in the trenches.

These days, it feels like we are in the trenches.

Take this morning, for instance. One kid woke up wailing at 5 a.m., which in turn woke the other kid up. We still had one WHOLE, precious hour before we all had to get up for work and school, so we plopped the kids down into bed with us, their warm milks in tow. Sweet and cozy, right? Wrong.

There was plenty of room on the bed, yet each kid decided to sleep right on top of us. Upside down. Elbows in my ribs. Feet kicking my face. Any mention of making them change positions was met with sheer horror. Then they got into each other’s personal space, and it was all over. Anarchy. Terror in the streets. Or should I say, terror in the sheets.

Realizing our shot at getting some sleep was pretty much dead, we got up to get ready. I won’t go into detail about what ensued, just imagine the torturous harmony of two kids screaming on the couch for no reason. They even had fruit squeezers in hand and Super Why on the TV. If all I had to do in life was eat and watch TV believe me, I wouldn’t be crying. But there they were – meltdown city. Not sharing, not listening, following us around with arms outstretched while we scrambled to get them and ourselves ready.

At one point I sat on the bed listening to the chaos in the next room, feeling the weight, not just of this morning, but of every meal time, every nap time, every play time gone wrong. Feeling the weight of it all.

It felt a lot like failure.

It’s a fact. We are in a season of dealing with tantrums and stubbornness and strong wills. And I wonder which traits are just phases and which ones they’ll carry through life.  I wonder about Caleb’s attention span and why we sometimes have to tell him something 20 different times before it sticks. I wonder why Kenzie can be impatient and dramatic sometimes. At times, it can be a very un-pretty picture - one that I feel I need to clean up, fix, instragram –before presenting to the world. Because it’s one thing to sit on your bed, in the privacy of your own home, and feel like a failure. It’s quite another thing to be in the middle of a restaurant or at a friend’s house and be exposed - to feel that THEY are thinking that you and your kids are failing.

And then I saw this – a post by Anna. Three years ago, this lady - a witty, talented, honest, NORMAL, God-fearing wife and mother – let her kids go outside and play in the rain after school, and one of them never came back. Her 12 year-old son, Jack, fell into a flooded creek and was swept away. She writes about Jack on her blog and about the every day tension of living purposefully in this world while longing to be in another one. The one where death and pain and grief don’t exist. The one where her boy is.

Losing your child. I can’t imagine, and yet through her writing, I am able to – sort of.

In this particular post she answers this question: “What do you wish you had known as a parent?” 

Her response made my stomach drop. Literally. Floored me. She said this:

“Hmm. I wish I had understood that while I was trying to make Jack's life "easier" by having him conform to other people's standards, I was most likely just letting my own insecurities and pride keep me from enjoying Jack exactly as God made him.

Truthfully, I was probably just trying to make things easier on ME not him. I knew he was a thoughtful, incredible kid, but I sometimes wished he were more rough and tumble, less sensitive, less shy, and more happy go lucky.

This doesn't mean I regret any of our heart to hearts, even the ones with tears, or the way I helped equip him to learn how to make friends, handle his emotions, and cope with challenges, but I just wish I had realized, far earlier than I did, that God did not give me Jack so I could fix him or change him. He gave me Jack to love and to fight for.”

She would’ve ENJOYED her son as God made him, and not made him CONFORM to other’s standards. She would realize that God gave him to her to LOVE AND FIGHT for, not to change and fix. Of all the things she wished she’d known, it was this.

Yes. She made me understand.

The world tells us that our worth is in our accomplishments, appearances and possessions. That there is a standard that we all need to run towards. I don’t want my kids to buy into that for a second. That they have to conform. Or perform. They don't. They just need to be exactly who God created them to be.

And I can model this to them, by not striving to reach that worldly standard for myself OR for them. By being okay with the muck and the mess of everyday life. By showing them grace knowing that I need grace, too (EVERY SECOND OF EVERY DAY!) By not caring if and when people are judging. By not projecting my insecurities and pride onto them. By being comfortable in my own skin – just as God made me.

So today the prayer of my heart is to teach and correct and discipline lovingly.

Just as God does for me.

To tell them no matter their strengths or weaknesses, I will love them always.

Just as God tells me.

To give them grace, knowing they aren’t perfect, and they don’t have to be.

Just as God gives me.

To show them that there’s nothing they need to do to earn our love and there’s nothing they could ever do to lose it. Not. One. Thing.

Just as God shows me.