My husband was the first victim of my state of gloom: I want them to be that young again! They were so cute, and they really liked me, and they cuddled, and Jrod liked dinosuars....honey do you remember when our son liked...dinosaurs? And this was followed by more jabber and ugly tears and blah, blah, blah.
I couldn't let it go. I mean, I could not let it go. All the anxious thoughts of how quickly life goes by, how short my time is with my kids, and how much I wished J-rod still liked dinosaurs sat on me like a heavy brick while lying in bed that night. And so, I did what everyone does when they can't sleep because their kids are getting older and no longer playing with dinosaurs: I opened their baby books and began flipping through the pages (incidentally, I have two baby books and three children. This is because, as many of you know and what I have learned from friends, number three doesn't exist as far as pictures are concerned....until about...oh...graduation day).
But something unexpected happened while flipping through the pages: I started actually remembering the days when my kids were babies. I'm not far enough removed from it that I remembered quite vividly... the poop.
Oh, the poop. There was so much of it. Diaper after diaper, mess after mess, and explosion after explosion. My son, God bless him, would "paint" with what was left in his diapers during his "quiet time" in his room. And "quiet time" should always go in quotations just because, well, you know what I'm talking about, moms.
The first time I discovered his "art," I cracked... just a *wee* bit. It was absolutely disgusting and it was absolutely everywhere. After several stern warnings and explanations of why this so was stinking (literally) bad, my son went to "quiet time" the next day and fully submitted to all of our rules and warnings.
Not at all.
His art was even more extensive than the previous days "quiet time." This went on for several days in a row until I threw my hands up and did what any mom would do who needed to remain coherent. I wrapped his diapers with duct-tape. A lot of duct tape.
My son had duct-taped diapers for the entire second year of his existence. Next to his changing table we had placed in organized bins: diapers, wet ones, bags, and...duct tape (duh). It worked brilliantly except for the nursery time at church. How does a person succinctly and courteously explain to one volunteer after another why there is duct tape in the diaper bag, and, um, on his diapers?
And then I also remembered the cold coffee. I'm quite certain that I didn't drink a hot cup of coffee that wasn't reheated sixteen times for about five years. I can still recall opening the microwave and finding my cup of coffee from the previous day. And there may or may not have been times that I pressed "quick cook" as soon as I found it. Gross.
And I remembered the lack of sleep. The kind of lack of sleep where my face actually hurt. Like I remember my cheeks hurting because I was so tired. Is that a real thing? Cheek pain from being so tired? I think it is.
Moms of babes: you're super women. And there is light at the end of the tunnel: you will enjoy a hot cup of non-reheated coffee and painless cheeks someday soon. Praise be.
And I remembered how many times I longed for my babies to be older. I remember being excited about the next birthday because it meant they'd be that much more independent, but then in the same moment I would have opposite thoughts: don't get bigger. You're so cute and chubby and I don't want you to get bigger. Ever. And then, before I knew it, there would be poop, cheeks hurting, and cold coffee...and I couldn't wait for them to be older. I'm kind of a Jekyll and Hyde mom: Grow up! Please grow down. Go experience the world! Please never leave home. Like ever.
I struggle at times living in a constant state of discontent and very seldom do I focus on the stage of life that is today. Instead, my tendency is to focus either on where I've been or where I'm going. This kind of discontentedness is so common for parents, I'm fully aware, but as I've been seeking out what it looks like to have a contented life, I've been gently reminded of what it means that "godliness with contentment is great gain."
In his book, To Live is Christ to Die is Gain, author Matt Chandler says this:
If the grace of life is replete with treasuring Christ, then we have a joyful duty to live as unto the Lord with all our might. When we seek joy and contentment anywhere outside of Christ we do so to our own disappointment and destruction, and even to the detriment of others around us.
Unfortunately, I'm pretty sure that I seek with all my might whatever I can to cover up my occasional gloom: a conversation with a friend that involves little else that me complaining - just because I need to get the woes of my life "off my chest." But I also cover it up with a night out, Netflix or even a book that I can't put down, all of which are great things but ultimately leave me in the exact same state of dissatisfaction.
I'm beginning to understand that these states are similar to the times when I'm hungry (which is more often than not) and need food. Crackers will cover up my hunger pangs only for a while, but soon enough I'm gonna need some food to satisfy. Satisfaction won't ultimately come from more crackers; I mean, thank the LORD for meat, and potatoes, and fish, and veggies. And bread...we can never forget the bread.
I can be filled to overflowing with everything that doesn't ultimately satisfy and still wonder why in the world I'm not content. Outwardly I appear very calm (and let's just remember that calm is relative), but inwardly I'm bursting with discontent until I'm able to step aside, refocus, and stop feeding myself crackers. I can't fully enjoy all the blessings God provides in life unless I do so in the framework of His glory: To live unto the Lord with all our might.
My grandmother recently shared a story of a friend who lost her grand-daughter in a tragic car accident. At age twenty-two, her grand-daughter was on her way to her first day of teaching and was struck by a young man who had fallen asleep at the wheel in the early morning. The woman died later that night.
How do you breathe after something like this much less find contentment in the midst of it? By living unto the Lord with all of our might. This kind of living is not always simplistic; in fact, the journey in working out what living unto the Lord actually looks like is usually messy and complicated, but the end result will always be the same: Grace. Grace in the midst of the trials; grace in the sludge of dissatisfaction; grace when we're discontent. It's what allows us to find the road again that leads us back to Him.
This precious family who lost their grand-daughter had the opportunity to tell the young man who caused the accident about Jesus. He gave His life to the Lord. And a year later the young man's entire family gave their lives to Jesus, finding out, by God's grace, that there is such a thing as ultimate contentment in the midst of a terrific storm.
I was helping my ill-mom try to walk the other day, and I couldn't help but think about this sort of contented living. For my mom, walking is about carefully and slowly putting one step in front of the other. Some days it comes more easily than others, but it always takes desire and commitment and it never happens without someone who is stronger to hold her up.
I'm quite confident that I'll have many more tears of gloom over what my seven year old calls "the good old days" (she's seven, folks), but my prayer is that I will be satisfied in the desire and commitment to live unto Him with all of my might knowing that He's holding me up along the way.
And ultimately, my friends, it's in that grip that we find contentment in ALL things - kids growing, sickness appearing, life changing, and even relationships in need of healing. I'm deeply grateful for these gentle reminders that bring peace and resolve instead of dissatisfaction and can allow me to relish the days of picking up iPads and school planners while remembering with thankfulness that it used to be toy dinosaurs.
