mothering labels

How do you define yourself?

There are a million different ways people define themselves to others and to themselves. Profession, address, family, religion, education. All of these can play a part in defining us. In the realm of motherhood, it does not seem enough to define oneself simply as mother. Cute t-shirts with slogans such as "I get my milk from Mum - not just any old moo!" proclaim the proud Breastfeeding Mums. You can buy decals for your car to advertise that the travellers within enjoy a family bed - the Co-sleeping Mum. Ezzo Mothers press their copy of Babywise on you and sing the praises of routine. Attachment Mums adjust their sling and suggest routines starve children of love and affection. Homeschooling Mums speak about schools as state sanctioned child abuse while P&F Mums bake madly for the next bake sale to raise funds for the library and well up with tears as their child plays a tree in the school concert - thriving in the community of school. Don't even start on vaccination, circumcision, home birth and elective c-sections. The millitant on all sides sure that their way is the best way.

And then the battle lines start.

And that's where I START to have problems with the way we define, or label, our mothering.

Call me a little odd, but I feel that as mothers we need to be comrades rather than enemies. Honestly, the truest desire of each mother is to do the best she can for her child or children. Isn't it? Different education, cultural cues, histories, values, desires and personalities mean that how "doing the best we can" for our children looks is different for each of us. Yet our labels, our definitions, are so often a source of pain and distress. And they can also impair our ability to mother effectively.

Here are some of the problems that I have with parenting labels.

Reducing our parenting to labels, can reduce our parenting to formulas. When my friends who are first time parents call me for advice they often come away frustrated. They want an answer to a question like "How do I get my baby to sleep?". They want formulas. They want me to say "Do XYZ and your baby will sleep through the night in approximately one week". Here's the rub. I can't do that. I can say about a dozen different things that have worked but for me but I cannot garantee that any of them will work for that particular baby. Because babies aren't machines, they are people. Some brave people have put down what works for them in raising children into writing which has helped many, many people. However, almost invariably, their words hae been twisted, misinterpreted, abused and over simplified. At times, to disasterous effect. Children are people, not machines. Life is LIFE, not an exam where we get each answer right or wrong. There is no cheat sheet. Following the "rules" of a certain movement, childraising expert or parenting style will not ensure your mothering turns our right.

Which brings me to my second point.

Clinging on to labels can prevent us from clinging on to Jesus. We don't want to fail at this parenting caper. The stakes are too high. So that sentence I just said 'Following the "rules" of a certain movement, childraising expert or parenting style will not ensure your mothering turns our right.' is liable to scare the crappers out of us. The natural question that follows is what WILL ensure our mothering turns out right? Here's the really scary answer...Nothing. We can do everything right, we can raise our children in the way they should go, we can do every single thing in our power to lead them to Christ but the truth of the matter is our child's relationship with God is just that, THEIR relationship with God. Now I have about a million different things that I do in order to raise my children in a way that encourages them to know God and I strive to learn more of how I can raise them well but this knowledge that the decision to follow Christ is theirs and theirs alone drives me to my knees in prayer - which, as a mother, is exactly where I should be. Rather than totally relying on a label or movement or expert or ANYTHING, perhaps we need to rely on God alone. After that, take what's helpful and loose the rest.

Hiding behind labels can make us judge others. Through fear, we start to judge others. We see a child throwing a tantrum in the supermarket and think "Hmm, someone needs to set better limits/ensure their child gets more rest/cut down on their sugar intake/fill in other blank". A mother confides her exhaustion after a sleepless night and we think "well, if she would just co-sleep/control cry/get a better routine/fill in the other blank she would get more sleep". We hear about tragedy striking another family - a child making horrible choices, a child being diagnosed autistic, a child suffering abuse at the hands of a family friend. Nodding sagely we comfort ourselves that it could never happen in OUR home. That only happens to families who don't homeschool, who immunise, who allow others to babysit. Fear that what happened to them could happen to us drives us in to the shell of labels and formulas. Superiority replaces humility and compassion. There is nothing wrong with offering advice - especially if it is asked for. There is something wrong with thinking that we have all the answers. There is something wrong with sitting in judgement over hurting parents.

Being focussed on our labels and self-definitions rather than people can lessen our ability to minister to others. I have a friend who I have known for years. This good friend is passionate about her beliefs and convictions - which is one of the things I love about her. A while ago, this friend was convicted that circumcision of infant boys was wrong. Several times a week links to anti-circumcision articles and clips would appear on her Facebook feed. Almost every time I logged on, I would be confronted with lists of reasons why circumcision was wrong and links to graphic video of circumcision. Personally, my sons are not circumcised. We have many reasons for this, which I am happy to discuss with anyone interested, but it got to the point that I was frustrated and annoyed by the confronting nature of the links so I did what I suspect most people do in that type of situation - I hid her Facebook feed! The language used in many of these articles was accusitory and provocative and I, who shared the conviction, was completely turned off from any information they may have contained. Language which deliberately provokes or accuses will not help other parents learn anything useful from us. Language which supports, uplifts, empathises and encourages is the type of language which should be exchanged between mothers.

An "us and them" mentality can alienate others and limit us. If a course of action you have chosen as a parent is at all countercultural you probably have encountered criticism and opposition. One way people who have experienced this show support to one another is to band together. You can find a web forum or online support group for pretty much any choice you make as a parent. There are playgroups, clubs and organisations supporting every lifestyle and parenting choice out there. There is nothing wrong with this, until exclusionary or judgemental statements and jargon becomes a part of our every day vocabulary and all our friends look exactly like us in philosophy and practise.


Defining or labeling ourselves in a certain way can stop us from being flexable. I homeschool my children and I love it. It makes me happy, it works for our family and it is, at present, the best choice for our family. If, tomorrow, God tells me to put my kids in school - I will. And it will not change who I am as a mother. It will just give me less excuses to avoid housework! I believe the safest and best place for my family is where God wants us to be. I don't co-sleep with my kids other than in cases of illness or bad dreams. It simply doesn't work for me. I don't sleep well with babies or kids in my bed and my Beloved and I enjoy our quiet, personal time together kid free. However, if this changes one day, it will not rock my world as a mother. It will not change my definition of myself. Because while I am a mother who homeschools, I am not a Homeschooling Mum. I am a mother who chooses not to co-sleep, not an anti-co-sleeping Mum.


I have learned over the years that I only need one label, one definition, for my motherhood and myself, and it is Saved. And I think the sonner we learn that, the sooner we will be able to support each other as sisters in Christ rather than drawing battle lines on the playground.

What are you getting Jesus for His birthday?

And the King will tell them, `I assure you, when you did it to one of the least of these my brothers and sisters, you were doing it to me!' Matt. 25:40


Perhaps take a look at these Gift Lists for ideas

ADRA
Samaritan's Purse
Gospel For Asia
World Vision
Partners International

Do you ever have one of those times....

...where you just want to yell "unfair to snails!"




That probably won't mean anything to those of you who DIDN'T grow up watching Mr Squiggle on ABC, but those who did should understand instantly.

Gus was a puppet snail who had a rather over inflated sense of self and a persecution complex. Any time anything didn't go his way he would wail "Unfair to snails!!"

I kinda feel like that at the moment.

For starters:

It has been unseasonably hot. I don't like heat, it makes me cranky at the best of times.

Our water bill has gone up 300% due entirely to a state government let's-mess-around-with-people's-lives spree which also hiked up our power bill significantly. Cranky.

Our new (to us) Suburban dumped it's oil on the highway the other day because a little clip fell off a little hose. Fortunately no long term damage, but our most expensive purchase EVER aside from our house which we saved and scrimped and sacrificed for and bought without a loan or anything is now a very expensive paperweight in the driveway until we get a new little clip thingy. CRANKY!

Then:

There is the little matter of birth choices and human rights being stripped away from women by our current administration which I will just leave there because if I get going there is a whole BLOG in that one. VERY, VERY, CRANKY!

In fact, I think I should just stay away from the news until we have finished the next elections. Unless of course they get voted in again, if that happens I may have to immigrate. Our current government does not do much for the cranky factor at all.

All in all, I am finding it difficult not to stomp about seething at the unfairness of it all. I mean, why ME?

Of course, I KNOW it isn't all just to persecute me (well, most of it isn't just to persecute me, I have a feeling the current government is...)and I KNOW that for every slight I have a million blessings to count, but if anyone were to remind me of this right at this moment, I would pull their bottom lip over their head and cheerfully instruct them to swallow. I'm Cranky.

SO

I can pretend not to be cranky. Paste on a smile and a falsely cheerful voice and talk a lot about my blessings.

OR

I can be cranky. Seethe with anger. Snap surly comments at random people and my family. Have no patience or kindness because the crankyness eats patience and kindness for breakfast. I can reason that this is me and well, I have to be honest and I have to be me because that is me and, well, there's a Disney movie somewhere that told me I should be me I'm sure. And my loved ones? They just have to put up with it and love me and not require anything from me that I am not willing to give 'cause I'm a PERSON and I have RIGHTS. I think there's a chick flick that I can use to back that one up somewhere? Philosophy and human rights celluloid style!

OR PERHAPS

I can take this to His feet. Tell Him how ticked off I am. Use all sorts of useful descriptive language that my children will NEVER hear me use while I am telling Him if I need to. Because it is real. The crankiness. However unjustified and self involved, it's real. And I need to get real with Jesus so He can take me and make me whole. I can tell him honestly I DON'T want to be this way. Righteous anger I can burn with, but the crankiness is not befitting of one of my status. A mother, a wife, a princess. Daughter of the King. I need to put it at His feet, and when I discover it dogging my steps like an unloved stray I need to take it back and give it to Him all over again.

And then I can be a princess rather than a snail with a TV for a shell with a flower pot on top.

High Expectations or Great Expectations?

I have all these expectations of myself.

I want to be the super Mum, the brilliant cook, the sexy wife, the inspiring educator, the awesome writer, the fantastic gardener. I don't want to be an adequate mother, wife, daughter, sister, friend, homemaker, writer etc. I want to be INCREDIBLE, AMAZING, AWE INSPIRING.

Surely this is not too much to ask?

So I start the day with my high expectations. TODAY I will get the house spotless, I will impart great wisdom and knowledge, I will cook yummy meals, I will discipline and get my kids to behave, I WILL.

Except I don't.

I don't meet these high expectations of myself.

There are those who will say that I am expecting too much. That it is more than one woman can ever do. That I need to reduce my expectations, relax, have a little "me" time and make my husband take up some of the slack.

There is something about that advice that sits wrong with me, like a curry reheated one too many times.

Surely I can be brilliant, fantastic, awesome, AMAZING?!

I feel like I kinda am deep down inside. After all, deep down inside I am a princess, daughter of a Royal Heritage that goes back to Eden and Beyond. I am the recipient of The Gift. If I lack the potential to be something awe inspiring, if I do not have the potential to have the Glory of God Himself flow through my fingertips, why on earth was the sacrifice made for me? God loves me and He wants to make me something Amazing. No, not make something Amazing FOR me. He wants to make ME something AMAZING.

So kicking back, passing the buck and settling for mediocre?

It doesn't sit right.

So I am trading up.

I am swapping my High Expectations for GREAT Expectations.

I expect that today I will:

Worship. With my family and on my own. From my heart here in my home I will sing Glory, Glory, Glory to the Lord God Almighty Who Is and Was and Is To Come. And my voice will meld with that of the Angels in the Throne Room.

Love. With my whole heart, with no safety net, free fall style I will love those who God has put in my way to love. This is my Heritage because I am a daughter of one Who Is Love.

Serve. I will wrap the towel around my waist as Christ did at the Last Supper. I will make a home for my husband that is as comfortable and relaxing as I can possibly make it today. I will feed my children the best food I can put together to help their bodies grow strong and I will discipline them to make their hearts grow strong. I will do the dirty work of home maker with the heart of a servant, with a view to becoming more like THE Servant.

Rejoice. I will rejoice in the Lord Always and again, I will REJOICE. I will find joy in each day and will Bless the Lord because of it. I will laugh. I will sing. I will smile. I will rejoice.

And somehow, all this looks so much more achievable.

Why do I have a small house?

Why on earth did I move from a big, four-bedroom-with-a-massive-sleep-out-walk-in-pantry-kitchen-you-could-turn-cartwheels-in house

to a

three-bedroom-but-only-two-with-internal-walls-pint-sized-living-area-with-a-kitchen-that-would-fit-in-a-caravan house?

WITH our fourth baby on the way.

I know the answers to this question, and they are many, but the biggest one is this:

I asked God to make me a better housekeeper.

I did it, nobody else, it wasn't imposed on me, I voluntarily prayed that God would teach me to keep house better. You think I would have learned, the last time I asked God to teach me to have a quiet voice with the kids, I woke up with laryngitis! True story, you gotta love an All Powerful Deity with a quirky sense of humor!

So He bought me here, where I HAVE to deal with the mess because I can't get away from it! Where I HAVE to put all my lovely homemaking theories into practise CONSISTENTLY. And, kicking and screaming, wailing and gnashing my teeth, I have been slowly getting the hang of it. I am not saying I HAVE the hang of it yet, there are a lifetime of bad habits and my inner-toddler that screams "I DON'T WANNA" every time I go to clean, but I am GETTING the hang of it.

In spite of me, He answers my prayers.

What a good and merciful God He is, praise Him!

Praise Him in the midst of nappies and dust, Praise Him when the crawler eats something she shouldn't, Praise Him when I have to don protective clothing before entering the kitchen, Praise Him when visitors arrive and it looks like a bomb has exploded around me while I am making Googly Alien Eyes in the middle of the loungeroom with the kids.

Praise Him, because He is Changing Me.

Little by little, every day, little by little in every way, Jesus is Changing Me.

Two Girly links

for those with daughters....

A fantastic blog post about Princesses

Growing in Grace, a magazine for Godly young ladies

Hard work or hard labour?

If you listen to a bunch of passionate hikers discussing what they love, you will hear: remedies for blisters, preventative techniques for leeches, ways to dry your wet socks before the next day's hike in the pouring rain, ways to prevent hypothermia or frost bite, ways to make a semi-decent meal over a butane stove with dehydrated ingredients, reminiscences of times they ended up waist deep in mud, got their pack soaked through and had to sleep in a damp sleeping bag, the time someone turned an ankle and had to be air lifted out of a remote area.

And you'd think - Why?

Why do you do that to yourself when you could be home, safe and dry?

It is rare you hear them discuss in detail the good they see. Mostly, because there are no words. You can sketch out verbally the sunset you saw over the mountains or the rare orchard you saw or the feelings of triumph after a long walk - you can even show photos - but there is no way to recreate the feelings it inspires. A fellow hiker can, with a few words, be inspired to remember their own experiences and guess how you felt, but those who don't love it, will never understand. Those who don't understand, can never FEEL it. And those who do understand, need few words.

So you hear about the aches and pains, the insects and parasites, the blisters and wounds.

So it is with motherhood.

Those who don't understand will never understand, those who do, need few words.

I was talking to a friend the other day and she shared with me about a Catholic mother she knew who did not love having children. When she hit menopause after her six children were born, she cried out in relief, with not a little bitterness to her tone. And I thought, what is the difference between her and me.

Then I realised, I do hard work, she was sentenced to hard labour.

I am Sir Edmund Hillary mounting the summit.

She was a prisoner on a forced march.

I am a sculptor creating a thing of beauty, forgetting to eat and sleep because I am so entranced.

She was a slave breaking rocks in a quarry, denied food and rest.

I LOVE what I do and do what I LOVE.

People aren't shy about telling you how busy you are when you have many small children. "You've got your hands full" "My, you must be busy!" "Gosh, how do you cope?"

I have been painted as a victim of my own choices, trapped with no escape. I have been depicted as a martyr or superwoman.

I am none of those, I am me. Artist, hiker, mountaineer, MOTHER. There is no way I can find the words to make them understand unless they do already. I could no more describe a mountain to a fish or a the deeps to an eagle.

But I know this much, I am blessed beyond words.

And I thank the Lord for it.

A clip

I thought this was a beautifully presented truth.

Food for thought

Food for thought - and a giggle

Are your lights shining in September?

The end is nigh...

A couple of weeks ago I sat down with Beloved and told him

"honey, I can see the end of my rope. It isn't here, YET, but it is coming. I am exhausted, physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually. I am spent. In order to keep me out of the loony bin, we need to do something. I need some head space to do some thinking and praying and reading and I need a block of time to get stuff done. I am tired in every way and I can see a time coming when I just won't be able to deal anymore"

Now this is really, really, really grown up of me because my usual M.O. is to drag myself along smiling happily (scarily?) insisting that I am FINE until I totally hit a wall when I will just squirrel myself away by reading lots and lots or writing lots and lots or spending FAR too much time online until I get it together enough to resurface - by which time children are starting to stick to the floor and Beloved's polite inquiries after clean underwear have been replaced by him just going and buying more underwear.

The approach of the end of my rope has been precipitated by many things I guess. The insanity of the last move, renovations (which, if you read my blog at all regularly, you will know I do NOT love). Beloved's gut playing up more and more over the last two years, finally giving us enough of a scare the other week when he started vomiting blood to get a referral to a specialist. The fact that it has been raining for about, oh, three months now WITHOUT snow on my mountain (looking at the snow on my mountain through rainbows got me through last winter with the move). The feeling of complete and utter defeat where all things domestic are concerned has been another factor. Someone told me once to lower my expectations when I have so many littlies so I have, but honestly, if they were any lower my house would be seized by the UN as a biological weapon of mass destruction. Seriously, how low can they get. There was a "baby vomiting up a foreign object" incident the other week that we shan't speak of except to say that Anna now has a nice, SAFE, playpen set up and Erin has one less hair ribbon. Who knew a baby COULD swallow a 15cm long HAIR RIBBON??????

The feeling of achieving so little gets to me some days. I achieve maybe five things a day. Usually (but not always) involving putting on clothes (On a good day, before 11am!), having songs and prayers, reading to the kids, feeding the family and sometimes even showering. How sad is it when personal hygiene becomes a goal in life? Honestly.

And solitude.

I miss solitude.

Alone time was my personal special treat when I was living in the dorms at college. I would go to a library and find myself a little nest to read for hours. I'd take myself out to dinner and a movie. I'd go for walks and runs that lasted for hours and hours. Over the last few months I have been getting up at the same time as the kids, or moments before, going all day, then once the kids were in bed I still had Beloved with me (usually in the same room as our house is the size of a postage stamp) until we went to bed (usually far too late) and I fell asleep - waiting to do it all again the next day. Seeing as our only toilet is in the same room as the shower I would be lucky to even get a decent amount of alone time in there. Sending the kids outside without me is not really an option at the moment either as the yard is not properly fenced and, well, there was a little incident concerning a certain almost-two-year-old and an extremely busy road with LOG TRUCKS that means he is rarely out of my eye line anymore. I got a tickly throat the other week and prayed fervently that I would get sick enough to require Jon staying home to take care of things while I lay in bed and read a book. Yes people, I prayed I would get sick. FYI, God said No.

Yes, I am probably whinging here and whining and carrying on. But I am not intending to, I am just trying to be honest about where I am and how I got here.

I am not a big believer in "ME time". I honestly believe that going out lots without the kids/hubby with girlfriends or spending hours and hours on social networking sites, using chat, in the blog-sphere and contributing to internet forums, USUALLY, does not make for a contented Mama/wife. It often involves playing "who has the worst behaved kids, least affectionate hubby, most demands in their life" game or a competition on who has it the most together - a competition which everyone looses. I have known women who spend three or four hours a day on PARENTING FORUMS, putting their kids in childcare in order to get a break from them and more time to spend on parenting forums. Is it just me or is there something wrong with this picture? Too often, rather than filling up a person and encouraging them to do their job as wife and mother, "me time" is simply an exercise in discontentment and escapism. So often "me time" becomes an "out" from our real lives rather than a time of infilling that equips us to live our lives well. To have LIFE and live it ABUNDANTLY.

But I gotta be honest, life hasn't been that abundant over the last couple of months. There have been treading water moments. Treading water days and weeks actually.

Which brings us back to where we began.

It was a big thing for me to admit to Beloved that I was struggling. I am hard wired not to admit weakness and not to ask for help - certainly not from people I love. Why? Because I am all to familiar with the soul-decimating experience of asking for help and support and having it not arrive, or even worse, being accused of being "too needy", "spoiled", "asking for too much", of having my needs or pain belittled or dismissed, of being quietly labeled as not hurting enough to need help and sent to the back of the cue while I quietly try not to bleed on anyone's shoes. So yeah, BIG THING.

And he stepped up.

"What can I do to help? How can I support you, love you, better? You mean the world to me and you have been there so much for me lately, I will bring you the moon and go back for the stars if you need me too."

What a guy.

So here's what we are doing.

Each morning our alarms AND TV come on at 5:30am (yes, we need ALL of those to wake us up). I sit up and (blearily) read our morning Bible reading. Then I stumble out of bed and go for a walk. That's HALF AN HOUR of SOLITUDE. My time in the wilderness for prayer. A time to take a drink of living water. Head space. A time to think thoughts and thread them on a string like beads without having them jostled and spilled by the needs of a little person. Then I come back home and jump start the day before the kids wake up. Each night we are in bed by 10pm (or just after) at the latest. Beloved reads our evening reading and we snuggle down for sleep together.

And just now, I kissed him and the older two kids good bye. They have gone away for a weekend with my In-laws. The babies are asleep and I have blogged my little heart out. I have grand plans of cleaning and ordering and organising WITHOUT any little people help!

Then when they come home, I can welcome them with open arms.

And it isn't be so hard to remind myself that the little, beaming, faces that beg to help stir the pancake batter - are my presents from God, my jewels, my investment. That the screaming children who are hurling abuse at each other, are mine to shepherd and teach and correct and THAT is a PRIVELEDGE of which I am unworthy. That the little girl who stumbles, beaming, through her reader will one day, all too soon, read to her own babies. That the tender little boy playing with his dead bee, will most likely become tall and strong enough to sweep me off my feet - literally - then go off to sweep some other woman of her feet. That the chubby terror who makes my heart skip beats on a regular basis will all too soon launch off from this place to reach his stars, climb his mountains, and battle mighty foes. That the dainty miss who grumps through yet another tooth and submits to being dressed up by her big sister with giggles and coos, will one day step into a car, start it up and drive away.

And it isn't so hard to remind myself that the man who keeps bothering me about renovating decisions and paint colours is building me a home. The man who wants me to watch a movie with him is my friend who enjoys my company. The man who cuddles up to me at night, chose to spend his life with me - and still makes that choice every day.

And it isn't so hard to remind myself, I am blessed.

Let the mother

Let the mother of many celebrate her numbers
and glory in the ornaments which decorate her life.
Let her not be swayed by the scoffers,
nor riled by the ignorant.
Let compassion be her way
and humility guide her thinking.
Let her pin her badge of many blessings
to her breast and be known
for what the Lord God has called her to do.

Let the mother of some celebrate her bond
and relish the closeness that more time permits.
Let her not feel scorned by Leah or Hagar,
nor be jealous of their cup.
Let diligence be her walk
and contentment lift her prayers.
Let her perceive what is hers
and freely pursue wonderful things for the dear ones
that the Lord has entrusted to her care.

Let the mother of one celebrate her treasure
and delight to invest her whole self in this one.
Let her be convinced of the harvest to come
from this Isaac, this John.
Let fear be her beginning
and wisdom be her trail.
Let her seek the Lord
and proceed with awe in raising up for Him
this blessing so special as to demand her all.

Let the mother of none worship the Lord
and praise Him for drawing her close to His heart!
Let her rise up and look beyond her gate
and make her good works available to others.
Let trust in His plan be her sustenance
and service to His will be her drink.
Let her revere the gift He has given
that she should have liberty to love Him
with a love freer from distraction.

Composed by Grafted Branch of Restoring the Years

Thank God For Dirty Dishes

Of all the jobs around the house, dishes is the one I HATE with a passion. I would rather clean out the cat's litter, iron or vacuum any day. I am going to print out this poem and stick it up on my fridge!

Thank God for Dirty Dishes
Author Unknown

Thank God for dirty dishes;
They have a tale to tell.
While others may go hungry,
We're eating very well.
With home, health, and happiness,
I shouldn't want to fuss;
By the stack of evidence,
God's been very good to us.

A Thought

Moses and David watched sheep, Saul looked for mules, Gideon threshed wheat.
The mundane tasks of life are the tools God uses to shape heroes.

stand by me

Lord,

stand by me.

may I be your presence here on earth

standing by others.

but mostly Lord,

stand by me.

Amen

Yeah, I know.

My name is Jess, and I am a clip-a-holic.

Lazy blogging?

Perhaps.

but watch this.

please.

A challenge for each home schooling Mum

Choose a day when you are not schooling and watch one of your children closely.

Don't change what they are doing, or talk to them about what you are doing, just watch them.

Make a list (mentally or on paper) of all the 'educational' things they do and what they potentially learn from it.

For example:

Made bed (life skills, character values: responsibility, diligence)

played with lego with brother (maths, spatial reasoning, 3d sculpture, social skills)

bounced on trampoline playing pirates with sister (PE, kinesthetic activity, interpersonal relations, drama)

and on and on....


At the end of the day, look at the list.

Then relax and realise that your children are learning every day, even if you don't get all the 'educational stuff' done!

It's not the bad, but the good that traps me.

I don't spend hours on the 'net gambling, looking at internet porn, checking out how to make terrorist bombs. I don't get prescription drugs sent to my door to be consumed or fed to my children. I don't plunge myself in to debt shopping on e-bay and various other stores (tempting though it may be sometimes!) or engage in illicit affairs over chat.

I check out encouraging blogs, do Bible study, Blog myself, research homeschooling, find people who need praying for, keep in touch with family and friends, research home management techniques. All good things! But not great things.

Holding my babies is a great thing, talking to them, reading to them, teaching them, loving them. Keeping a welcoming and loving home for my family is a great thing. Talking to my husband is a great thing!

Good things are, well, good. Until they get in the way of great things.

I have known women who turned their children outside in the cold wearing grubby, days old clothing and nappies near hanging off the little ones - so they could clean house. I have known women who sent their children to another room for weeks on end to pretty much go feral while they researched homeschooling. I have known women who constantly refuse their husbands advances, or even requests for company and conversation, to finish crafts or construct a new home management book. All of these women took pride in being a submissive wife and loving mother and described it as a calling of God. The reality was much different though. The reality was frightening. Good drowning out the great, and becoming bad.

It shocks me how easy it can be to slide down that road.

So right now, I am going to put aside this good thing until tomorrow and help my daughter with her school work.

What great thing will you do today?

I'm getting soft

I was going to post about the kids today but it is going to have to wait. I popped over to visit Sarah's Covenant Homes today and watched the slide show that she just posted. And I bawled like a baby. Haven't cried like that for I don't know how long.

I'm getting soft.

Let me put it in context. This week in my Bible time I've been studying HOPE. Our HOPE. I was reading 1 Corinthians 15:35-58 where it talks about how this body here and now is just a seed. I saw these children whose bodies and minds are broken, and looked in their eyes and their smiles. For a moment it was like reading a seed packet, looking at the picture on the front and imagining spring! Through the ministry of the homes, this life is made much better for these children, but this life is just a glimpse. What is in store for these kids is what is REALLY important. And that is what made me weep, for the tragedy of it, for the joy of it.

I'm getting soft.

Growing up, I prided myself on NOT being soft. Seemingly surrounded by victims of abuse, I was determined not to allow myself to be in a position to be hurt or abused in any way. So even with those I loved best, there has always been a distance. You can love me, touch me, be with me, know me, affect me THIS much and no more. A safety margin I always maintained, even in my most intimate relationships. But over the past few years, this has started to change. Through events, circumstance and slow moving of the Holy Spirit on my heart, God has been slowly changing me. Prying my stiff fingers from the safety rail that I had constructed for myself - that safety rail attached only to air. He is changing me.

I'm getting soft.

It is a rush this new life that I am just beginning. It is like base jumping. Everything in me screams at me that I am going to splatter into a million pieces when I hit the bottom. My warning bells clamor in my ears, sirens try and alert me, "DANGER WILL ROBINSON, DANGER!!". But through it all, the still small voice that I am getting to know so well whispers "I am your parachute. Enjoy the view, let me take care of the landing."

I'm getting soft.

I can't help but wonder, is this what James was talking about when he said that pure religion was to keep oneself from being "polluted by the world" James 1:27? I refuse you world. I refuse to let you pollute me. I refuse to let the wounds you dealt me go septic and stop me from caring. I refuse to allow the pollution in others to stop me from caring about them. I refuse to recoil from the pain, sadness, needs, sickness, damage and disease in the hearts, minds and bodies of others. Especially those who love me most. And those who need me most. I refuse to be infected, stained, spattered by the filth and fear of this world by allowing it to make me too scared to love.

like I said,

I'm getting soft.

It's moments like these....

Do you know what my oldest son did today?

My gentle, lovely, peaceful Billy?

The one who is bullied and bitten by his younger brother sometimes?

The one who wouldn't hurt a fly, or if he did he'd be really really sorry and probably cry?

He threw his teddy bear AT MY HEAD!

Do you know why?

Because I told him to put the bear away for songs and prayers.

When I stopped seeing red and took appropriate disciplinary action and was again able to remember all the parenting proverbs that I know (don't take misbehavior personally, discipline is about THEM not YOU, think of it as a training opportunity!) I realised, this is why the Lord woke me up at 5am this morning for a little extra prayer time, He knew I'd need it!