But that's all behind me now. We've gotten to Thursday night and if the children don't eat something vaguely resembling real food cooked in a real kitchen apparently something terrible will happen. So I set myself up for success. First step. Me handing out electronics to everyone in the house. A tv, an ipad, an iphone, a laptop. If it can be charged or plugged in, you are watching it, playing it, yelling at it, arguing over it, or posting from it for the next 30 minutes. This used to be my guilt-free time by the way. As in, "Okay everyone it's learning time! Go get those educational tools and get busy while I make you a balanced, organic, healthy dinner!" Doesn't that sound nice? Until some nut job came along and labeled it. Now it's SCREEN TIME. And it's very, very bad. And it needs to be monitored and encrypted and timed and all my stuff needs to be in sync with all their stuff so I can coordinate their learning from my curriculum app and get daily dings on which kid missed 6+3 and how many more minutes the older one played Angry Birds than learning about the environmental effects of eucalyptus rainforests. I do not like Mr. Let's Call It Screen Time and if I ever meet him, I just might have a brand new label to call him! But back to business. Their little hands are busy and it's time for me to make this happen. There's chopping. Carrots, celery, maybe a little green pepper. You really gotta bring your A-game here because if the pieces aren't tiny enough, you're totally busted. Someone will yell "Is this a carrot?! Are we eating CARROTS?!" And then little people will start coughing and gagging and things will go downhill fast. So I'm chopping. Quarter size, nickel size, dime size, pea size, head of a pin size, still edible but not able to be seen by the naked eye and thus cause an ebola-like outbreak at the table size. Bingo! You start the chicken, set the table, find the real napkins. You revel in the relative peace and quiet and think of a few more creative names for Mr. Let's Call It Screen Time just in case you ever actually bump into the guy. And then it's dinner time.
Enjoy that phrase now. Dinner time. Just like in the old days when the moms nursed their young while churning the butter and teaching little girls how to stitch their samplers and and somehow still cranked out a beautiful farm to table buffet every evening. And all without any Pampered Chef accessories mind you! Calling my little family to dinner makes me feel nurturing and proud and successful. We might have eaten leftover Dominoes on the couch 6 out of 7 nights last week, but tonight darn it there is DINNER TIME. It's an accomplishment y'all. No wonder those butter churners used to ding dong that little triangle when they yelled it. At this moment, I know just how proud they felt.
The EDUCATIONAL TIME is over and our little family has gathered to count our blessings and enjoy this meal together. I think ahead to the compliments that might be passed my way. Tasty, delicious, yummy, awesome. But instead there is silence. Stone cold, nerve-wracking silence while children stare at their plates. You might want to savor that silence, such as it is, because after the silence comes the wailing.
What IS this?
Why does it look smashed?
Why are we eating new stuff?
My tongue is too wet to eat sticky parts.
Why can't we have chicken nuggets?
AND WHAT IS THAT LITTLE ORANGE THING???
I'm prepared for this. A little whining isn't going to throw me off. I meet every question with a patient answer, a cheerful smile, and a little wink of encouragement. We can do this! We can sit here and eat this simple but tasty meal like four regular people. But the wailing gets louder. Someone needs ketchup. The orange parts make his milk taste funny. The yucky part is getting squishier and the green beans have bumps on them. Bumps! I'm trying to hold it together. I mean I made a list, I shopped (with children!), I pre-heated and chopped and sauteed. I put out real napkins for goodness sake! I spent an hour and a half planning and cooking this meal. And these people so do not appreciate it. So instead of basking in their gratefulness as the Mother Nurturer, I'm doling out threats and bribes and blinking back tears of disappointment. The husband finds me later dumping half eaten plates down the sink as I calculate how many Oreos will make me feel better and he puts his arms around me. He's grateful for the meal. For the chopping and the shopping and the cooking. But mostly he's grateful for the trying. "We keep at it," he whispers to me. "You're doing an amazing job!" But the Mother Nurturer is officially over it. The rational, grown up part of me realizes that kids are naturally messy, ungrateful, and forgetful. That they need to be taught to help out, be thankful, and remember their blessings. But deep down inside, there's a tiny little volcano of resentment that's bubbling up. Not things I act on. Or even admit. Just little thoughts I struggle with. Please tell me I'm not the only horrible mom who has.
No one knows how hard this is. I'm tired of fighting for one peaceful meal. One uninterrupted shower. One night of no fits at homework time. And how about some basic appreciation? Seriously just one simple thank you. A bedtime routine without a fight. I pour out myself into mom-hood and lately I feel like I've been getting nothing in return. I love them to death and nothing will stop me from putting their needs first. But please tell me after all this selfishness and ungratefulness, there's some kind of reward at the end of the tunnel.
And not that day or the day after but the next week, I was reading. And this paragraph jumped out at me.
"If you love those who love you (back), what benefit is that to you? For even sinners love those who love them (back). And if you do good to those who do good to you, what benefit is that to you? For even sinners do the same. And if you lend to those from whom you expect to receive, what credit is that to you? Even sinners lend to sinners to get back the same amount. But...do good, and lend to them EXPECTING NOTHING IN RETURN, and your REWARD will be great..."
Luke 6:32-36
And I read that and thought to myself what an awesome ministry that would be. If I could just find someone and determine to love them that way. Serve them, donate to them, sacrifice for them, love them, and be there for them but expect nothing in return. How awesome would that be? I could be like a big 'ole arrow pointing them straight to God. So I'm writing in my handy dandy little prayer journal and asking God who that person could be. It would need to be someone that couldn't or wouldn't pay me back so I could practice the "expect nothing in return" part. And it would need to be someone I had lots of opportunities to interact with. You know, someone I saw all the time. Someone that needed love and encouragement and maybe even mentoring. And then hello you know where this is going. Right in the middle of that thought, I remembered those darn bumpy green beans. And I didn't want to remember them. I wanted to forget that whole awful debacle called dinner and the many others like it. I wanted to think about a fun, exciting, new ministry reaching out to someone with this special kind of unconditional, expect nothing in return kind of love. But I couldn't forget the bumpy green beans. Or the dinner. Or the resentful, selfish thoughts that were zinging through my heart as I dumped little piles of dinner down the drain. God pierced my heart with the knowing and there was no escaping it.
The someone's who needed this kind of love were living in my house.
I had been loving them but I had been counting the cost. Making a mental list of what I was giving up so they could be cared for. Longing for the thanks and appreciation I felt I should be getting in return. And battling discouragement as I walked this beautiful but exhausting momma journey with no reward to point to at the end of the day. But here God was telling me if I only love when I know that love will be returned, I'm doing the same thing anyone without Him would do. What any decent person tries to do. But as His child, He expected more of me. He expects a different kind of love. The kind of love I could never achieve on my own. He expects Luke 6:36.
The bad news is that it's horribly difficult. Not to roll my eyes when I make a dinner no one particularly raves over. Not to count how many times my phone conversation or my shower or my lunch is interrupted. To give of my time and my schedule and my relationships without expecting anything in return. To be a mom without needing to see immediate results.
To bask in God's love and acceptance until it's enough that He alone knows about my little sacrifices!
But the good news is that God is totally up for this. That He loves me enough to help me to love my husband and my kids this way. And He promises the reward will be great! And His presence right here beside me with His promise that it's not all for nothing is enough to keep me going. His joy is my strength! And it can be yours as well. So hang in there momma. If you're feeling a little unappreciated and a lot exhausted, try out Luke 6:36. Ask God to help you love those little monkeys in a whole new way. Bumpy green beans and all.
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