Breathing Eden: Conversations With Godنموونە

Camouflage

I wanted to be a mom. I wanted to stay home with these precious kids. I quit my job, surrendered my identity—the young, just-out-of-business-school-turned-professional. I believed my choice was narrow—just one or the other: Be a mom or work. (Are these my only choices, God?) I didn’t want to miss puddle-jumping, block-building, hand-holding, park-playing days like this one. I am grateful to have had the opportunity to make that decision. I am. I just didn’t know I would struggle so much. I didn’t know this would be so hard.

I thought I would feel different, God. I thought I would do this better—that I would be more organized and wouldn’t feel so depleted all the time. I said I wanted to stay home with my babies, and I know it is so amazing that I can. But here is what is hard to admit, even to you: I don’t like it as much as I thought I would. I’m afraid I’m not good at it. I’m even less confident now that we have two.

I’m going to mess them up, God. I know I am. I lose my temper, I raise my voice. And when I am not yelling out loud, I feel like I am screaming inside. I know that’s an exaggeration. That sounds so melodramatic, “screaming inside.” But no other words feel right.

Why do I feel so trapped, so stuck? I don’t know who I am, or what I love to do, or what it is that might be fun for me anymore. I should feel parenting is so fun, so completely fulfilling. I’m sorry that, right now, I don’t, and it isn’t. I’m sorry for who I am. I’m sorry I am so far from you and don’t know how to find my way back.

Can you help me find my way back?

Daughter, you can be angry. I can take it. You can be sad. I can take that too. Keep running to me when you are sad and overwhelmed, and I will give you what you need to get through a day. You think that you are camouflaged, but I see all.

You can do this, you know. You can mother him and love him, and I will help you find your way. You ask me what you love? Who you are?

Let me tell you what I see: I see you. I see you in the early mornings when the baby is crying and you rise. I see you bend to scoop him up out of his crib, hear how you sing to him. I watch how you stumble, so tired, back to a rumpled bed.

May I sing to you now? May I sing to you, my daughter who is found?

Lift up your head, my darling. Lift up your head, and see me looking at you. I have made you with beauty. I have made you with strength. I have made you with tenderness, a soft heart for me that will sustain you. I sustain you. Keep your heart soft, and I will sustain you. Keep yourself vulnerable, and I will lift you. Keep yourself close to me, and I will show you, step by step, what it is you love, what it is in you I see.

There’s a lot coming, dear one. You are both a light that shines and a warrior in my name. How this looks—your life in me—will unfold as you trust me. In you, I keep creating, dear one. I love being with you as we partner in your work, bringing what is to come.

Yes, I see you. And I want you to begin this day again, knowing I see you, knowing I know you. I dance over you. My gladness overflows.

You are my dear heart, my bright flower. I father you and I mother you. I care for you, and you rise again, letting me lead, letting me take charge, letting me be the door you walk through each day when you are lost and you are wondering how, again, you can face another day.

You don’t need to face another day alone. You can greet each day with me. You can rise with me, stay with me, listen for me. In the creak of the high chair at lunchtime. In the jingling of toys as Jonathan and Lucas laugh and cry and play. In the hush or whimpers of the night.

My strength is enough for you. My presence is with you. My Spirit is in you.

I sustain you, never leave you. There is good coming.

There is good right here.

Pray:

Father, you are unashamed of me—your love is wild and perfect. I love how you have made me. I love how I don’t have to hide from you, no matter what I am feeling. You give me a voice to call out to you, and you answer. You reveal to me yourself, showing how you are present with me, how you care for me, how you hold me and never let me go. I have what it takes to love those you’ve given me to love. I have what it takes to get through this day, holding your hand. Help me to do all these things, knowing I stay with you. In your name, Jesus, Amen.