What a Difference a Year {of rest} Makes

Exactly one year ago my days usually looked something like this:

Get kids out the door for school. Sit on the sofa for hours--sometimes writing, sometimes journaling, sometimes reading, sometimes dozing. I'd leave at 12:45 to pick up the youngest from preschool. I picked up the older two at 2:30. Because I'd spent most mornings doing nothing, I had a wee bit of energy to transition into mom mode, oversee the kids, and throw together something for dinner. It was not uncommon for me to doze off by 8:30, sleepily slurring words while reading Harry Potter to the kids. The bare minimum wore me out.

For months on end, my days were characterized by exhaustion and rest. My thoughts waffled between gratitude for the opportunity to just finally stop and recover, and guilt because I had nothing to show for my days. I wondered if I would ever feel normal again. I could hardly remember what normal was for me. 

But here's the thing about having nothing to give: "Nothing" is void of inertia. {I'm sure there is some law of physics that puts it way better.}

No amount of bootstrap-tugging or mantra-repeating can make it happen. On my better days I knew the futility of trying to make myself different than I was. I prayed and hoped that one day things would change and in the meantime, I received the grace to simply accept who I was: a tired, emotional mess. My job was to rest and heal. And so I did, some days better than others. {See? I even measure my rest as successful or not. Surely perfectionism is an illness.}

Yesterday was a day I couldn't have executed even a few months ago. I got up early to run, came home and readied the kids for school. Then my five-year-old and I took the dog to the vet for shots. The dog peed and pooped twice in Pet Smart just like she always does. And so I cleaned it up, just like I always do, all the while laughing at the ridiculous dirty work of my everyday. I held said dog during the shots while fielding 5,269 questions from my five-year-old and making sure he didn't collapse the folding examination table on his head. After that we went to Target, stopped for lunch, visited a thrift store, and browsed an antiques shop. I made phone calls, paid bills, talked with a neighbor, picked up kids, debriefed about their school days, fixed something new for dinner, and did at least three loads of laundry. By the time we finished our read-aloud time last night, I was tired. And I should have been. I packed a lot of stuff into the day.

A day like that would not have been possible last year. I would have been lucky to fit all of those tasks into one week, maybe even one month. It's crazy how great I felt about myself when I went to bed last night. And I mean crazy in a bad way. 

Because here's what I've learned. Productivity and "success" don't force one to wrestle with issues of grace and acceptance and weakness. On days like yesterday, I was my own motivator and savior. I relied on my trusty to-do list, boundless energy, and welcome creativity. 

I needed Jesus less...or so it seemed.

But the "loser days" and the "winner days" are actually shouting the same message: Girl, you need Jesus every day. On the exhausting days, you need him to save you from your circumstances and your inability. On the energetic days, you need him to save you from yourself and your ability.   

Both kinds of days point to my complete and utter dependance; productivity simply disguises the need a little more. 

I wouldn't say I'm back to "normal," whatever that is. But I am returning, slowly, to a place where I'm more functional. Rest looks a bit different now. Last year I rested out of complete necessity; this year rest will be more of a discipline. I am learning to practice time-outs even when my mind and body are telling me I can accomplish more. 

Yesterday my running partner and I were talking about where I was a year ago. I joked about how, for months on end, I had absolutely nothing to show for my days. She said, That's not true. All those days of rest are showing up now, this year. 

And that's the truth. Rest takes time. Its effects are cumulative and life-giving but it requires a patience which daily accomplishment doesn't mandate. Projects and checked-off to-do lists provide instant gratification. Rest makes you wait for it. I've learned this the hard, beautiful way and I wouldn't trade it for anything. 

After two days of productivity, I'm forcing myself to bask in the quiet this morning, to stay in my pajamas, to read and meditate and write, to acknowledge my need even though I don't feel it as acutely, physically and emotionally.  

Now that each and every day aren't plagued by utter inability, I oscillate between being Mary on a pensive Tuesday and Martha on a task-oriented Thursday. And though work and rest are needful rhythms in our lives, Jesus reminds us that only one thing is truly the main course: to sit at his feet, to rest in his presence, to know that his words are life-giving and that his perfect life is what gives us life. 

We fill up so that we can pour out. 

Sometimes we devote ourselves to rest for a season, a very long season if that's what it takes. Other times rest is a practice, a lifestyle of margin and weighing opportunity costs and tough prioritization. My husband is good to remind me that fruitfulness and productivity are often not the same thing. 

Maybe this year is one dedicated to rest for you. Maybe it's one of new opportunities and exciting projects. Maybe it's one of dealing with grief and debilitating transition. Our lives change but they're tenderly held by a God who doesn't. 

Whatever this next year holds, my hope for all of us is that God meets us right where we are to custom-fit each of us with exactly the kind of rest and renewal our bodies, minds and souls need, to fill us up so we can eventually pour our lives out in service to those around us. 

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And now a New Year's Prayer for all of us:

May your 2013 be one of wisdom and encouragement. Say "no" to that which is not fruitful. Say "yes" to fresh possibilities and brave new paths. Rest when you need it. Work when you have to. Be encouraged that all work is sacred, whether you're at home wiping bottoms or in an office filing papers. Accept the season in which you live, glamourous or not. Know that it's divinely appointed and therefore beautiful, even if it's a mess. If you feel invisible and unimportant, know that it's a lie. God sees you and keeps track of every last hair on your head. You matter and he loves you more than you can possibly comprehend. If you belong to him, you're royalty. Realize that God sees neediness and dependence as virtues, not disabilities. May his grace give you new eyes to see that He is strongest when you are weak. Amen.

Face to the Sun

Well over a year ago I began a slow spiral into complete exhaustion. In July of this year, I finally sought help from a doctor. Tests revealed that I had good reason to be in a state of total and utter fatigue. With medicine and rest, nutrition and vitamins, I've begun a gradual ascent into quasi-normalcy. We don't know how long it may take but I now have more good days than gutter days. 

No small miracle.

In this season of much to do, I squint my eyes and wish for every day to be a good one. This week began with a hearty to-do list and I hoped with all my might that the energy would man up and match the list. Yesterday, it did not. 

Despite an early-morning run, coffee, and a quiet house, no amount of willpower or wishing would make this body go. I yawned. I sat. I read. I stared out the window. I drank coffee. I tried to just go. I yawned some more. I prayed for strength. Nada. 

Discouraged and drained {though I had done nothing} I took the dog outside and sat in the sun. This mild, southeastern climate is my best friend right now. On a December noonday, I sat in my husband's Nike sweatshirt from college, closed my eyes, and let the warmth of the sun beat down on my face. I smiled. I breathed slow and long and deep. I prayed a little. I nearly fell asleep sitting upright in a patio chair.  

I've been reading Sarah Young's Jesus Calling devotional for a couple of years now. She talks a lot about the warmth and light and healing of Jesus' presence. Over time, I've begun to associate warm, radiant light with Jesus, particularly on winter days when the sun is such an unexpected and welcome gift.  

And so yesterday, in the midst of nothing to give, I simply lifted my tired face to sky and received the healing, comforting, love-lit warmth of Jesus while sitting in my driveway.  

Times like these have become a sort of communion, a means of grace to keep me going through the difficult days. In moments of stillness and clarity, I see the beauty in my neediness. For there are certain gifts, like Jesus in the noonday sun, that I would never have stopped to receive if the day had been the energy-filled, productive, Type-A day I so desired.

Today, we're unwrapping the gifts of the everyday over at Emily's {Chatting at the Sky.} And we'll be doing it each Tuesday of December. 

What can you unwrap? 

{from Emily} Anything that causes you to pause and celebrate the moment. Not what will be or what is to come, but what is real and true this day: the messy, the lovely, and the unexpected. Share a photo, a story, or anything that offers a glimpse into your own journey of discovering the gifts in the midst of the ordinary.

Join us?

For the Mom Who's Trying to Get Her Kids and Her Holidays Just Right

She started the list a week ago. Her delicate fingers gripped the brightly-colored pigma pens as she scrawled out her heart's desires on the lined pages of a polka-dotted notebook. Mommy, do you want to know what I have on my Christmas list so far? 

This mama's inner response was one of frustration and slight panic. Why is she only thinking of what she wants? My children are becoming products of American consumerism run amuck! How am I going to fix this?

I'm not sure what I said at first but within a few sentences I was waxing poetically about how we need to also be thinking about ways we can give and not just focus on what we want to receive. Like a heart surgeon, I wanted to jump right in and fix things. You know, take out the greed, replace it with selfless goodwill and sincere gratitude, stitch things right up and tada! A child who can celebrate the real meaning of the upcoming holidays because I, a righteous and intentional mother, have taught my children well.

As I type these words, I could just choke on the hypocrisy of it all. Not to mention the control, anxiety, and self-righteousness that goes along with it. 

I'm not sure that our foremothers stressed over the intentionality of the holidays and special occasions with their children the way we moderns do. They were not bombarded with Pinterest, blogs, an endless array of magazines, and HGTV segments. As commercialism and consumerism have skyrocketed, so has the "intentionality movement." {That's what I'm calling it.} 

Don't get my wrong, I long to be an intentional mother. My husband longs to be an intentional father.  We want our children to be full of thanksgiving not only this week but every day of the year. We want them to know something of sacrifice and generosity during the Christmas season and beyond. We want to incorporate traditions and practices that point our family to Christ instead of to the Toys 'R Us Big Book of Presents. 

And we can stress ourselves to death trying to do it. 

We can wallow in guilt when we don't live up to our expectations. 

We can consume ourselves with attempts to undo the consumerism. 

We can look at what other families are doing or not doing and feel like maybe they're getting it right and we're not. 

I don't have answers. I never have answers. But writing and sharing helps me process the tangled state of my heart and mind as I consider the unnecessary pressures and obligations of the holidays. Personally, I long to be reasonable and balanced in a way that fits the uniqueness of our family. 

I like pretty things and baking and crafts and sacred traditions. But if my family emulated every great and intentional idea we've ever seen, we'd be up to our ears in Advent calendar-ing and devotionals and cookie-baking in the shapes of Christmas symbols and doing lessons on the Christian history of Christmas and volunteering in homeless shelters and giving shoes, toys, clothing to the needy and buying goats for a family in Africa and making sure each child only gets 3 gifts because that's what Baby Jesus got from the wise men...

And I am so not even done. 

Those are all wonderful endeavors. You may do some of them. We do some of them as well. Do not misinterpret my condensed list of good things as cynicism, sarcasm, or apathy. It's because I care quite a lot about mothering well and modeling compassion that I stress and digress. 

We are called to give generously and to live sacrificially. Honoring traditions create lovely memories for our children that they may even want to honor with their own families one day. 

But we cannot do every good thing. 

We cannot change the hearts of our children even though we try like mad to do so by mandating certain behaviors or instituting various family practices.  

We cannot save the world. That's what Jesus came to do and is doing. I think the most lasting thing we can do with our families is to speak, love, and live every day in light of that Truth: Jesus came! To save the world! 

Gratitude for the truth and beauty of the Gospel inspires and enables me {and my family} to shine a light in the small, humble corner where we live. 

Dr. Tim Kimmell in his book, Grace-Based Parenting, says this about families:

God left our families in communities to serve as porch lights, if you will, for the lost people around us. We are to be the steady glow that helps them find their way out of the darkness. When families are committed to being this light, they are inclined to live more intimately with Christ. {And I would argue that the inverse is also true: When families live more intimately with Christ, they are supernaturally more committed to being this light.}  

... {Historically} Parents armed with little more than a vibrant relationship with God consistently served as the ideal springboard for great people. So something changed. We got scared. And I think that fear is what motivates so much of the Christian parenting advice we get. 

This excerpt was not written to address the issue of being intentional with our kids regarding the holidays, but his words nonetheless apply. 

We fear that we're not doing enough in our family and for others. We fear that our children won't be compassionate and generous if they're too excited about their own presents. We fear that they'll be lacking somehow if our own traditions are missing creativity and consistency.

When I'm motivated by fear, I tend to control and manipulate. Things become contrived instead of sincere, forced instead of free-flowing. It's ugly.

I often think of Emily Freeman's quote in Grace for the Good Girl: 

Fear drives. 
But Love leads. 

Do you know what I wish I'd said to my daughter when she came to me with childlike excitement over her Christmas list? 

I love your list. This list shows me how much you appreciate beauty and anticipate delight. You know, God made us this way. In the garden, there was a limitless supply of beauty, an endless array of his good gifts. No living thing lacked anything. That's how we were created to live and one day all of that will return. In the meantime, dreaming of lovely and delightful gifts show us how much we long for beauty and goodness in a broken world. Receiving and giving presents are a little foretaste of what was and what is to come. And of course all of this pales in comparison to the greatest and most undeserved gift of all: Christ Jesus, through whom all of this was promised and is possible. We have so much to celebrate, so much to receive, so much to give...

Because she is 11, she would have probably tuned me out after the first two sentences. But if we're living out what we believe every day of the year, though we're doing it so imperfectly, perhaps it eventually gets through. Trickle-down theology?

Though excess and materialism can poison our hearts, so can good deeds and sacrifice when they're driven by duty-bound motives or dripping with self-righteousness. 

We can't make our children's hearts change. We can simply love them, provide for them, teach them, and model for them, albeit imperfectly. Only God can knock down the idols of their hearts and replace their love for the created with a greater love for the Creator. Only God can do that in my own heart and let me tell you, I sometimes wonder if I'm much further along than my children.

This year I'm starting over, at least in my mind. I want a brand new paradigm. It's not about getting it all just right. It's not about making sure my kids love Jesus on Christmas morning more than they love the new Lego set they just unwrapped. 

It's about pointing our own minds and hearts, as parents, toward the beauty and wonder of Christ and hoping that a bit of that beauty and wonder will spill over and cumulatively settle into the hearts of our children. And also hoping that it will flow into our spheres of influence in ways that are genuine and authentic and personal. Like the squares of a patchwork quilt, there is such beauty in the uniqueness of our families and how God uses us differently in our communities and beyond. 

I don't know about you but that sets me free in all sorts of ways. And I think it really is that simple...

Start first with my own heart. Live gratitude. Receive the love and mystery and wonder of Christ every day.

Perhaps setting our minds on these eternal truths will have a way of making everything else fall into place over the coming weeks.

A thrill of hope, the weary mom rejoices...

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How about you? Do you struggle with "intentionality guilt" like I do?

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{This post appeared in BlogHer's "Family" section, November 26th, 2012}

*Book links within this post are amazon affiliate links.

Ease

Hi! My name's Scooper and I'm starting a blog. Oh, I already have a blog? I used to write here on a regular basis? I thought this screen looked vaguely familiar. 

Summer has smoked the lazy right out of me. 

Well, that's not entirely true. I've been not writing here on purpose. I've taken the bare bones mentality seriously and it's been just what the doctor ordered during these lazy, hazy days of summer. My journal is exhausted because I've been scrawling there instead of here. I've made a big dent in my book pile. And my bed and sofa have a forever imprint of my back side. 

Besides resting and reading and writing with a pen, I took a silent retreat for a few days {which technically included all of the aforementioned activities. More on that later.} 

And in stark contrast to a silent retreat, my sister and her three kids came to visit this week. It was loud and wonderful. We spent the week not showering, reading magazines, loosely supervising our children, and watching an endless stream of "Say Yes to the Dress" episodes. I just realized that I took not a single photo. See above comment about summer and lazy. 

Actually, I did take one photo on my phone. That photo at the top of the post is my precious niece "swimming" in a rubbermaid container on my driveway. Staying classy is clearly a top priority around here. We have a larger kiddie pool for the bigger kids {they took turns swimming in 10-minute shifts} but sweet Tabitha needed a way to keep cool that was more to scale with her tiny, 11-month-old self. 

Besides heat survival, swimming in storage containers, and not taking photos, there's not much to report. I have some topics I look forward to writing about when the time is right but for now, the thoughts are more in the percolation stage. Sometimes it takes time for them to settle. And summer seems to be the perfect time for that to happen. 

So for now, I'm embracing a slower pace and a season of less. I look forward to writing more once my kids start school but I am so not rushing that. 

I plan to ease back into the blogosphere between now and then, ease being the operative word. 

So from one lazy girl to another, may you enjoy the last weeks of summer, take the time to sip fruity drinks, revel in the spirit of the Olympics, stay cool in the pool {even if it's tiny, plastic, and sitting on your driveway}, and find some ease of your own. 

Showers are optional. 

How the Bare Bones Can Set You Free

I am highly distractible. Call it ADD, daydreaming, spontaneity, or impulsiveness...it is both the death and life of me. 

Distractibility allows me to create and make art but often keeps me from getting the laundry done. It enables me to express myself but sometimes keeps me from being present with those who need me. 

Way back in January, I declared 2012 the "Year of Simplicity." It would be a year of rest, healing, prioritizing the bare bones, and did I mention rest? It's why we sent our kids to school and why we plan to send them back in the fall. 

Simplicity snaked its way into all of our goals for the year. My husband took me out for a breakfast date during the first week of the new year and we discussed what he thought our spiritual focus for 2012 should be: God's Love. That may sound overly simplistic to you but I'm learning that it's actually foundational. 

So one might think that all of this focus on simplicity would magically line up my priorities in soldier-like precision and that I would never again depart from the bare bones. 

But there's that distractibility bit. Dang it. 

Thankfully I have a husband who protects me from myself. I'd love to tell you that I always see this as a virtue. For someone as ridiculously self-aware as me, I'm still prone to blind spots. Putting simplicity into practice is one of them.

The two of us never really sat down and made a list of what, exactly, I would prioritize. It was just a general understanding. And sometimes general understandings are generally understood by one person in ways that are different from how the other one generally understands them. Generally speaking of course. {Can I get a witness?}

So last week we had a wee bit of conflict because I was excited about this new content writing site I'd been referred to and it really wouldn't take much time at all except that it did because I had a technical glitch that should have been easily resolved except that it wasn't and next thing you know I've wasted 3 hours on the technical part of a project that really wasn't part of anyone's plan and certainly didn't fall under the umbrella of simplicity and was just something I found out about that very day and decided to jump head-first into in grand hopes that I could easily develop a writing portfolio and make a little extra money on the side. 

That night my husband came home and I told him what I'd been up to that day and he asked me how, exactly, that was simplifying my life and I may or may not have taken great offense and melted into a hot, teary mess, accusing someone of not loving me for who I am and how that someone should have married a 1950s housewife instead. 

{This, my friends, is what my counselor refers to as a flawed "interpretive grid." Hormones may or may not further askew one's interpretive grid.}

You'll be happy to know that the conflict is now resolved and we've both learned even more about communication as a result. You see, that wasn't the first time-sucking distraction I'd chased down in the midst of a busy couple of weeks. My husband was right: I was blind to the ways in which this tiny detour {and all of the others} had derailed me from what I needed to focus on, thereby draining me of the precious little emotional and physical energy I have these days. 

It was the necessary wake-up call. My priorities now flash in my mind with bold, giant, all-caps blinking letters: MARRIAGE, CHILDREN, HOME, REST {spiritual quiet and physical rest}, and a LITTLE BIT OF WRITING. 

Though I love my friends, I cannot prioritize them right now. Though I love my blog, I cannot obsess over and try to figure out how to redesign or rework it. And even though writing technically counts as one of my priorities, "extra" writing things {like Jeff Goins' 15-day writing challenge or Zujava content writing site} all get the ax right now. 

It's summer. My kids are home. There are cookies to bake, crafts to make, trips to take, and swimsuits to launder. These sweet, steamy days are a flash in the pan. Other stuff can wait, regular blog posts and a redesign included. Come fall, the bare bones will likely shift a bit. We'll rethink priorities at that point and try to live the everyday accordingly.

It's so freeing. Instead of feeling frustrated that I can't do some things I'd love to do, I feel empowered to zero in on the bare bones. I accept this season of my life. I know that there is a time for everything but that there will never be one time when we can do everything. Some women just naturally live this more easily than others; it's frustrating to acknowledge that I'm not one of them.  

Clinging to the bare bones makes saying "no" to good things so much easier. Even though I've written about the concept of opportunity cost a lot, I'm slow to learn. Repeat after me {or have someone else remind you}: Every "yes" is also a "no." 

So here's to a summer of priorities and freedom. Say "yes" to the bare bones and lay aside the guilt for saying "no" to the distractions and opportunities that may give you good and momentary indulgence but leave you a bit emptier for the things that matter most. 

While this is the "Year of Simplicity," it also feels like the "Year of Being Refined, Pruned, and Humbled." Or "The Year of Being Really Slow to Learn."

The bare bones aren't the same for all of us. But it may be worth it to jot down your own "bones" and eschew the distractions that lead you in other directions. It's not restrictive, it's life-giving--not only for you but for those around you. I promise.

Live simply. Be free. Embrace the season. And drink grace {because occasionally that detour will be impossible to resist and sometimes that's as it should be. I blame Pinterest.}

Oh and one more thing. Don't take offense from the one who has the guts {and love} to speak the hard truth and urges you to revisit the bare bones from time to time. He loves you. And you just may need to hear what he has to say. Also? He doesn't wish he was married a 1950s housewife. 

On Mothering and Decision-Making and Feeling Inside-Out

Yesterday was supposed to be a day of rest but my fretful mind would not have it. I think that if scientists could determine a way to harness the wheel-spinning ferocity of every mother's over-thinking mind and turn it into an alternative fuel source, we could stop drilling for oil tomorrow. 

Sometimes being a mother feels like walking around inside-out. I try to stuff my wildly-feeling heart and messy insides safely and politely back where they belong but instead I'm like the Scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz, anxious and undone, stuffing spilling out at the seams. 

This season of rest and simplicity, this season that I named "The Year of Being Knit" has in many ways felt like the exact opposite. I'm wondering if I should rename it "The Year of Being Undone." Sometimes we have to become completely unraveled before we can properly be reassembled. 

Sending my kids to school has been the best thing for them and a much-needed sabbatical for me. But that's not to say it's been easy. While totally unrelated situations may have been the catalyst to send them to school, now I can't help but wonder if these very unrelated things forced a decision that I wouldn't have submitted to otherwise: school. 

Though this school-year has yet to finish and the next one looms far off on the other side of summer, you know how these things go. It's only spring but we have to make decisions and commitments for next fall. Technically we don't have to decide until the day before school starts but a summer of limbo isn't fair to my kids. 

I'm simply not ready to commit. My dreamy ideals of living and learning at home, of classical education and a slower-paced life, of keeping them just a bit protected for just a bit longer from the harsh realities of this world...these ideals beat mightily inside this unraveling mama's heart.

But then there is the real. And when I'm not knee-deep in it, I quickly forget the importance of knowing thyself. I am not laid back. I'm wired to need time alone or I fall to pieces. The day-in and day-out of my real looked nothing like my ideal. I get that it will never be perfect, that it's okay to have messy days where every single one of us has cried for one reason or another. But I will be perfectly honest with you: the unhappy, let's-just-survive days were far outnumbering the this-isn't-so-bad days. 

None of us were thriving at home. Especially me. And whether you're southern or not, you've heard the old adage: If mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy. 

We're four months in and I am still tired but less weary. I cry a lot but it feels good and necessary. I haven't figured out how to manage my days well but through trial and error, I'm learning. I haven't fully come to terms with anything but I'm progressing toward acceptance and that's better than standing still.

As for the kids, they're just fine. I'd venture to say they're actually great. Sometimes my daughter has more homework than I deem necessary. She's had stressful, unhappy moments...but fewer than she did at home. I've learned that my kids are more responsible, more independent, and far more adaptable and resilient than I gave them credit for. And I wouldn't have known any of this had I not sent them to school. They love their friends and their teachers. They love daily learning in community and from instructors who are passionate about their subjects. I was completely unprepared for the ways in which they would embrace the culture of school.

And all of their "success" has made our decisions for next year so much more difficult. Well, it's made my decision more difficult. That probably sounds crazy. Why fix what's not broken? 

Because all of this is not what I'd planned. It's not what I'd envisioned for any of us. Truly, it feels like the death of a dream {dramatic though that may sound.} The final decisions haven't been made and the pendulum may yet swing back the other direction. That's one of the pitfalls of blogging. You sometimes have to eat your words. But I'd rather be authentic and honest in my wrestling and indecision. I'm not the first mama to be in this place and I certainly won't be the last.

We all want what's best for these little and not-so-little ones that look to us every single day for love and sustenance. Our children are living and breathing pieces of us who walk around in a world that will hurt them and disappoint them. And when that happens? We hurt so badly we feel we might break in two. We want them to be prepared and protected and it's an overwhelming responsibility. For so many reasons, the ways and the places in which we educate them can determine the trajectory of their lives. This is what brings me to my knees. And to the box of Kleenex. 

A week ago I was in a particularly weepy place over my daughter and what to do about next year. She'll be in middle school and I'm simply not ready for any of this. I told my husband that he just needed to listen, that my heart was heavy and that I didn't feel I could bear my own emotional state alone. He waited quietly as I poured out my fears and failure. And then I said, Now it's your turn. I desperately need to know your thoughts and I need you to lead me through all of this. 

He is a man that measures his words carefully and for this I am grateful. 

She needs you to be her mother. For the rest of your life, that's what she'll need from you. Other people can teach her, but only you can be her mother. When you were her teacher, it was getting in the way of you being her mother. It just wasn't working. She's doing great in school. There are no red flags. This is the direction I'm leaning. 

I wept with both relief and grief. Relief because I need to know that it really is this simple. She needs me to be her mother. That's it. Grief because I wish I was cut out to be both. And maybe in time I will be...but not now. Accepting who I am versus who I want to be is one of the greatest battles I fight. It's so easy to be persuaded by others who are doing their thing {that you wish was your thing} and doing it well. I'm fooled into thinking that if I can just muster up enough patience and discipline and know-how, I can do the "thing" too.

Accepting that we are all created and called differently sounds good and easy. But it doesn't feel good or easy at the moment. Reckoning the real with the ideal is a slow, soulful, solitary surrender. 

If it was up to my daughter, she would boldly begin middle school tomorrow, skipping excitedly down the hallway with her new, monogrammed, aqua-colored L.L. Bean backpack {not that she's already picked it out or anything.} As for me, I wish I could turn back the clock and skip the other direction toward the simpler {though sleepless} days of diapers and breastfeeding. 

Maybe that's the bittersweet irony of motherhood. Our kids want to speed up the clock and we want to make it stand still. Right now it feels like the kids are winning. 

I find myself leaning hard into my husband's counsel. Sometimes it's the simplest of truths that sustain us during seasons of surrender: Only you can be their mother. 

And for now, this is enough. 

When You've Little to Show for Your Days: A Treatise on Rest & Renewal

You may be tired of reading about this "season of rest" but I'm not tired of writing about it. 

And when I'm not tired of writing about something it's because I'm still knee-deep in the thinking and processing stage of the something.

Before I sent my kids to school I spent nearly 5 years homeschooling them. Sometimes I did some part-time work at the same time in order to earn a bit of extra money. 

And before that I was a working mom for 5 1/2 years.

And before that I was graduate student and part-time teacher for 4 1/2 years.

And before that I worked full-time and then part-time for 2 1/2 years while trying to figure out what I wanted to do with my life. I was married during this time.

And before that I was in college for 4 years. I was a year-round student-athlete and I also served in student government throughout my 4 years. And of course there were the degrees I earned along the way.

And before that I was a good student and a runner, a daughter and the oldest of 4 children, involved in church and at school and a whole host of endeavors. I didn't know life without stress, deadlines, and high expectations, most of which I set for myself.   

So I've been sort of busy my whole life. Until now. 

I don't work outside the home. And because I'm not homeschooling right now, I work less inside the home. And while raising three children is most definitely work, lots of people do it so it doesn't feel all that noteworthy or exceptional. It's taxing, sure, but I've been a mom now for 11 years and you sort of grow into the job and into the everyday nature of it. Collapsing into the bed at night is just normal when you're a mom. 

Bit by bit, I've taken off my various hats, put them away on the top shelf of the closet, and shut the door. I'm enjoying a respite from the busy-ness and expectation I've always known, at least for now, and do you know what? 

I'm sort of tired. Once you strip away the tasking and performing and the expectation, you're sometimes left to feel what's really down deep in its rawest form. 

Busyness can be a mask that keeps even the wearer fooled.  

These days, I'll get the kids into bed at night and then collapse into my own. I'll consider what I've accomplished during the day and honestly,sometimes I can't really think of anything "important." {Besides the lunch-packing, pick-up-ing, grocery-getting, dinner-making, sometimes writing, and sometimes laundry-doing. Again, that's just the normal basics right?}

This week I've been fighting off a bug and I've taken 2 naps and spent one entire afternoon sitting in my driveway in a lawn-chair with a book. I made my kids fix their own snacks because I was too tired from, you know, sitting in said chair and having to turn pages. 

I've been staring for days at 5 stacks of folded laundry that will not put themselves away and I cannot walk into the boys' room because there is literally no room to walk. None. It's wall-to-wall, plastic-y, made-in-China-palooza in there and it's been that way all week. 

I could have cleaned it up...or at least overseen their efforts to clean it up but I just haven't been up to the task. Why is this whole non-working thing wearing me out? I'll wonder. 

I was talking with my running partner this morning about my performance issues. How I'm struggling because I just don't have a lot to show for myself by the end of the day and I don't know what to do with that. 

She said, Girl, you've prayed for a season of rest. You knew you needed this. Enjoy it. Savor it. Don't feel guilty about it. 

The truth is, I don't really know what to do with rest. I don't really know what to do with anything that doesn't belong on a list, even if it's just a mental list. 

I love rest, to be sure. {I've always been a champion napper.} But I don't love feeling guilty about rest. It requires a complete rewiring of my performance-driven, perfectionistic brain. I will preach rest to everyone else; I'm just slow to heed my own advice.

Case in point: A couple of weeks ago I was talking with my sister-in-law on the phone. She has three kids, the youngest of whom has special needs and doesn't sleep as much as she should. The past year-and-a-half has been an emotional roller-coaster for her and she's doing regular life on top of all of that! I'm amazed. I think she deserves a medal and a nap every day and a maid.  

She said she was frustrated with herself for being a "bad manager of her time." And by "bad manager" she meant that she read a book that day instead of cleaning the house while her precious baby decided to finally sleep. 

Well. I commenced to preaching and told her that reading a book was a supremely wise use of her time and that she should have taken a nap to boot. Oh, I preached some rest to this poor, tired sister of mine and then wondered why in the world she was being so hard on herself.

Until I recognized that I'm no different. 

I realize that some people are just wired to feel less guilty about rest. I try to make friends with these kinds of people. They are like fresh air and the ocean to me. I'm drawn to their freedom and realistic standards, probably because deep down, I know that theirs is a life that is centered on Truth.  

Life in Christ should not be a life of striving, stress, and unrelenting guilt. Busy-ness is not inherently holy. You will not see "completed to-do list" and "productivity" on the fruit of the spirit tree right next to "patience," "kindness," and "self-control." 

This is what I tell myself. 

And this is the hard-fought Truth that's trying to work itself out in my life--in my mind, my deeds, and my rest:

Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will.  ~Romans 12:2

These things take time, don't they? And oh, it is hard to be patient with ourselves. 

Transformation and renewal begin in the mind and bear fruit in real life. Often we behave as if this is backwards. We begin with deeds and productivity and then hope that the necessary changes will settle into our thought patterns after we've "gotten it right" often enough. 

Renewal can take place through practices and in a variety of time frames but I've realized that, for me, rest precedes renewal and stillness precedes transformation. Sometimes it's the hard stuff, seasons of trial, that force the issue. That's my story at least. My current season of rest is probably not forever, but it is certainly for now. 

I am prone to spoiling the gift with guilt. I write to remind myself that gifts are given in order to be received. And enjoyed.

As we rest, we are renewed. And as we are renewed, our Spirit-filled minds are better able to sense, with clarity and confidence, the work that He has designed just for us. 

When I consider it this way? 

Rest doesn't feel wasteful. 

It feels fruitful. 

Stealth Perfectionism

I have perfectionist tendencies. This is not news. 

I've written about perfectionism so much that I can't even begin to find all the posts. {I tried. But it would require so many hyper-links that I just gave up and didn't link a single one. Take that, perfectionism!}

Awareness is half the battle and a few weeks ago I would have told you that in recent years, bit by bit, I've kicked my perfectionist ways to the curb.

But lately I've become aware of the subtle sneakiness of perfectionism, how it rears its ugly head even in the mundane.

There's nothing inherently wrong with striving for excellence. If you are my brain surgeon, I hope you're a perfectionist.

But most of our ways and tasks are not life and death. 

I'll give you a few personal examples.

I'm sort of a healthy eater. I feel better and have more energy when I eat good food. My ideal breakfast is a fruit smoothie...with bunches of kale in it. I know, it's uber-healthy and obnoxious. But sometimes the craziness of the morning does not offer ideal conditions to whip up my kale smoothie and I keep thinking I might be able to make one so I wait and get the kids off to school and fold up some laundry real quick and check my e-mail and think about the smoothie and how I really should have that for breakfast instead of a lesser choice and then it's 10:30 and I am seeing stars and about to pass out.

All because I'm holding out for perfect when acceptable would have kept me vertical.

I like to make our family's budget stretch as far as I can. In the past I've used coupons for groceries and toiletries and sometimes I still do. I know when I'm getting something for a great price and when I'm overpaying and the latter just kills me, even when I know it's out of necessity. Too often we'll need something and I'll see it at the store and know that I should pick it up but I can save $1 if I have that coupon from home and maybe I should just wait on these things that I know I could get cheaper and come back tomorrow armed with my money-saving skillz but by the next morning we are using napkins to wipe our hineys and I'm mixing half and half with water to pour over the kids' cereal and everyone hates me.

All because I'm trying to save $3 on toilet paper and milk. 

I procrastinate laundry because I want to get it all done at once which never happens and I wonder why 8 piles are staring me in the face on any given day.

I'd given up on buying plants and flowers because I kill them. {Until the Nester's posts reminded me that every plant will eventually die and a year's worth of beauty from blooms is well worth a few measly dollars.}

I rarely send cards and notes because I feel like I need to send everyone who needs a card the perfect handwritten note and then I don't end up sending any and now? No one knows that I love them.

I could give you more examples but I'd die of shame.  

Oh it is just embarrassing how perfectionism lurks around in the recesses of my mind and taunts me with striving and guilt. It is ridiculous how much time and energy I waste trying to do something perfectly {by my standards} instead of adequately. And it is insane that I fail to acknowledge, time and again, that there is always opportunity cost. Always. Every yes is also a no and this is one of the most important lessons I'm learning.

Rest and sanity? It's worth something. Quite a lot actually.

Food on the table? That's success, no matter what you paid for it. 

Toilet paper in the holder? Pat yourself on the back. 

A note to a friend even if there's 8 thank-you notes you keep forgetting to write? Awesome. You have a friend who knows you love her. 

Confronting my perfectionism forces me to prioritize, to examine what I really value. Priorities may shift from season to season but right now, for me, I have chosen rest and healing and just the bare necessities. 

It means my grocery bill is a little higher. 

It means my kids are in public school instead of being classically-educated at home.

It means my house is messier than I'd like. {Well, that's not really a new theme.}

It means I spend some mornings writing in the quiet instead of matching up socks or scrubbing toilets or mopping my floor.

It means I choose fruitfulness over productivity. 

Daily, I have to preach acceptance, remind my high-strung, high-standards self that it's all okay. It really is okay. 

And there is exhilarating freedom in making friends with okay and telling perfect to move out.

Unless you're a brain surgeon.