A cute red headed birdy with always fresh nail polish once said “If you don’t share the wisdom that God has revealed to you the enemy is just gonna snatch it back”. So here are my attempts to share the whispers of the father in an ever-growing relationship of depths with him.
The women’s retreat had come. Glory glory sang the mommas, as we ran out the door as fast as we could, not even caring if the makeup was on. Freedom. While the afternoon was filled with leaving carpools & vans full of sweet ladies I sat at work, then wrestled my monster later that night & pulled in just as the message was about to start. We sang, he met me, it was glorious. With tired eyes I said goodbyes, only to return tomorrow after first nap, more baby wrestling & another bath time. My heart rolled around, a cranky mess, muttering to itself as I left those ladies snacking without little hands wanting late into the night.
And that is when he spoke. Sweet child, let me tell you how much I see. I see every dish that is scrubbed clean, every diaper endlessly changed (and sprayed, cloth diapers are not for the weak), every load washed, meal prepped, toy picked up. I see the midnight cries, the early mornings, the endless sickness, the barf covered showers & the aches in your bones. I see it all done with your two hands that miss your husband, your helpmate, your love. I see it all. Oh sweet child. I see it all.
Isn’t this our hearts cry? To be known. To be validated. To have someone simply say I see sweet mama, I see all that you do. But with all of this striving & declaration of our hearts out of our mouths we grow a sense of entitlement that quickly over shadows that of deserving. These two are not the same &yet are interchanged as casually as can be. One is stuffed on a shelf while the other forces it’s way to the front. With weary eyes, the lines are grayed. We take rest that isn’t ours, we serve with hearts unpure, whisper prayers of self comfort & we speak words that invalidate the work put forth by those we hold most dear. Who are we who cannot see every aspect of every life to say that our work is harder, more heart wrenching or even more important than that of our loves? Who are we to say that they should endure a little longer so that we may rest?
The rest can only come from a pouring out from the father above. No amount of cheering on under intagrams pics of completed tasks, nights of solid slumber in beds far away or quiet time that would make a yogi bored. This will not bring a rest that can sooth the soul, nor will it bring an endurance that can sustain the weeks. The reward of rest in it’s fullest can only be breathed in when it is given as a gift. A gift is not a gift if it is picked out, decorated & given to us by us. Even this gift of time given back is his & when we falsely claim it we rob ourselves of the lesson that lies in the endurance.
Our prayers rather should be those of requests of endurance, of strength. To pour out beyond our abilities for the ones that we love. For there is a far mightier testimony of those who remain silent, receiving what is given, but working endlessly in the name of love. The words of a child simply whispering “I love you mamma. I see all that you do & I love you.” These. These words will sustain us longer than amount of rest could ever bring.
Deserve – to do something or show quality worthy of a reward
Entitle – believing oneself to be inherently deserving of privileges or special treatment
Reward – A thing given in recognition of one’s service, efforts or achievements