After speaking at a conference recently, a young mom asked, “How does it work when you nurse a baby, have a toddler running around and attempt to teach?”
The question, by default, was directed at me since I was the “speaker.”
I wanted to stay quiet. I didn’t want to put on a “happy, this is what I am supposed to say face” and answer.
It had been a long, frustrating week for this mom, but I responded honestly…with a long term vision of motherhood.
I cling to that vision on days when I want to stay in bed and cry (or scream.)
I invite you to join me.
Remember your calling.
This challenging, but treasured, calling of mothering christened the very first post written on this blog nearly five years ago.
If nothing else…I need a reminder this week! A reminder of my vision!
(I share this post first because tomorrow I’ll share how this sweet blessing son of ours gave us a run for our money AFTER I wrote this post.)
One of the things that I passionately try to address when I speak to womens’ groups are the labels we hypothetically predetermine…”the terrible two’s” (especially at Mops) , or “just wait till they’re teenagers”, etc. I do not believe that has to be the case, but yes, I’ll save that for a different post.
This post is for me.
A reminder of my calling.
A whisper from my Heavenly Father the goodness of a relationship with your teen when a mommy’s heart is fully engaged in reaching his.
Don’t get me wrong, teen years are tough emotionally, and I am only a few years into it. I mess up…royally… and am often asking forgiveness from those very blessings whom I desire to mentor.
Yet these years are so precious. It’s a small window in which we can watch as the Lord bring boys into manhood. I want to be there – front and center – enjoying every minute of it. It is racing by, and I want to capture those “manhood” moments. That’s what this post is about.
It was a mommy moment when the Lord reached out during a season of drought, and assured me…he is mine!
It started with some musing from “the mom” about the gross nature of dried and crack heels. Yep, you got it… ugly feet, and sheer vanity. I am not really a pedicure kind of gal (clarification…wasn’t), but necessity was rearing it’s ugly head when even my 5 year old daughter realized the drastic measures that needed to take place if mommy was going to continue in her usual flip flop foot fashion.
Yesterday morning, my oldest son and I were alone in the family room and he called me over to my comfy chair.
“Mom, let me try out this Ped Egg” out on you,” he said.
(For those of you wondering…this pedicure tool won out on our local news “deal or dud segment.”)
I must tell you, I was a little taken back and wondered what his primary motives were.
I mean, come on, this is a gross task and he just told me being a pedicurist would be a disgusting job. I do believe he said, “Can you imagine all the nasty feet that people have?”
And now he was searching out those feet…namely mine?
My “terrible teen” went on to spend not five minutes, not ten, but over 30 minutes meticulously getting every bit of dry skin off my ugly feet. Then he took lotion, and massaged those feet, and made sure that they were smooth and beautiful.
And in those moments, I saw Jesus…through my son.
We shared life those 30 minutes.
We talked about Jesus washing the disciples feet and I couldn’t help but point out how this act of service reaches down to the core of who someone is.
That’s why Jesus choose it. It’s embarrassing, and yet as my eldest took care of “my man feet,” he ministered to me in a way, a simple way, that makes an impact for life.
He won’t know what an impact it had. He has no understanding of the way that Jesus whispered through him.
Only I could see, through tearful eyes, a boy share a moment of manhood with his momma.