Maternal Idolatry

"The journey of discovering what we're born for seems first to lead us to death. That is not a hopeless place, though. I suspect from it will emerge some clue about what - or whom -we'd be willing to die for." (-Jo Kadlecek, Woman Overboard, p.79). I want to be a good mother. I love my children. But would I die for them? There was a time I thought I had done so. I gave up a very promising career at the top of my field to stay at home and be mommy for them. I gave up physical necessities - I gladly accepted the physical tax of pregnancy and labor, even without medication with my youngest. For years I did not sleep through the night. I breastfed until my oldest was almost 4, and my 2 year old still nurses. I gave up any sense of doing something in the world that would interfere with these little ones. People have hated me for bringing them to worship at church. I have a new life, new friends, new activities, an entirely new way of being in the world. Surely I would die for them. I have already done so...

But there is a problem. No matter what I give up, no matter how hard I try, no matter how many books I read on good parenting or how determined I might be when I wake up in the morning, I get tired and fussy, myself. When my child has to be disciplined for the same behavior for the eighth time in one morning, when the almost 5 year old throws a temper tantrum, when the potty-trained toddler pees on the carpet four times one day, when the two year old wakes up and needs me to put him back to sleep twice in the small time I am taking to write this blog, when I'm just physically drained and in need of rest but cannot have it... I see that I have not died for them. Worse, I see that it doesn't matter if I did, because my death wouldn't even be enough for them. No matter what I do, I cannot FORCE them into an image I have created, no matter how good that image is, even if the image is of Christ. I cannot force them to receive the lesson that temper tantrums only make things worse. I cannot make them to be genuinely loving, humble, kind, and gentle. They are sinners in the need of a savior, just like me. There will be sins they struggle with well into adulthood, just like me. And because we are all in the same boat, I cannot be their savior, no matter how much I might want to do it, no matter how much I may give up for them, no matter how much effort I exert. If I really die, all that would really do is deprive them of a mother. They do not need me to die for them, and I do them a great injustice if I do.

BUT, when I begin and end my day in prayer, when I take 3 minutes to hide and give my feelings to God, when I focus myself with a centering prayer while pushing the grocery cart, when I saturate my mind with Scripture, when I trust in HIS death for my sake and my children's sake and I LOSE MY LIFE FOR HIM instead of for my children, then I have peace. Then I am suddenly effective again at being a mom. Then I have hope and strength.

Its funny - the outer actions of losing my life for my children and losing my life for God do not look that different. God has called me to be a mother. I have prayed over my calling, and I know that this is where God wants me at this point in my life (probably as much for my own sanctification as for my children's!). The decision to leave my career, that was for God. The decision to go without sleep, that was for God. The decision to give up activities, even at church, for the sake of mothering these little ones, that was for God. And when a decision has not been for God, I have not been able to sustain it with joy and conviction. I was not created for my children. I was created for God. And I do my children no favors where I confuse the two.

I think this is true for any calling. A pastor cannot MAKE a person or a church see the light. And a pastor does his congregants and community no good if he just up and dies for them - either physically or in the slow, daily grind of serving them for their sake. The activity might not look different, but doing it for God yields peace, joy and love for those we serve. Doing it for them yields frustration, despair, and hatred.

"The journey of discovering what we're born for seems first to lead us to death. That is not a hopeless place, though. I suspect from it will emerge some clue about what - or whom - we'd be willing to die for." I will die daily for Christ.

1 Corinthians 13 for Homeschool Moms

1 Corinthians 13 for Homeschool Moms
by Misty Krasawski

If I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and teach my children Latin conjugations, Chinese, and Portuguese, but do not have love, I have become a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal, and no matter what I say, they will not hear me.

If I have the gift of prophecy, and know my children’s bents and God’s plan for their lives, and know all mysteries and all knowledge, and am the keeper of the teacher’s editions and solutions manuals, and if I have all faith, so as to move mountains, and even keep up with my giant piles of laundry and dishes, but do not have love, I am nothing, even if all the people at church think I’m Supermom.

And if I give all my possessions to feed the poor, and my formal dining room gets turned into a schoolroom, and our family vacations look more like educational fieldtrips, and if I surrender my body to be burned, never having time to get my nails done, put makeup on, or even take a bath, but do not have love, it profits me nothing because all my family cares about is the expression on my face, anyway.

Love is patient with the child who still can’t get double-digit subtraction with borrowing, and kind to the one who hasn’t turned in his research paper. It is not jealous of moms with more, fewer, neater, more self-directed, better-behaved, or smarter children.

Love does not brag about homemade bread, book lists, or scholarships, and is not arrogant about her lifestyle or curriculum choices. It does not act unbecomingly or correct the children in front of their friends. It does not seek its own, trying to squeeze in alone time when someone still needs help; it is not provoked when interrupted for the nineteenth time by a child, the phone, the doorbell, or the dog; does not take into account a wrong suffered, even when no one compliments the dinner that took hours to make or the house that took so long to clean.

Love does not rejoice in unrighteousness or pointing out everyone else’s flaws, but rejoices with the truth and with every small step her children take in becoming more like Jesus, knowing it’s only by the grace of God when that occurs.

Love bears all things even while running on no sleep; believes all things, especially God’s promise to indwell and empower her; hopes all things, such as that she’ll actually complete the English curriculum this year and the kids will eventually graduate; endures all things, even questioning from strangers, worried relatives, and most of all, herself.

Love never fails. And neither will she. As long as she never, never, never gives up.

Misty Krasawski is the overly-blessed mom of eight children whom she homeschools in sunshine-y Florida. She has been clinging to Jesus since 1975, homeschooling since 1997, and if the Lord tarries, will apparently continue doing so until 2026. Her wonderful husband Rob has much treasure laid up for him in heaven.

- From the September 2010 ENOCH newsletter

I am not perfect

Recently my 4 year old daughter has been complaining, "You never play with me. You only play with my brother." Cut to the heart, I have done everything I can to spend more time with her, take her places where she can thrive, make sure she has plenty of attention... Today was a good day. Or so I thought until I tucked her into bed. "Mommy, I'm a little sad," she suddenly said, her eyes unconsciously getting a little bigger and sadder. "What's wrong?" I asked. And here it was again, "You never play with me. You don't take care of me. You only take care of my brother." Really? REALLY???? After saying everything I could, I left the room in despair.

And I instantly started recounting everything I have done for this child. I gave up a very promising career for her. I nursed her until she was 3. I hardly slept for 2 and a half years, kicked and poked and pushed, so that she could feel close to mommy all night. I poured myself into her developmentally. And I do nothing all day but take her to playgrounds, mommy and me classes, feed her, dress her, bathe her, brush her teeth... The laundry needs to be done, the dishes are in the sink, my dissertation needs to be written, the church needs volunteers, and yet I so love her that I think of almost nothing but how I can be a better mom for her and her brother, and I pour, pour, pour all that I am into them, endlessly, falling down exhausted at the end of the day... And THIS is what I get??? Arggghhhhhhh!!!!!!

I could hardly pray, I was in such despair over my apparent inability to give her what she needs from me. But after a long time of sitting and thinking through my list of unappreciated, heroic motherly deeds, I opened a book I'm reading on the cross. And I came face-to-face with another list, a list I can hardly bear to face.

Because, to be honest, this morning I lost my tempter with my daughter, because I was so annoyed by her whining over not wanting me to brush her hair. I yelled. I shook my finger in her face. I made her feel as bad as I felt at that moment. At the playground I was still frustrated, and I ignored her for about 5 full minutes. We got over it, but it isn't like that didn't happen. And it isn't like I've never said hurtful things to her before today. :-( Truth be told, I am not a perfect mom, as much I want to be. In fact, as my deep maternal love has driven me to push and push and push at the limits of my humanity, I have actually hit the walls beyond which I cannot go and despaired that I am not divine. I am nowhere close. I cannot be everywhere at once. I cannot be endlessly energetic. I cannot eradicate annoyance and frustration and the temptations they provoke in me. And worse of all, I do not seem to be able to completely avoid sin.

As I read my book, I realized that no matter how hard I work, no matter what I try, as a human there WILL be a list that my daughter will be able to write against me, should she choose. And my good efforts and works will not mean that the list isn't true. But I also saw the smile of God, the one who, when he saw that list of my yelling, my demeaning words, my hurtful thoughts, my bad attitudes - he nailed that list into his own flesh and covered it with his blood until it could no longer be read. And in so doing, he made forgiveness - real forgiveness, not the type that says, "You didn't really hurt me," but that faces truthfully, "Yes, you hurt me terribly..." - possible. Possible even between me and my deeply, deeply beloved daughter.

Building a nest

I have lived in parsonages my whole life. My dad was a United Methodist pastor, and when I was 6 years old, I was living in my family's 4th house. We didn't move again until I was 15, and when we left that childhood house I felt like part of me was being ripped away. Over the course of the next 15 years I lived in countless places - my parents' new house, college dorm rooms and apartments, grad school apartment, newly married basement home, my husband's and myself's new apartment, my husband's first, second, and third parsonage... I've lost track of how many times I've moved in my life. I've struggled to remember my own current phone number and zip code! Now I have children. I long to give them stability. I long for them have a place - any place - that remains constant. I know I am so blessed, and I see God meet our needs miraculously all the time! And yet I still long for a place... A place where we have memories of my kids as babies, as toddlers, as young children... A place where I do not constantly have it in mind that we are probably just going to leave the friends we make here in just a few years... A place where I can, like a mother bird, build a safe, stable, and secure nest for my little ones to thrive.

Yesterday the gentle hand of God arranged my life so that I happened to read Ps 84. I read in verse 3, "Even the sparrow finds a home, and the swallow a nest for herself, where she may lay her young, at your altars, O LORD of hosts, my King and my God. Happy are those who live in your house, ever singing your praise..."

As often as I have read that Psalm, I had never noticed that verse. I guess I had never needed it like I do at this moment. The gentle voice of God spoke to me. There is no safer, more stable, more secure place for my children than before his altar. It is through worshipping Him that I build such a nest for my kids.

And this is a nest that they will have access to forever, to which they can always go no matter where they are, no matter how barren their current location might be at any moment in life (84:6-7: "As they go through the valley of Baca they make it a place of springs; the early rain also covers it with pools. They go from strength to strength..."). There is no greater inheritance I could possibly give them. The truthfulness of this is proven by my own life. My parents built the nest for me in this way, and now, far from them, hundreds of miles from anything that is familiar, at a church that has been difficult for my husband, feeling dry and barren and exhausted, for no apparent reason the springs of life flow within me as I pray and read his Word. I do not need to have had a single, stable home as a child for this to be so. I need to have had genuine, godly love and discipleship, and that I had in abundance. How very blessed I have been!

As I have sung many times, "One day in your courts is better than a thousand elsewhere" (84:10). There is no better path than the one marked for me and my family by the One who loves us most. And I trust that it is so: "No good thing does the LORD withhold from those who walk uprightly." (84:11b)

Awaiting Death

There is something strange about knowing that you are about to die.  I don't have a terminal disease or anything.  Quite the opposite - I am nine months pregnant and about to give birth.  It could be tonight.  

My midwife is also a nurse in the maternity ward at the hospital, and she told me the story of a fellow nurse who had given birth naturally without pain medication.  That nurse had told her, "I thought I was going to die."  My midwife replied, "Yeah, I know - all women think that in labor.  They all think, 'I can't do this,' and 'I am going to die.'"  The nurse said, "No, really.  I really thought I was going to die."  To which the midwife replied, "All women really think they are going to die." 

The other night I had a pain in my gut that I remembered from when I gave birth to my first child.  "Oh no," I thought, "It's about to start."  It turned out to be nothing and quickly went away.  But in that moment the dread of what was coming seized me.  I am going to do this without pain medication.  "I'm such an idiot," I thought to myself.  "Who in their right mind would do this?"  And I had to get back in touch with the reasons I have chosen this path.  

I think we are suppose to die in childbirth.  I think there is something about the pain that really kills a part of us.  Biologically and hormonally, the brain is reworked.  All defenses are stripped away by the pain and there is nothing left to do but choose to embrace suffering to the point of death for the sake of another's creation.  I think this a gift from God.  I think it is a wise way of remaking a person into his image.  After all, embracing suffering to the point of death for another's sake is exactly what he did for us.  And it is exactly what he calls all of us - both men and women, clergy and laity - to do for the world.  

The God I know in Christ is not a monster who thrusts punishments at people vindictively.  "Eve, you sinned and so now - ha ha ha - I'm going to have women suffer in childbirth!!!"  No, the consequences from God found in Scripture tend to ultimately reach toward the goal of redemption, of creating new life well.  God is on the side of life, not destruction.  He is on the side of being in relationship with us, not of pushing us further away.  Of making us back into his image, not of contorting us further.  God's decision for pain in childbirth when sin enters the world is for good, not for evil.

There is an African proverb that two births take place at the birth of a child - the birth of the baby and the birth of the mother.  To be born as a mother, I can no longer live the life I lived before the baby entered the world.  In that sense, I really have to die.  And so I await this death.  It will happen any day.  I am a little scared, a little overwhelmed.  But then I look at Jesus.  His arms are opened wide, to the point of death for me.  He has walked this path, he knows the way through, and he will be with me.  I am so glad he loves me, and I pray that I will become one who models this great act of love well.  God help me.

(Note:  There is no escaping this.  I have spoken with many women who had C-sections, and they all say the same thing - recovery was horribly painful.  Apparently, because the uterus has to contract to recover from the pregnancy, women experience the contractions following the surgery, and beg for more and more pain medication.  One lady who had the C-section commented, "You either go through the pain during labor or afterwards.  It's not like you can get away from it."  I didn't have a C-section with my first child, but I did use an epidural and had an enormous episiotomy.  I remember the weeks following the birth as difficult and painful as I recovered. In contrast, women who give birth without pain medication have very little recovery time - like, a couple of hours until they feel like themselves again.  I think my friend was right - even in our high tech society, there is no escaping the pain of childbirth.   

Does patience exist?

Chesterton makes the observation that single virtues, when separated from all the others, are as unhelpful and mad as vices.  For example, truthfulness without charity and patience can run violent.  Likewise, charity without truthfulness and patience is a failure to love sincerely and well. I remember studying the fruit of the Spirit, and one Bible study writer noted it is the fruit (singular) not fruits (plural).  At the time I thought the distinction was probably irrelevant, but in light of Chesterton's comment I am inclined to rethink my position.  It makes sense that the life that is born from the Holy Spirit is one that reflects God's nature more and more, and this reflected nature, which is one, has many characteristics.  

As a mom, I often make resolutions, like "Today I am going to be more patient if my daughter takes forever to go to sleep," or "Today I am going to take great joy in the work God has given me."  But at best I am generally only able to conjure up the patience or joy or whatever for about 15 minute spurts, if that long.  This is sometimes the case even on days when I've had a really great prayer time.  

I wonder if part of the problem is that things like patience or joy simply are not entities to be had.  I cannot get more patience without also growing in truthfulness and kindness and hope, because patience in itself does not exist.  The Holy Spirit is the entity that exists - the Holy Spirit is the one to be "had" - and these are characteristics of that Spirit.  And so instead of hoping and praying for more peace or kindness or self-control or name the prayer, I'm thinking it would be more effective to focus upon praying for and submitting to more and more of God's Spirit.

Knowing God

I use to be able to do a lot of things I can't do anymore now that I'm a mom.  I use to lead Bible studies and clean up the church.  I use to spend hours upon hours studying Scripture daily.  I even spent years working on graduate degrees in order to eventually reach thousands of students with deeper and fuller knowledge of the Word of God and thus touch the world in a hopefully profound way for Christ.  Now when I think about all that is not getting done, I feel torn.  All these things I did - they were really good things.  It is scandalous to think that one little baby could be more important than all those people I could be reaching.  But every so often God gently touches me with the truth that my love for this baby is the outcome of living into His image.  Today the message came to me in an unfamiliar hymn I stumbled upon.  It's speaking about Jesus, but I see in it my life as I live the life of a mother, as well:

Open are the gifts of God, gifts of love to mind and sense; 

hidden is love's agony, love's endeavor, love's expense.

Love that gives, gives evermore, gives with zeal, with eager hands;

spares not, keeps not, all outpours, ventures all, its all expends.

Drained is love in making full, bound in setting others free,

poor in making many rich, weak in giving power to be.

Therefore he who shows us God helpless hangs upon the tree,

and the nails and crown of thorns tell of what God's love must be.

(UMH 194, verses 2-5)