own tears and aching heart, and say, "My brave boy."

I know now the truth in what my mother always told me, "Gaby, this will hurt me much more than it hurts you..."


And then it struck me: I will bear a heavier cross for having had my little boy, because I will not only bear my own suffering, but that of my beautiful son. He may not be destined to save the world (as was another Son born in Bethlehem). But my Matthew will have his own share of sorrows, and as his mother, I will look on and share all. Sometimes, I'll be able to make it better with a kiss and a Band-Aid. Sometimes, all I will be able to do is cry with him, pray with him, look for meaning with him, suffer with him, and let him


It is the lot of the mother to share burdens beyond her own, and to bear these things in her heart. Am I ready for that, Lord? Only with Your grace, which surpasses understanding. Only then, will my selfish heart be able not only to endure my own suffering, but willing shoulder the sorrow of my children, however small or excruciating. With my own mother as an example, I have witnessed -more so in the past few years, as my mother has become less a authority figure and more a friend- how often a mother must set aside her own trials, to be a source of comfort and wisdom for her little ones. It is a cross added to her cross, but a joyful burden.


My heart aches when my son suffers. My sorrow is inextricably joined to his, and his joy increases mine. I am reminded of how this is an image of what our relationship with God the Father ought in fact be. As His children, His glorification ought be our primary goal and joy, and His suffering ought cause us sorrow. I am learning, little by little, so very much from my new role as mother. I am learning what it means to love unconditionally, what it means to surrender, to trust. I am learning to place all in the hands of my own Father in Heaven, begging for the grace to be what Matthew needs me to be, while growing in my own personhood.


I need to be more like my son. Even as I love him, play with him, teach him, I must never forget that I am called to be more like him - childlike. Trusting that the Lord will never allow me to experience agony without purpose, for my own best good. Resting in His peace, knowing that here alone can I never be harmed. Knowing with absolute certainty that my needs will always be met. For He is my Abba, my Daddy in Heaven. And He will never allow me to suffer without bearing the brunt of it Himself. Maybe someday I'll endure through some suffering without kicking and screaming the whole time. Maybe it'll be me who cries a little, but then clings to the One who is my strength, saying, All better Daddy! And He'll smile lovingly, knowing that it is His grace that carries me through each trial, and say "My brave girl."