Excellent article here from Jani Ortlund for young mother’s. Here’s an excerpt:
Guilt is a young mother’s habitual shadow. It has a nasty way of soaking through many of her efforts at nurturing, serving and loving others. “Am I doing enough for my children? For others? What do they think of me? What does God think of me?”
As a young mother everyone wants something from you—your family, your church, your boss, your neighbor. And most likely, you give way more than you ever thought you could. But along the way guilt nibbles at your soul, eating away your inner peace and joy. And it often lingers through the years, even after your children are grown and gone.
Martyn Lloyd-Jones once spoke with a group of medical students who complained that in the midst of their training and the ferocious work hours they really didn’t even have time to read the Bible and have their devotions and so on. He bristled and said, “I am a doctor. I have been where you are. You have time for what you want to do.” After a long pause he said, “I make only one exception: the mother of preschool-aged children does not have time and emotional resources.”
It is important to recognize, too, that there are stages of life where you really don’t have time to do much, and you shouldn’t feel guilty about it. Children will sap you. If you have three children under the age of six, forget serious reading unless you have the money for a nanny. When our youngest finally went off to kindergarten, we celebrated that day—I took my wife out for lunch. Only then could she get back into reading again. It’s the way life is. You have to be realistic.
The other day Amy and I took Micah to a Junior High bowling event. We had taken him to this kind of event before and knew that he loves to line the ball up (on the little ramp they give him), push the ball down and watch the pins fall. However, this time things were different for Micah.
It was probably due to the fact that he was overly tired from a late bedtime the night before, and probably overly stimulated by all of the sites, sounds and smells but bowling just didn’t give him the pleasure that we were expecting it to. He would cry about having to wait his turn while the other kids bowled, cry when the ball didn’t do what he wanted it to do, and cry when I tried to hold him in my lap so that we could watch together.
After about 20 minutes, we decided that this wasn’t going to be his night so I walked he and Amy out to the van, loaded them up and let her take him home. As I walked back toward the bowling alley with a heavy heart I couldn’t help but notice how hard Micah was fighting against joy and how heart broken I was that he didn’t get to experience the joy that I’d intended for him that evening. Rather than trusting his Dad to lead him into experiences that would maximize his joy, he was trusting in his own four year old wisdom to get what he wanted and it made him miserable.
You don’t have to be a theologian to see the parallel to the Christian life here. I too fight against the joy that my Father intends for me. I tend to trust my own wisdom above His. I try and do things my way, in my own strength but every time it only leads to sorrow and anxiety.
As I thought about my son I was reminded of Proverbs 3:5-6, “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths.” If I want joy in my life, it begins with trusting God to bring me joy and not fighting against His joy by pursuing my own paths.
Here’s a great suggestion for connected families. It’s called a “technology basket"” and I’m going to start using one right away.
These parents created a special family basket and asked everyone put their most tempting electronic devices in for a few hours each evening. Dad put his work laptop in, mom put in her Kindle, and the kids dropped off their cell phones. Instead of just mandating rules, the parents decided to model how they wanted their family to operate. And instead of focusing on how to limit technology, they focused on opening up a space for conversation, games, and meals.
At any time, the parents and kids can look over at the basket and see what’s there and what’s not and hold family members accountable to it. As a bonus, the basket serves as a powerful physical reminder that the entire Internet and all its wonder can be relegated to a few inanimate devices in a trash can.
I can not stop laughing at these two videos. Somehow by a strange twist of fate I have become this guy…ok, well maybe not entirely but there are a lot of similarities
I’m staying home with the kids today while Amy and her mom enjoy a Mother’s Day together. I suppose that’s one of the reasons why I found this video HILARIOUS!!! Here’s my favorite quote:
“Kids are so cute, but honestly once they lose that new baby smell there’s one minor flaw, they have no work ethic. Don’t get me wrong, my kids are my best friends but they’re like best friends that bum rides off of you and crash at your place and drink all your milk and then mess with your stereo, which is not cool.”
This one made me cry this morning and remember how grateful I am for my three boys. The story gets even better, if you click through and read the rest of the letter.
Dear Jake,
It’s hard to believe that you are 17 years old today. I woke up this morning wondering what happened to that little red headed boy that used to sleep on my chest at night and ride around on my shoulders everywhere we went during the day.
It seems like only yesterday when your mom came to me with the news that you would be our son. You were so tiny. We named you Jacob, after the grandson of Abraham, the youngest son of Isaac in the Bible; the son who was born small, weak, and insignificant but who was nonetheless chosen by God to be a Patriarch of a nation.
I still have the picture of you nestled inside of my old baseball glove wearing that miniature Cincinnati Reds baseball uniform. I didn’t have dreams of you actually becoming a patriarch, but I was sure you would grow up to be an All Star.
I can remember coming home from work late at night (actually early in the morning), just in time for your 2 AM feeding–getting you out of your crib, warming up a bottle and holding you all to my self. It was one of my favorite times of the day.
There in the peace of the morning, I was so content, just sitting in a dimly lit room watching you watch me–your eyes glued to mine–both of us speaking in deep, father-son conversation, without ever saying a word.
As you lay there on my lap taking your bottle, I would fascinate over your tiny, perfect hands, your smooth white cheeks and your fine strawberry hair. I couldn’t believe that I was a dad and you were my son. I was twenty-five when you were born and it was one of the happiest times of my life.
Then, just after your first birthday, you got sick and had to spend a lot of time in the hospital. Your mom and I were young and scared and didn’t know what to do when you stopped breathing and had seizures. We spent that entire year in hospitals and doctors offices trying to figure out what was causing you to be so sick. No one could give us any answers. No one could help you get better. We cried a lot that year. It was one of the most difficult times of my life.
Then, just as we were about to give up, we found someone who could help. He picked us up off the floor of our hopelessness, held us up with His strong arms, wiped away our tears with His gentle hands, and healed your seizures with His mighty power. He changed our lives forever. His name is Jesus, and you know Him well–for it was you that introduced us to Him.
