Motherhood is like a Pirate Ship

I am not sure where to begin as the waves of my emotions shift.  I have so many thoughts swirling around, creating different tides, shifting me from side to side as I desperately search for the lighthouse to guide me to solid ground tonight. 

I feel like Black.  Black Stallion, that is.  A wild horse, longing to be free . . . but trapped on the confines of a man-made boat.  A boat that feels like it is going to sink. 

As I nursed Naomi this morning, I tried to decide what I could compare my days to. 

A pin ball machine is what came to mind.  A pin ball machine on the Titanic.

I wake up.  The bed is safe – like the chamber the pin balls are stored in before they roll before the spring loader.  Just like the balls can’t stay underneath the game, so I must step out and be propelled into my day.

Usually forcefully.  But my life is not a game.  My children are not a game.

From the moment my feet hit the floor, my head bounces from one wall to the other, sometimes being thrown down three flights of stairs, only to climb one flight a few minutes later.  Running from one emotional trauma to a dog eating a beloved toy to a math problem causing frustration.

My life is like a ship on the ocean.  Resting on the hole idea of buoyancy.  Constant motion.  Upkeep to attend to.  Directions to follow.  An infallible map to attune to . . . to not lose sight of.  Trust and faith. 

Some days it really takes faith for me to believe that I am the best mom for my kids.  After today . . . I have some SERIOUS reservations about my appointment to this ship.  I fear for my sailors.  My crew.

Now we see things imperfectly as in a cloudy mirror, but then we will see everything with perfect clarity. All that I know now is partial and incomplete, but then I will know everything completely, just as God now knows me completely.  (1 Corinthians 13: 12)

I vow to eat the seaweed that restores and nourishes me . . . but fresh fruits and veggies fall by the wayside as I attempt to keep the sailors under my watch fed.  Breaking up food fights.  The hurricane rush leaves the table quiet and empty.  My attitude festers into a nasty case of scurvy.  The deck is swabbed soon after a meal.  Followed by safety checks.  And rescue missions involving opened gates and damsels in distress. 

There is no time for seasickness.  There is school to be done, mouths to be fed, dog paws to be wiped, bottoms to be changed, dirty clothes to be drowned.  Jesus to be emulated. 

I want to be that sailor or first mate who is proud of her vessel.  Excited to wear the uniform.  Bursting with pride.

But the only thing that bursts from my mouth is loaded ammunition.  The flag I hoist is like one found on the Flying Dutchman. 

Just when I thought my day was to end in silence, I was alerted to three stowaways stomping in the hold . . . waking the princess of the ship.

Consider it all joy, my brethren, when you encounter various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces endurance. And let endurance have its perfect result, so that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing.  (James 1: 2-4)

Sigh.  I was going to go workout.  Take my frustration out on the treadmill.  Rid myself of pent-up gun powder.

Not the princess!  Let her sleep. 

Sleep will protect her from me this evening. 

And so I pray that a mist will invade her room and lull her back with a gentle rocking motion of evening waves. 

What do I hear?  Can it be?  Is land in sight? 

A seagull?  An olive branch?

Like Noah must have rejoiced over solid ground, so do I with the quiet that has settled over my ship. 

I shall go fight the silent battle now.  The battle of the bulge. 

Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. Red sky in morning, sailor’s warning.

Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.  (2 Corinthians 4: 16-18)

Honesty can feel so good.

How is your ship?

She Wasn't Granola When I Married Her: Life with Granola Mom 4 God

This coming June will mark the end of the first decade of my marriage to Granola Mom 4 God (GM4G). There is a picture of the two of us on our wedding day that hangs on the wall of our closet. As I get ready for work every morning and as I get ready for bed every night, I gaze into that picture as if it is not a picture at all but a window, a window into a life that seems both as familiar as yesterday and yet as distant as a childhood memory. I see two people staring back through that window with intense and optimistic eyes. They are looking into that window as if they are looking into the future at me, but I know the window is only a mirror to them for it is impossible for them to really understand who I am… who we are after ten years together.

Ten years have gone by very quickly and yet the people in that window appear so different then they did on that perfect day when their covenant began. I scarcely doubt that anyone that knows us today would have any difficulty identifying our former selves in that picture. We look mostly the same now, just a little older. Our core values have remained largely unchanged, but maybe slightly more pragmatic. There have been no major unanticipated life changing events that have diverted us from the course we set out on when that picture was taken. We are still running the race of living a life fully committed to Jesus. Yet I know that the people looking back through that window could never have imagined the exact course their life has taken. I know the people in that window well enough to realize that they have no comprehension of the continents they will traverse nor the oceans they will cross, the valleys they will descend nor the mountain tops they will climb, the life they will create through their bodies nor the death that will be required within their bodies. While many of our experiences these last ten years have shaped us, none have been as impactful as the life we have seen created among us. In one sense, we have seen that life come from our bodies as it has been powerfully manifested itself in the lives of three very precious boys. In another sense, we have seen life enter our bodies as we have grown in our understanding and practice of eating foods that are full of life. This practice has been affectionately nicknamed, “granola living.”

It is true… she wasn’t granola when I married her. Nor was she a mom. The women looking back through that window was “4 God” just as she is now. Her “granola-hood” and her motherhood have profoundly changed the woman in that window in ways I never could have imagined, all of them for the better. Granola-hood has caused her to rely more fully on God by trusting that His ways are always better than our ways and that no part of His Word is without purpose and meaning for us today. How she ended up in granola-hood is not entirely clear to me. If you ask her, she will say that I got her into this. But I know now that whatever part I played in it has long ago been overshadowed by hours of her own study and experimenting. Her path to granola-hood has been a process shaped by the influence of good friends and a call to embrace food and life as God created it. If you ask her, she will say that I got her into this. It is hard to imagine living any other way now. What would our home be like without fermenting and sprouting? What would our backyard be like without a garden? What would meals be like without meticulously prepared whole foods?

How she ended up in motherhood is much clearer to me but I’ll refrain from sharing the details of that. As with granola-hood, she often reminds me that I got her into this too. While we may sometimes be weary from the life we have created, it is impossible to imagine life any other way now. Being a mother has forever changed her. It has allowed me to see the very best in her come out. I knew very well the day I married her that she was kind, patient, nurturing, and self-sacrificing. As I look back through that window today however, I am sure that I did not fully comprehend the depth of her kindness, her patience, her nurturing, or her self-sacrificing. So while it may be fun to gaze into that window and think upon the people we once were and the carefree life we once lived, I am certain that I am now living on the best side of that window and I wouldn’t ever trade this life, or the woman who shares it with me.