Being The Mom

I have spent the last hour trying to post something on this blog that is actually worth reading. Up to this point, I have completely failed.

So I'm going to go fold the wash. Not my wash, mind you. No. That would make sense. Instead, I'm going to go fold my mom's wash. Because since she's been sick I've been washing my parents clothes every week. For almost 8 months now. I do it because it's the right thing. I do it because someone has to do it. And I don't complain because I don't want to look like a bad or unsupportive or unloving daughter. But let me be completely honest:

I hate it.

I hate it because I find other people's dirty clothing to be really gross. I hate it because I already have 5 people to wash for in my own family. I hate it because washing clothes is not my idea of a good time. But mostly what I really hate about it is what it represents.

Because what it means to me is that I'm The Mom now. My mom isn't The Mom of the family anymore. She's still a mom, but she's not The Mom. I am. And I just don't feel grown up enough to be The Mom. Oh, I know I'm almost 40 years old and I have 3 kids and actually am a mom and have been for more than 7 years, but being The Mom is a different proposition. Being The Mom means being the caretaker of the family: planning the family holiday meals and preparing them, remembering everyone's important days, meeting the emotional needs of the family, and just generally being the last woman standing at all times.

It scares me. Truly. The role change seems to have happened so fast, although truth be told, I can see now that it's been coming for awhile. And the reality is that most moms reach this milestone at some point in their life's journey. The mantle is passed. And we do it. We do it because somebody has to.

We do it because we are The Mom.

“Honor your father and your mother, so that you may live long in the land the LORD your God is giving you." --Exodus 20:12 (NIV, 1984)

Coming back

That's right.

You heard it here first. I'm coming back. When, you ask? Soon. Very soon.

Stay tuned...

Hearing Voices

Today I've been hearing voices.

No, not the crazy kind of "voices in my head" that originate from a misfiring neuron in my brain. Frankly, aside from the whole insanity thing, I'd almost rather hear a voice telling me I look like Princess Diana than listen to my 3-year-old's whining voice that was unrelenting today. But again, that's not the point of this post.

Today, out among some friends, I was treated to voices that encouraged and voices that held thinly concealed disdain for my newly announced decision to home school our oldest. Now, I could probably treat you all to a sweet rant about the conceit of some people who think they know better than my husband and I how to educate our children, but that's a post for another day.

What I do want to reflect on is this: Who do you listen to? Or, for all of you grammatically correct English majors out there: To whom do you listen?

Which voices do you let in and which ones do you filter out? Because the reality of life is that people just don't keep their opinions to themselves. Sometimes it's intended to be helpful, but sometimes it's definitely intended to discourage. And sometimes it's just because some people have an extremely high opinion of their own opinions and love to hear themselves talk. And since we can't go through life with our hands over our ears singing, "La, la, la, la, la I can't hear you" we all have to make decisions about what to do with the unwanted opinions and advice of others.

The world tells us that we can find the truth in our own hearts. But God says, "The heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure. Who can understand it?" (Jeremiah 17:9) Churches are fond of reminding us that God is still speaking and that sometimes He speaks through those closest to us. While that is certainly true at times, how do you know when it's God?

This brings me to a conversation my 5-year-old and I had this evening. He was frustrated with his sister and decided he was going to pray to God about what to do. (Wow. Just an aside, but isn't God great? Truly our children are fertile soil!) Anyway, the whole time he's praying to God, the whiny 3-year-old is singing at the top of her lungs. Finally, he says to me, "Mommy. How will I ever hear God talk back to me?" And then, before I had a moment to respond, he says, "Why doesn't God ever talk back to me when I pray?"

In that moment, my 5-year-old hit on a theological question we all struggle with: How do we hear God's voice? And is it even there?

And so, after a very long deep breath and a prayer for wisdom, I reminded him he needed to listen after he talks to God. But then I realized that I didn't want to give him some trite answer about "being quiet before God" because no amount of silence does you any good if you aren't able to recognize the voice for which you are listening.

So I walked my son through what I do. I asked him what he knows about what God thinks about families and about how we all get along. Because when I need to hear God's voice, I review what I already know about Him. I walk myself through His character and His promises and the life that Jesus lived. Because it is there, in the midst of God's presence and character that I find the answers to the questions and the peace to live without all of the answers.

I have no idea if that teachable moment with my 5-year-old will leave a permanent imprint on his life, but it did on mine. Because my heart that had been wounded by discouraging words from friends was reminded that people are fallible but God is not. There are many voices, but only one truth.

To whom do you listen?