Once upon a time. . .

"Once upon a time, in a land not far away, there lived a beautiful little family. The father worked hard to provide for wife and children, but his favorite part of the day was arriving home to a clean, cozy little house, a kiss from his wife, and hugs from his three little boys. The mother read to her little boys every day, and taught them to help her as she worked.  The little boys were obedient, respectful, and polite, and got along beautifully with one another. Each evening they sat down to a hearty, healthy dinner and thoughtful conversation, followed by devotions and prayer.  They then spent each evening enjoying one another's company. They never wanted for everything, but had just what they needed. They all lived happily ever after."

Most of us have read fairy tales at one point or another, but we know better than to believe them.  We don't expect to happen upon a house in the woods that is occupied by talking bears, or to occasion upon witches who are fattening up children to eat on some future occasion.  The idea of trolls, mermaids, or talking wolves who dress up as grandmothers is recognized as silliness. These stories may have a purpose, but it is not to teach us that such characters actually exist.

But do we sometimes act as though we think the tale in my introductory paragraph might be true? I have to admit that there are times that I'm disappointed when my husband or sons don't act as I might have planned. I wonder if we sometimes think of people, even those we love dearly, as little more than props for the tale we want to write, and are disappointed when their actions aren't the ones we had planned as part of the story.

But if you paid attention, that introductory paragraph was missing a crucial story element. Do you know what it was? If not, go back and re-read, see if you can figure out what was missing.

Figure it out?

It's conflict.  There was no problem needing to be solved.  No difficulty to be overcome. There was no action, and no need for it.

Every story needs to have something go wrong, so that it can be made right.  Maybe it's an antagonistic character to overcome, or to become a friend or help. Maybe it's an unexpected dilemma to resolve. In any case, there is nothing to hold your interest if there is no problem.

Think about it.  Did you identify with those characters? Did something in you resonate, make you say, "Hey, I know just how that feels"? If you are like me, you might admire them, wonder how they do it, but you don't identify.  I'm far enough from perfect that those characters are more discouraging than inspiring. And I don't feel empathy - there is nothing in their life that calls for sympathy!

(Which brings me to a sub-point - don't be afraid to admit your struggles.  People don't identify with your "perfection" mask but they do identify with real people.)

We need conflict in our lives to spur us to growth, to encourage us to improve, to seek out fellowship, to change us from what we are to what we will become. It isn't good, nor does it feel good - or it wouldn't be a problem to overcome. But that doesn't mean it isn't good for us, or that the results won't ultimately be good.

The moral of my little tale? Don't be afraid of problems.  They are given for our good.  They should be faced bravely, with courage, because every good story needs a bold protagonist! And after all, we know that God is with us and if we seek Him, we can be confident that He will help us through.

And that, my friends, is no fairy tale.  It's the real thing.

Learning to be content (the mommy role)

Sometimes the blessings of one thing mean that you miss out on something else.  So you have to make a choice, not necessarily knowing all that choice may mean for you and others.  And sometimes you are not given a choice at all, but a set of circumstances and blessings to make the most of, like it or not. That's life.

Becoming a mom has repercussions far beyond those we imagined prior to becoming parents. For example, I love to visit, and especially to discuss theology and education and literature, and had not foreseen that having young children would fracture my conversations. That as I'm leading up to my main point, I would inevitably hear a child scream, "No no no no no no no" and hear a loud thump followed by a prolonged wail. Or as I introduce a topic into a conversation, my grubby little boy would rhythmically thump my arm while he chanted "scuse me. scuse me. scuse me," until I acknowledged him. And under no circumstances would I be permitted to hold a conversation without having to talk over the wail of the toy fire engine racing to the fire on the sofa!

There are stages in life.  With the young children I have now, I have come to know that any conversation I want to have will be distracted, interrupted, and may even simply go on without me because I do have children whose needs are usually urgent. When the recently potty trained child needs to go, putting him off may mean I have to clean a floor and change an outfit. If I try to put off a hungry child, they become grouchy, fussy, and may take it out on a sibling. While they do need to learn patience, I need to have wisdom in teaching it. I need to make sure that I choose the right times, places, and situations for such waiting.  I need to be ready and able to dole out appropriate consequences for failure to comply.  I need to be able to explain, and be in a place where failure is an option. And I need a decent stockpile of patience for myself! And that often means foregoing something I want to do for the things that are important.

They are young.  They are growing, learning, amazing blessings and full of wonder, beauty, and depravity all wrapped up in the sacred vessel of a human being. And somehow, I am blessed to be the mother of these amazing little beings.

I have found that it is best to enter fully into the role I am in, and choose to enjoy it. It is a waste of time and energy to try to conform the circumstances (much less the children) into something other than what it is. This stage, too, is a passing stage and I choose to embrace it, even when that means putting off some of my other interests. It's ok.  I have eternity ahead, with only a short time now to teach, train, and love on these little lives entrusted to me. So I'll do the best I can do, now.  While I can. They will grow, develop, and one of these days I may even find myself enjoying an uninterrupted theological discussion with them!

At least, that's what I think on the good days.  Other days are auto-pilot days, where the interruptions engender irritation and frustration rather than refocusing me on my mother role.  Days where I hear the questions as pestering rather than opportunities to share beauty and a love for learning. Days where I just want to get through with hopes that I might be able to get a few hours more sleep tonight than last night.

That's where this writing comes in.  I am able to refocus when I write it down, and when I read it again. I can see the lofty goals and desires behind the fog that surrounds the daily grind. 

So the next time I am engaged in a fulfilling conversation, or in writing an inspiring blog post and I hear, "MOM, I NEED YOU TO COME AND WIPE MY BUM" hopefully I can remember that this too shall pass, and that just maybe wiping toddler bottoms is not too terribly different than washing feet like Jesus did. After all, they both needed done, were smelly jobs, and are rather humbling.  And since my goal is to be like Jesus, I can do it with alacrity and a willing heart.

And who knows, one day, they may have to wipe mine.