My Daughters

"The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the defense of my life; whom should I dread?"

Psalm 27:1-2

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In the middle of my exercising, my oldest daughter spills sticky orange juice all over the floor. It goes under the refrigerator, and all over the cabinets. Everything stops. Anything else vying for attention is humbled. Out come the washrags, back goes my hair into a ponytail, onto my knees. She helps me, but she is little. It's okay, I tell her - mommy knows it was an accident. There is a lot of juice, and not a lot of patience in my heart - and I struggle, even though I meant the words I said. The clean-up is done, and it's obviously been a while since this part of our floor has been this clean. I'm embarrassed. I think to myself, this is so much harder than I thought. I get up off the floor, and we resume our day. They don't know how one orange juice spill impacted their mommy's heart... but I do.

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My husband has already left their room, our Bible story and prayers are complete, and I'm singing them a couple songs. Almost out the door, and she asks a big question about God I didn't anticipate. I want to get out of that room and go rest, but the Holy Spirit reproaches my hurrying heart, and I make myself slow down to answer her. I know this is important, so I start at the beginning, and take my time explaining. I beg the Holy Spirit for wisdom that supersedes my weariness. I plant seeds of truth into her heart, as my body pleads for rest. I walk out of her room and pray for them both, as I stand outside their door. My spirit is humbled, and my desire for the supernatural overwhelms the needs of my flesh. It is several minutes before I head downstairs - and when I do, my face is wet.

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It's their quiet time, and I'm in the middle of doing some research. It's academic and tedious, and my brain is fully engaged. My focus is complete, and then I hear those specific tears that mean my youngest is hurt. I run up the stairs quickly, acknowledging that my moment of study is over for now... my mind is not needed here, it is my heart that is needed. I pull her into my lap and began to croon, nothing else mattering except comfort being transferred. It is ancient and yet fresh each time - this instinctive nurturing, without thinking, laying down my life. I thank the Lord for the ability to be her mother. I pour out everything I have, rocking her and singing songs to her until her cries quiet. Later that evening, I see my computer and books still open on my desk, and for a minute, something aches... but the Holy Spirit gives peace, and I walk over to close the computer as I pray for another opportunity to complete my work.

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In the middle of the night, she wakes up screaming for me. The explosion of adrenaline leaves me sleepless for two hours afterward. I struggle with frustration, holding it like an arrow, tense and ready but with no target. I don't know what else to do other than pray; so I lay in the dark and pray, repeating psalms and verses that rise up to the surface of my mind, until eventually I fall asleep. The next day, they're chipper and full of energy. It grates. The fruits of the Spirit become a prayer on my lips, as I list them one by one and ask for them all in abundance. Seeking first His kingdom, or at least trying to, or at least wanting to, and this isn't the first time my heart has failed. I take comfort in His promise, that there is intercession for me when I can't speak it. It gives me a boost, helps me regain perspective, and I spontaneously tell the girls we're going to a playground. Their squeals of delight are now a balm... The moment is healed, and I'm thankful. 

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There are many things about this life that are an absolute delight. The way the clouds look in the early morning, the sound of a piano, the way iced coffee tastes. The thrill of books and pages, the excitement of taking brownies out of the oven, the rapture of my heart when my husband smiles at me. I find myself thanking the Lord all throughout the day, for all sorts of big and small things... acknowledging His presence, His role as the Giver of all these immeasurable gifts. I love Him, and I believe that my girls see this every day of my life. 

But there are also many things about this life that cause me to tremble, and I find myself talking to the Lord about these things all throughout the day, too. Every hour, I find myself confessing. Repenting. Asking to be more like the Jesus I love, longing to feel more steady in His presence. I discovered a long time ago that it was nearly impossible to hide these things from my daughters. They are observant, intuitive, and they love me. They notice my eyeshadow. They give me kisses when I leave. They know when I'm happy, and they certainly know when I'm not. They notice when I'm frustrated, hungry, sad, weighted down... and it makes my heart break. I don't want them to see me struggling. I want more for them than this. 

I want more for them than me.

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I never anticipated having to raise two daughters in a world where people wore masks, or argued about who was wearing them and who wasn't. Having two daughters who were so completely different from one another. I never anticipated having to unravel the confusion in their heart, as they see a man dressed like a woman sitting beside them at a coffeeshop. The love I would feel, this maddening urge to both protect them and propel them simultaneously. I couldn't have anticipated these things in my wildest dreams.

I never anticipated what a precious gift it is, to be asked their questions. (SO MANY QUESTIONS.) How weighty of a responsibility it would be, to carry them in my arms as I try to walk the straight and narrow. How much I wouldn't know. How insufficient I would feel. 

But I also couldn't have anticipated how present and real the Lord would be, as I'm holding them and wiping away their tears. As I'm trying to answer their hard questions. As I'm feeling embarrassed about my housekeeping, mopping orange juice off my floor. 

Here's what I'm learning to understand, more each day - and one of the main reasons I haven't written any blog posts for the past year: 

The Lord didn't make me a mother just to make me happy. He didn't fulfill my childhood dream just so I could blissfully praise Him from the mountain all my days. He didn't make me a mom so I could test out my recipes, dress up two living dolls, and teach the next generation about the joys of books. 

The Lord has given me these two children so my soul can learn to cling to Him. So He can break my heart increasingly with the things that break His own. So I would learn to call out His name in the middle of the night, when my flesh fails and I am in need. So I would learn what it means, to serve another, lay my life down for another, die for another. 

So I would realize how insufficient I am, and how sufficient He is.

I am thankful God made me their mother. I praise Him, for they are fearfully and wonderfully made. They are my world, and my husband and I delight in them. But this was never only about being a mother. This was always about what everything always is... a soul in need of a Savior.

In between the teaching addition and phonics, the baths and wiping mud off car-seats, the prepping of snacks and the crashing of drinks onto floors, it's all about souls in need of a Savior. Slicing grapes, folding laundry, singing lullabies, running up the stairs at 2:00 a.m., and answering a five-year-old's questions about the Trinity...   

The Lord is my light and my salvation. The Lord is the defense of my life. Whom shall I fear? Whom shall I dread? Tell them. Show them. Say it, sing it, pray it. The Lord is my light, when all else is dark. The Lord is my salvation, when nothing else can save. 

Oh, my sweet daughters... above all other things, He is true.