First of all, I need to say that I've missed being here. In this glorious gift of being sanctified in marriage, mothering, home educating, redeeming an old farm, and venturing into new opportunities, I'm discovering that spring is this breathtaking dance of hope and hard labor that doesn't lend itself to recreation and or writing.
You also need to know that if you keep reading past this point there are no photographs, and the only thing that will compel you toward that final punctuation mark is possibly a divine appointment. Apparently I need 1200 words to finish my thoughts. Sheesh.
That being said, I would like to give a little nod to the butterflies in my middle that make it hard to be here, because I'm working on some big (to me) thoughts, and I'd like to share them with you, but the keyboard and the words feel rusty. Will I really be able to concisely, comprehensively, and carefully communicate what's at work within me? It feels too much.
But, I'd like to try. I've enjoyed and appreciated the idea that some bloggers tenure which allows me to preach to myself in a sense, and in community pray that you will be blessed, with the fondest hope of glorifying God with each fearsome word.
So, here it is. I had a difficult and disappointing experience with Mothers Day. With the exceptions of a sweet brief message initiated by a far away sister and my favorite mother in law preparing gifts and a feast for her daughter, me, and our families, Mother's Day was entirely forgotten and possibly ignored by Weekend Farmer Husband and our children.
And I was miffed. Am still - a little.
I know, I've told you and myself that I live a life of contentment. And I do. So what got me so bent about Mother's Day?
I don't rightly know. But, I have chewed on it hard and have been undeservedly blessed in what I've found so far.
First, I've been properly reminded that this unmeasurable mothering gift is above all and only designed to glorify God, raise up Godly offspring, and in so doing make me more holy that I might know Him with greater sweetness and bring honor to His name.
Somehow I get pretty mixed up and want the day (Mother's Day and *wince* every day...) to bring honor to me.
I increase in my desire for Weekend Farmer Husband to esteem me for my virtue and value, to yield to loving me with languages that I speak, to make me queen of his heart and home on Mother's Day - and for that matter we might as well lump our anniversary and my birthday in there too.
If what I've said above about mothering is true at all, then how much more so is this abundance of marriage, this secret and supernatural union that gives me glory glimpses into how the Father relates to Himself in eternity past, present, and future as three in one a landscape that gives sweeping views of "thy will be done" instead of "my wife reigns supreme"?
So, with a contrite heart, a meek spirit, and watery eyes I come to this for now.
First, Father, forgive me for making it all about me and being willing to substitute your mission for my mothering for some commemorative (thoughtfully chosen) trinket from the dollar store. I'm mindful of C.S. Lewis who aptly penned that even when offered infinite joy we are much more inclined to behave like a child who in a slum keeps making mud pies for want of imagination about what is offered to him on holiday at the sea shore. (definitely a paraphrase...I'm sure to step on somebody's toes for not getting it right nor properly citing a source...grace? )
Secondly, shame on me for displacing all the primary and right things Weekend Farmer Husband and our image bearing offspring do day in and day out to love. At least twice yesterday I heard myself say, "The best thing a mother can know on Mother's Day is the love of a faithful husband, children who know the Lord, and who bless one another by being in right relationship with their Savior and one another." I mean every word. And, should you spend any time with us you'd find evidence that given those criteria, I might just be the most enviable woman in the world.
But, still, by bedtime I had to keep my mouth shut and head turned away on the pillow because I'd allowed my flesh to be weakened by disappointment. No cards. No gifts. No recognition.
Ah - there it is. I've known it since my mid teens. I'm a recognition junkie. I'll do just about the meanest job you ask me to if you'll recognize my effort. I'll work crazy long hours if you mention me in your company newsletter. I'll work tirelessly on a project if you tell me you're really pleased with my results and you'll mention it to...?
I'm an idolizer. Not one of my moments, gifts, skills, insights, abilities, or capacities is of my own making yet I unceasingly strive to make much of myself. Oh, I need thee every hour most precious Lord. Wasn't it less than a month ago that I wrote that I'd found myself in a "less of me" spot? Oh the groaning of my soul when I find myself at the bottom of this slippery slope I didn't even recognize I was careening down.
And, for now, the last thing, is that I must confess that none of the above is new to me. I've been round this mountain before. And in the days before yesterday I observed all the signs - the secret expectations building up in the background of my mind, the lack of planning and attention from my immediate family, and the busy demands of life right now should have moved me to action.
I didn't open my mouth. And in silence I bear (in my mind) almost all of the responsibility for the flop. What if I had with a quiet spirit and humility asked Weekend Farmer Husband to find a way to make the day special? As as faithful friend and all around good guy I have to believe he would have more than met my expectations.
I'll read these words at the dinner table tonight. I think Weekend Farmer Husband and the kids have figured out this misaligned mama and I know for a fact that they're working hard to have a Monday after redo. I'll try to bless them with words of thanksgiving for how grateful I am that they are in my life and how I treasure each day as the jewel that it is. They are all more than enough without cards, gifts, trappings, and most importantly - recognition.
And, I'll find my place at the foot of the cross where Jesus made himself nothing, yielded himself completely to the will of the Father, and obeyed even unto death that I might know a life where He again and again makes all things new. Because of him I'll get a do over too.
Really, really, really tried to get the button code to work...
Linking to Ann and plentiful others who chronicle gifts and give thanks.