Give Him Some Credit

There have been things in my life that God has asked me to do, and I've done them, only to wonder "why?" later.  I would wonder why He would ask me to do something, knowing how ill-equipped I was.  "Shouldn't You have picked someone else?" I would repeatedly say to Him.  Lately, I've begun to realize that He picked me exactly because I'm ill-equipped.  If I were perfectly able to do the task on my own, I could take credit for myself.  I'd probably end up feeling very proud and thinking how wonderful I am for my accomplishments. 

My whole life, I've heard the answer to the question, "Why are we here?" as "To bring God glory."  I don't think I ever really understood what that meant until now.  I used to mentally shrug at that answer, not certain of how that applied to my life.  It seemed such a vague statement.  I think if you exchange the word "glory" for the word "value", though, it makes more sense.  It's not that we can somehow cause God to have more value, but we can cause people to see His value, the value that is already there.

If I were entirely able to do what God asked on my own, how would that show anyone God's value?  My accomplishments would be credited only to me.  But when I find myself in a place of reliance on Him, the results belong entirely to Him, not me.

I've mentioned this in other blogs, but I go back to it because it is one of those memories that I always return to, "threading the beads of detail into an eternal loop, a rosary to be fingered for a lifetime" (from the book Atonement by Ian McEwen--I love that quote). 

It was my Senior year of High School, and up until that point I had always gone to a Christian school.  That year, however, I believed God was telling me to go to public school instead.  I had grand aspirations to tell everyone about Jesus, be a friend to the friendless, sit with the kid who was all alone at the lunch table, and just generally "be a light", to use a familiar "Christianese" term.  It all sounded really good beforehand.  Actually being there turned out to be very different from what I expected. 

I've always been a quiet person, but in Junior High and High School, I was dreadfully shy.  It was very hard for me to talk to new people.  The first half of that year, I literally dreaded going to school.  I don't think I had any conversations about Jesus.  I was happy if I could just have a conversation at all, about anything, without feeling horribly nervous. 

I would walk to the library after school to wait for my mom, and I would have conversations with God that went something like, "What were You thinking, asking me to come here?  It makes no sense.  You know how bad I am at this."  I felt pretty much like a failure.  Not just while I was there, but for a long time after I had graduated, I would still look back and wonder why I was there.

I am seeing now that my inadequacies, failures, and weaknesses all served a purpose: to give God the credit.  If there is even one person who came to Christ because of me being there, I can say with all certainty that it wasn't because of anything I said or did.  It was all God.  I was there and I was willing...and that's about it. 

This all relates directly to where I am right now in my life.  I am a mother.  It sounds so simple.  Especially to people who have no children.  To those people, I am "just a mother."  Instead of "doing something with my life" I "just" got married and had kids.  What a waste, right?  It's the kind of thing people shake their heads over.  "She's already got three kids, and she's only 26."  And I want to have more.  This is what God asked me to do.  So I'm doing it.  

But it's anything but simple.  I had beautiful pictures painted in my head of how wonderful it was going to be, and how I was going to "raise up a Godly generation".  Well, now that I'm here, I can honestly say that most of the time I don't know what the hell I'm doing.  I'm pretty sure that's exactly where God wants me, that place where I realize I'm not going to even make it through the day if He doesn't help me, let alone, "raise up a Godly generation" all on my own. 

At this point, all I can do is be here, and be willing.  If these boys turn out well, you better believe that I'm giving God all the credit!  And that is exactly what He wants. 

One of Those Days

Today is one of those days.  My morning was early, my temper is short, my patience is thin, my house is hot, and my kids seem intent on making messes.  It's one of those days when I question the sanity of having kids at all, and I am certainly not my best mom version.  It's one of those days where I know the only way I'm going to get through it is by relying heavily on the grace of God.

Recently, I have been realizing more and more that relying on Him is the ONLY way I will be the kind of wife or mother or even just the kind of person, that I want to be--the kind I'm meant to be.  There is something both freeing and terrifying about that.  And today I'm finding that it's far more difficult, almost even painful, to be in that position of total reliance on God. 

I'd like to think of myself as being capable.  I'd like to be one of those sweet, even-tempered mothers who never yells at her kids.  I'd like to have some of those sweet-tempered children who need nothing more than a look for them to obey (do those kids really exist?).  I'd like to be patient, not just the kind of patient that makes it possible to deal with kids who have to be told something twenty times before they do it, but the kind of patient that makes it easy to sit on the floor and play cars, or build a train track, or get out the finger paints (I wince slightly at the thought of finger paints, which I feel certain will end up on my walls instead of on paper).  I'd really like to just naturally be a great mom, a fun mom, a sweet mom.  And some days, I come close.

Other days, like today, I feel very inadequate.  And when I feel inadequate, I feel like giving up.  The catch is that this isn't some ordinary job that I can just turn in my two weeks notice for.  This is the un-quittable job.  It's mine until the day I stop breathing.  I will always be a mother, whether I like it or not.

What's more is that I know that God has called me to be a mother.  And if God calls you to something, it's usually best to go along with it, whether you like it or not.  Unless, of course, you enjoy spending time in the belly of a giant fish.  For me, that doesn't seem like the best alternative.

So here I am, doing what I'm called to do, what I have to do, what I need to do, sometimes what I love to do.  Am I qualified?  Probably not.  I'm quite certain there are others who have much better resumes for this job. 

Actually, I feel like this is more like being recruited for an army rather than applying for a job.  I hear God saying, "I want YOU!" and pointing a finger at me like the Uncle Sam poster.  My impulse is to look behind me and see if maybe He's pointing at someone else.  He's not.  Then I want to try some excuses for why I can't possibly.  Unfortunately the good ones have all been taken, and there still hasn't been one that He didn't completely override. 

I like the story of Gideon.  God says, "Hello, you mighty man of valor!" and Gideon says, "Are you sure you have the right guy?"  Then there is a series of tests and signs that they have to go through before Gideon is REALLY sure that this is God and that he's supposed to lead an army.  I can relate to that.  A lot.

It's nice to feel qualified, to feel capable and independant.  It's far more difficult to have to stare straight in the face of my own weakness and admit that I need help.  And God is the only one who is available to me for that help 24/7.  I tell Him, "I'm not good at this."  He says, "Yep.  Do it anyway.  I'll help you--I've got patience to spare."

I have come to see that everything that happens is for God's glory.  It isn't about me.  It isn't about my abilities, or lack thereof.  It's about Him.  It's about God letting me see something amazing happen, and me knowing that I couldn't have done it without Him.

Birthday

Last night we had a birthday celebration extravaganza for Malachi and Israel, which included Blackjack Pizza, TWO cakes, homemade ice cream, and spiderman suits. 

Yes, after a long wait, both boys now each have their very own Spidey suits, complete with masks. 

One suit is the standard red and blue, the other is the black one, which could either be Spidey's alter ego or the bad guy, Venom.  Now at least when they hit each other they'll have a good reason.  Spiderman's gotta fight the bad guys right?  And the bad guy has to fight back.  Superhero 101.

The catch is that my two little Spidermen will not take off their suits.  They eat in them.  They sleep in them.  They play in them.  If I let them, they would bathe in them.  If they continue this way, that may be the only way to get both them and the suits clean all at one time. 

I know that eventually, I am going to have to take away their suits and hide them in a secret place for another time.  I know they will, in their quest to be just like Spiderman, probably fight with each other more often.  There will be yelling and kicking and hitting and crying.  And there is a good chance that they will, at some point, fight over the suits, who gets black and who gets red.  But for now, they are just happy, and that makes me happy.