I. Don't. Like. It.
I don't. Don't get me wrong. I LOVE the little cards, the half-dead marigold (teacher might as well give my child the dead one...I'll kill it within a week...no matter how hard I try.) I have every card my children have ever made me, and every one my husband has ever given me. But, let's break this down. On your child's birthday, do you let them lay around doing nothing, expecting to be served? Do you let them act like jerks all because it's "their" day? Of course not. Even in the midst of attempting to give them a good day, we battle the "entitlement monster." And really, we have birthdays way backward. THAT'S the day we should be giving mom's a day! My mom, for example, labored for over 24 hours, had nurses sitting on her, and was without all drugs to help bring me into the world. Really. That deserves some acknowledgement. All I did was show up...eventually....and I get all the gifts!
Back to the topic at hand. I cannot stand when my children think they are entitled to anything. So, as one of their primary examples, once a year, I let them know how entitled I am to lavish gifts, "time off", and anything I want. My expectations are huge. No fighting, breakfast in bed (on a Sunday?!?), sparkly things in nice boxes, the baby to change her own diaper, and a husband who just cannot seem to praise me enough, or give me enough "me" time.
Somehow, it just doesn't seem to be right...at all. In our season of service, we want the time to "pause" so that we can be glorified. We've bought into the culture that screams for "our rights" and "me time." The Lord knows we need time away. That's why He said to "be still and know I am God" and to "meditate on My words day and night." A wonderful 60 minute massage, or even a full night's sleep, is not going to give the rest we need. In just a few short years, the kids will be gone. We won't have dishes for seven, laundry for everyone (and apparently 100 other people, because seriously, where did all these clothes come from?!?), and bathrooms that are dirty before the bleach has dried. I cannot, yet, imagine what it will be like without all the little people in our home. I haven't slept through the night in over three years, and no matter how much I work, our home is never clean, and the laundry basket is never empty. This is my season. This is our season. Letting go of the expectations of glorification makes every single little thing mean so much. Getting up, knowing service will be before me until I go back to bed, becomes a reminder that this, this, is precisely what God has called me to today. If I hear "well done, thou good and faithful servant" tomorrow, something happened that I did not see coming. Lord willing, I will hear that phrase when I meet Jesus. Unless God has a much different plan than I do, I won't hear that tomorrow.
Motherhood is way more difficult than I ever expected. I'm not even talking about the physical fatigue, which makes my college all-nighters look like child's-play. The emotional and spiritual toll of being face-to-face with my own failure on a day-to-day basis is intense. Having to tell a little, disrespectful, ungrateful child that I am sorry because I sinned against them is a hit to the pride...let me tell you. And that is what all of this is about. Pride. The root of our entitlement. The reason we have hugely unmet expectations. The seed that blooms into bitterness.
If we ever hope to have our children rise up and call us blessed, and our husband to praise us at the gates, we need to let the routine of rising while it is yet night to do the work we were called to do define our every moment. (Proverbs 31)
Happy Mother's Day. Now go change a diaper.
