Epiphany

This picture is completely unrelated to the following epiphany...other than the fact that these are the cute little people who make mommy need epiphanies. 

So I heard something at church yesterday--a tiny side-note to the sermon that totally rocked my bad attitude about stay-at-home-mom-hood.  

Now, if you are not a believer you can keep reading, I promise.  Even if you don't consider yourself a participant in the Gospel, you probably recognize that Jesus had an impressive career during his relatively short time on earth.  Facts and conjectures aside, he made a massive impact in history, and in the lives of thousands of people (during his time, and billions more over the centuries following).  

Ok, so what?  So before he did all that, he worked as a carpenter for 30 years.  This is another fact that everyone can recite.  It is often a glossed over element to the grand story of God through space and time.  

But just sit on that for a minute.  God, the creator of the universe who propels all living things through life and death for all time, became man, and then built shelves for 30 years.  He got up everyday, had a cup of coffee or something, put on his dirty work clothes and swung a hammer for 8 hours.  He lived in total anonymity for three decades--he didn't do any of the ministry that he is known for.  If he had an impact on anyone's life during that time it isn't documented as far as I know.  Maybe he gave a waiter a nice tip, or babysat twins, but nothing anyone decided was Godly.  

This is all massively mysterious to me, and there are so many ideas that could be discussed about this period of Jesus' life, but for me the simple idea that God willingly set aside his illustrious career of Alpha-and-Omega-ness to just live through so many years of trudgery is astounding.  And this life of trudgery was intentional, approved, even sanctified by God.  For some reason it was a critical part of God's master plan.  He loved his Son and found all that he did perfect--even this meaningless carpentry gig.  

SO.  Compared to this, I have absolutely no right to complain about putting aside my insignificant and unimpactful career in design in order to raise children for about 6 years until they are in school.  AND I have no right to say that raising children is mundane trudgery compared to being a single dude who makes benches (or whatever).  How much more important is raising children than working with wood!?  Even on a bad day I get that my kids are more meaningful than lumber.  

And then let's just think about the eventual impacts of this child-rearing hiatus in which I am living.  Everything about my mothering lifestyle now shapes my kids little souls.  When they are out on the playground without me someday, their actions will reflect what happened during this period of time we spent 24/7 together.  I doubt that Jesus' carpentry hiatus ever yielded much after his Alpha and Omega career was resumed.  I mean, what do shelves and benches have to say about their creator?  I suppose they could still be sturdy after a couple decades, but who cares in light of human-kind's redemption by grace through the death and resurrection of Christ!?  (Ok, I said non-believing friends could still read this post, not that it wouldn't be biased…)

Oh, and by the way, for the three of you that might 'follow' my blog, my broken wrist situation is much better (already) and I think I will do a humbling blog post about that soon….in case you were wondering….

In a cast.

Tupperware filled with split peas.  Highly recommended tool for keeping a toddler busy so you can blog.

Before I was in a cast I felt like my life was in a cast.  Now I am in fact, in a cast.  And how do I feel?  I feel like this cast is a high-powered magnifying glass for all the pesky spots of motherhood.  Maybe this wasn’t clear before, but motherhood just hasn’t settled lighly upon me.  I truly and deeply love my children, and would never undo what is done, but taking on this new identity of mom has been uncomfortable.  And now, everything that I complained about before as being frustrating or irritating is flat out difficult, painful and often impossible. 

Even the reason for being in a cast is an ironic attack on one area of freedom I was just beginning to experience—I was on my way to the garage gym I’ve joined to do CrossFit training.  Doing intense regular exercise and seeing physical and emotional improvement has been so helpful toward leading a more balanced life style.  So I was on my way there, riding my bicycle, when I almost got hit by a car and got thrown over the handlebars onto the road—breaking my right wrist in the fall. 

Wear your helmet.  Happy to be alive.

There goes the intense regular exercise for the next 8-12 weeks.  The scale tips back toward imbalanced.

Now lets go through the laundry list of miscellanea that I complained about before:

The menial work of the stay-at-home-mom: diaper changes, meal times, spill clean-ups, outfit changes, etc.  Now that all takes 2-3 times longer with lots of imaginary cursing bubbles coming out of mommy’s head—my 7-month old is incessantly scooting, wiggling, and rolling all over the place while I attempt to reign him in with two feet, my uncoordinated left hand and blunt, useless right cast, hoping he will move in just the right way so that I can wipe his poopy bottom as he rolls over.  Outfit changes occur over 20 minutes while he migrates through rooms of the house.

Getting the toddler cleaned up after a meal?  Well, ‘cooperation’ is the most frequently used word in the house these days…

You get the idea.

Extracting my 23 pound baby from under things all day long is much more difficult with one arm.  My left arm will be ripped by the end of this. 

I complained about not getting out of the house easily with the kids—for errands or playgrounds or whatever.  Now, there is no option to get out.  I cannot get my baby out of the carseat or stroller with one arm.  We are all stuck at home together.

I complained about meal planning, grocery shopping and meal making (I actually like to cook, but not with the cacophony of 5:00 toddler and baby blues).  Now?  I have to write the grocery list with my left hand.  I have to procure a helper to get groceries, and I can’t do any cooking at all.    

I complained about keeping the house tidy—now I can’t do dishes, wipe crumbs off the table, or sweep.  (I can do laundry though!)

I complained about not getting to spend time sewing and generally being creative and expressive—now I cannot sew at all, and even typing out my thoughts for this post? Agonizingly slow…

Oh, and the minor point regarding a mom’s desire to still feel like a beautiful woman despite her physically demanding occupation?  Well I have to learn to do my make-up left handed, and my bald (by choice) husband has to ‘do’ my hair.  Certain areas of my body are not getting their regular visit from the razor, and I have a scar on my chin from the pavement on the intersection of Fife and Melrose.

In sum, all of the little restrictions to my personal (selfish) liberty have become looming boulders and blockades at every turn.    

I don’t believe I am accepting this with much grace.  I’m mad.  I’m bored.  I feel trapped.  But I have 6-8 weeks to adjust my attitude about it all.  Is that good news or bad news?  Hmm.  If I say it’s good news, then I think that is the first step toward an attitude adjustment…

I’m not ready to commit to that yet.

Thanks for stopping by.  I’ll keep you posted.