If I would say I lack in any way spiritually it would be that I am not grateful for many things. During prayer I typically skip over the gratitude section so I can get right to filing complaints. It is a time management strategy for a spiritually efficient mom. But as unusual as it is I would like to use my first Blog post to thank God for Her Grace.
Specifically, Thank you, God...for naptime. On behalf of myself and every other parent who is currently catching their breath from the insanity that is childrearing, I say "Thank You." The apartment is quiet. I can hear the sound of each key as I type. And, most importantly, there is no one mercilessly asking me over and over again "What ya doing?" followed by the predictable and most sweetly sung, "Whhhhyyyyyy?"
In the quiet, in the respite from the madness, it is clear that I have no idea what to do with myself, except of course, soak up the grace found in naptime...And laugh at the craziness that surrounds it.
Today has been one of those days where laying down in a fetal position and crying or banging your head against a wall seem to be the easiest solutions to a life that often feels impossible. To be a mother. A working mother. A young mother pastor who demographically must represents .01% of all United Methodist Clergy people. (That might be an overestimation). More than once I have found myself thinking, "I am going to lose my mind. Today, is the day. I am going to go crazy."
I am on the phone with a woman in crisis, my spawn is shouting at me in the background, "Mommy, I want phone" over and over again. I am unsuccessfully trying to shush her by intensly staring at her as if I might suddenly receive the power to turn my eyes into lasers. I am simultaenously returning an email which most likely made about as much sense as if I had just handed the computer to the two year old in the room. I am contemplating if the risk outweighs the benefits of my daughter suddenly having occupied herself by climbing on top of my desk to play with staples. That mother feeling of guilt/fear sets in. I get off the phone. I stop typing. I pick her up and set her back on the floor. In an action that I will never know how evil or unintentional, my baby demon walks around the back of me and takes her cute little hand and swiftly wipes all of my papers off the desk and onto the floor. My eyes are filled with tears. I sit down in defeat and look at her, "Okay," I say, "We're going home."
I hate the cliche "God never gives you more than you can handle" because any parent who has ever tried to accomplish something while watching their kid(s) can tell you they have been handed more than they can handle. Attempting to balance those things which life hands you can make you question your sanity, your professional competency, your parental ability. At times the pressure I feel to be the perfect (or even a decent) mother, wife and pastor crushes down so hard it does make me feel like I will lose my mind. But I never do. (Or maybe I have and no one has scheduled the intervention yet).
The truth is that Life often gives me more than I can handle but it is the experience of God's grace that tells me that's okay. If anything has given me proof lately that God is real in my life, it is my own sanity. It is in the emptiness of naptime that I am filled with the reassurance that to be human is adequate, to go to bed with a to-do list is acceptable, to have days in which the thought that gets you through is bedtime is...well, normal.
Grace always seems to be found in the simple things. Those moments which give you a chance to catch your breath and get you back on your feet. So, in honor of the mystical presence of my sanity, I am thanking you, God... for naptime. More importantly, I am thankful that when naptime stops God's grace doesn't because that is when I truly need it anyway, even if in the chaos of constant phone calls and urgent emails, night meetings and morning messes, toddler demands and the dog's scratching at the door(!) I don't have time for it.
