I still don’t know how she did it.

She was a mom of three and she worked full-time our entire lives. She never tried a part-time gig, never took years off to stay at home while the kids were little, and I don’t remember a single time she complained about having to work AND raise kids. She did what she did, she did it well, and it’s all she knew.

It’s quite likely that I idolized my mom when I was a kid. Her work was only a block from our house, so she’d literally RUN home from work to get dinner made and on time bake in the oven. (If you know my mom, you know I’m not exaggerating about the “literally RUN” part!) We had casseroles, whole chickens with mashed potatoes and pan-roasted gravy, pot roasts with carrots, and homemade pizzas to name just a few. Mom would complete the meal with sides and desserts and all the proper fixings. I know we had grilled cheese and tomato soup and tuna sandwiches, but let’s just say those nights were the rare occasion. And my mom would NEVER dream of serving us Hamburger Helper, Rice-A-Roni or any such thing.

In my subconscious, there are probably many days I still idolize the way my mom did “it all.”

When I’m overwhelmed with my part-time job, when I can’t keep the house clean like mom always seemed to, when I don’t serve my in-laws three square meals a day when they come visit like mom did for her in-laws, I believe I’ve fallen short.

When I throw Tyson chicken nuggets in the oven and warm up some frozen store brand peas, lies creep in that I’m not a good enough mom.

When I toss a baked potato in the oven, my son asks “why can’t you make mashed potatoes like grandma,” and he goes over to whip them up for himself, lies creep in that I’ve fallen short.

And even when my daughter comes home and says her friend’s mom “cooks different” than I do, “she makes everything homemade,” truth sets in that I’m definitely NOT doing “it all.”

I’d make more whole chickens and mashed potatoes with pan-roasted gravy and all the fixings…if only…

So I’m grateful for the moment it occurred to me, just today, that my mom is human.

The kids came grocery shopping with me last night. They wanted to buy Banquet TV dinners, specifically the $1 turkey dinner variety. I let them buy these dinners once every 3-6 months and they think it’s a treat. While I think turkey dinner is one of the most tolerable of TV dinners, they’re still not the best, so I grabbed 2 Banquet pot pies instead.

The kids ate their TV dinners for breakfast this morning (true story!), so my baby daughter and I ate pot pies for lunch.

As I took those pot pies out of the oven, flipped them over on the plate, and cut them up just the way I did when I was a little girl, I realized something.

These are Banquet. Pot. Pies.

$1. Banquet. Pot. Pies.

While they might not be the most nutritionally sound food in the world, and any foodie mom would die that I was serving Banquet Pot Pies to myself AND my child, the reason I wanted to get those pot pies last night is because I had fond memories of eating them as a child.

As obvious as it might be to you, I had to come to my own realization.

These are Banquet. Pot. Pies.

$1. Banquet. Pot. Pies.

My mom served these Banquet. Pot. Pies. To us.

That moment it occurs to you that your mom is human? It’s a beautiful thing.

So thank you mom, for serving enough Banquet Pot Pies that they formed a lasting memory in my brain. The gravy, the vegetables, the meat, the way my fork cut through that crust? All proof my memory might have failed me…just a bit.

Amy

After untangling the cord, I place one white earbud in each ear. A first generation iPod Nano loaded with thousands of songs goes in my right hand, an iPhone in my left. I push playlist, then Amy’s workout, searching for the song that matches my mood. Sometimes the day dictates secular, sometimes worship, sometimes a mix of both.

I turn up the music, loud. I can’t hear anything else. The world as I know it is drowned out. I thank God and know this will be good. It’s always good. Because somehow, that drowning out of the world through exercise and music is a filter. It helps me feel and see life more clearly than ever before.

I begin. I let my body take the lead. I walk and run as I feel moved. I’ll worry about the numbers again someday, but for now, I go with the flow. Most days, my body knows what it needs. Just minutes in, I can tell it’s going to be a mostly walking day or a mostly running day. And so goes for the music – secular, worship, or mix. Intuitively, I know what I need.

But whether I’m walking or running, listening to secular music, worship music, or both, one thing remains true. My desire is to see as God sees. I open my eyes, prepare my heart, and listen.

A man with a cane makes laps. He walks with a limp, but he’s as steady and as strong as he can be. As I pass not once, but twice, three times and more, I envision a day when he’ll throw his cane and run free.

It’s a school day and mom has two kids in tow. She teaches them down dogs, they exercise their hamstrings with big balls and shoot hoops on the court. She has no qualms that she’s the only mom with school-aged kids at the gym on a Monday at 9:30 a.m. She’s in her element, that’s clear. Living your dream, living your purpose always feels right, even when it’s out of the ordinary.

Sarah, an employee with disabilities, makes her way down the stairs. An elderly woman stops Sarah half way down and helps her tie her shoes.

Most days, a petite woman with a blonde pony tail spends her time with a personal trainer. She’s strong, she’s a fighter, an encourager to those around her. Her body language says – I’m fighting, I refuse to give up, I will give it my all.

And then there’s the elderly couple. They’re bent over together as they walk the track. It’s phenomenal, a once in a lifetime testimony I wish everyone could see. They’re not just bent over, they’re bent over to the same degree, walking side by side at the same pace. If you look at them from across the track it’s as if they’re one. Others can’t help but notice. Some engage, others smile quietly to themselves as the elderly couple passes. I’m dying to know their story, but I’ve been afraid to ask.

The ladies training below look like robots. They cross the gym the same way every time. One leg up, one leg down, all the way across and back again. Their personalities are completely lost in the robotic movement. They don’t fight, they don’t resist, they just keep moving on.

The man with Down Syndrome stacks the steps. Slowly, but surely, puts each one in place. They’re squared, stacked at the same height. It’s a quiet area. He does his work without complaining, at his own pace. It’s a hidden beauty I can’t help but wonder if anyone sees too.

That woman on the treadmill, she gets me every time. She runs like the wind, throws punches in the air, fire is deep in her bones. She’s strong, fierce. I’m convinced she’s overcome, convinced there’s worship music blasting loud in her earbuds.

The old guys, they’re wearing jeans, leather belts and boat shoes. They walk in groups, at their own pace. They don’t give a damn about how fast or slow anyone else is going. They do it their way. There’s community with those guys. They’ve seen it all, done it all. They’ve paid their dues. They show up day after day, and I love them for it.

He looks over as I pass, attempts to engage in conversation with questions and comments. “You work at the grocery store? You look just like a cashier there.” “It’s been a week and a half since hunting and nobody’s shot themselves.” I remove my earbuds with just enough time to listen and respond – “That’s a good thing, right?!” Some might call him a little creepy. I think he’s quirky, sweet, well intentioned.

Moms wait in hoards for the prime time group fitness classes. They’re dressed in Lululemon, Athleta, Under Armour. There’s pressure to be thin, really thin – fit, really fit – your best, perfect. I spent five years in those rooms. I understand the pressure, I know how it feels. I know the need, the drive, the longing, the striving to be good, better, best, perfect. It’s too much for me these days. I can’t keep up. I take my own path now, but I get it. Believe me, I get it.

She’s thin, sickly thin. Her hair is sparse, thin too. Skin covers her bones, there’s nothing between. The thickest part of her upper thigh is barely bigger than my arm. I wonder what she’s battled, the demons she’s faced, the wars she’s waged. She’s not just thin, she’s hollowed out.

ONE obese man frequents the treadmill on the far side of the gym where the man with Down Syndrome stacks steps. It’s quiet there. Perhaps he thinks nobody will notice him. One day he’s absent. I notice an obese woman hop on the elliptical just two down from the treadmill the obese man uses. Goose bumps run up and down my body. She’s the only obese woman I’ve seen at the gym, he’s the only obese man I’ve seen at the gym. Both choose the same safe hiding place. Slow and steady, they won’t give up. This battle is theirs and they’re here to fight.

I pass her on the track. She’s short and she’s hiding. Her hands are in her pocket and her head is down, way down. Her plight, unknown, but she’s here to walk through it, work through it.

As I sit to stretch, a little girl comes running around the track wild and free. Mom follows close behind. Both with big smiles.

The baby says “hi” and “five” as we prepare to leave. She knows, our buddy’s up ahead. He’s there, every day, washing windows. He has Down Syndrome, but that doesn’t keep him from making a difference. She grabs my hand, wants me to give high five first. All three of us smile at each other, I tell her “It’s your turn, give your buddy high five!” She inches slowly but surely to her buddy, gives him high five. He smiles and waves bye. And as we walk away, I turn to look back and I’m blessed with the greatest gift of all, a gift that can’t be replicated or done justice with mere words. There he is, kneeling down behind the window. He’s looking out at my baby, beaming, bursting full of joy, watching her walk away. She brought him joy as much as he brought us joy.

Yes, thank you God, is the only appropriate response.

It’s all in His hands.

All this, just a glimpse of the way God sees. His love language is music. It’s loud and His song is always right – for you. He knows your heart, He knows your tribulations and your triumphs, and He loves all of us the same. He’s with you every step of the way. His heart is beating fast – for me, for you, for them.

Amy

When you walk, your steps will not be hampered; when you run, you will not stumble.  Proverbs 4:12

I’ve held one belief close for years.

{{Moms, lean in, this is for you.}}

We’re far too isolated in America.

Few have heard me mention my ideal alternative as if I’m joking, but truth is, I’m not joking at all.

On my worst of days, my most stressful days as an American mom, this is my desire. I’d like to be transported to another time, another civilization, where modern day expectations are blown to shreds, where I can live a simple life and it’s never questioned, not once. I’d like my husband to wake up and head out for a long day with the tribesmen. They hunt and gather, and as the day draws to an end, they come back with dinner in hand. While the men are gone, the women gather – weaving and braiding, cooking and preparing household things – together. We wear babes on cloth slings and the kids play all day. There’s no fighting, no comparing and no tattle-tale word slinging, just playing and running, singing and dancing. We gather over women as they labor, sing and love on them when they’ve lost their way. And we’re all dirty, like dirty beyond anything you ever see in America, and we don’t even care. Grandpas and grandmas, great aunts and great uncles, they’re wise constant-present council, and there aren’t cliques but community. There’s no comparing mini-mansions and mobile homes because we all live in huts so it really doesn’t matter. At the end of the day, there’s a fire where stories of old are told, the passing of one generation’s best to the next.

But I’m bound to my American life, and let’s be honest moms. This other world civilization isn’t happening anytime soon, unless, that is, we’re willing to sell everything, move to a deserted island and start our own tribe.

In the meantime, I’ve opened my eyes to this isolated American mom phenomenon…

Young mom, I saw her at Taco Bell. It was early for lunch, anyone would admit, but hey, when you’re mom it’s never too early for lunch and I had my three there too. She had two tinies in tow, a toddler and preschooler, and I couldn’t get over how angry she looked. While tinies babbled and chatted, she sat, fist balled up under her chin, looking out the window, eating her taco. Truth be told, it seemed she just wanted them out of the way. She just wanted to get this meal thing done, she was passing time. Her mind was somewhere else, and wherever that angry place was, it never let her go.

Then there was mom after swimming lessons. I saw a bag on the ground, just outside the exit to the parking lot, and wondered whose it was. A moment later, I heard this mom yelling “3-2-1 if you don’t pick up your stuff and come I’m gunna leave and go to the car.” Her anger escalated quickly, and I’m talking very quickly. I listened in discreetly as I walked with the kids to the car and got them in their seat belts. Mom managed to get her kid to the car, but by that time, she was beyond angry, at her wits end, raging. Kid was crying, mom yelled “If you don’t stop crying, I swear to God I’m gunna spank you.” And all of this in a parking lot. She was beyond caring what anyone thought.

Last was mom in Office Max. I was next in line behind her, she was hard to ignore. Mom questioned the $91 charge that remained after her $10 coupon. She was arguing with the cashier, but something was off, she was despondent, far off. Her responses were delayed, the cashier did a double take because mom wasn’t responding the way she should. Baby was in the cart calling “mama mama mama mama” repeatedly while the other three stood, waiting politely. I thought she might smile as she bid the cashier farewell, or maybe she’d even crack a smile when she realized her baby was still calling “mama mama mama” But no. She remained emotionless. She picked up her tiny bag, turned away, and abruptly told her children “go, go.” I smiled gently and looked into her eyes as she passed, but still, no response.

Do I share these stories because I like to hyper-analyze, criticize fellow moms, and point out their worst moments? Not so much.

You see, I’m no different.**

In my over-busy, beyond-stressed and way-too-isolated American life, I’ve had my own fair share of moments. Not exactly like hers nor exactly like yours, but uniquely mine.

Catch me any given day, and you might just find me stressed out. I’m talking the house is a mess and daddy left for work kind of Saturday. The sink is piled high with dishes, the TV’s on loud, and all I know is the kids need to eat something for breakfast. I break out the “good mom breakfast” of eggs, whole wheat toast, and milk, and the sink’s just piling higher. Kids are complaining that I’m taking too long, and the piled-high stack of mail and to-dos by the stove reminds me I’m inadequate to keep up with it all. One doesn’t have enough toast, the other needs more eggs, and the third’s got her sippy cup tipped over and she’s watching it drip all over the floor. By the time they all finish, I wipe baby’s hands, and sit down to my own breakfast, it’s time for more mess. Baby’s next to me on the floor, finger painting with the milk she dumped during breakfast.

Before I know it, they’re all three loving on each other in the chair. I breathe and I feel blessed, I’m grateful.

But then baby’s screaming, and they’re all over her, and she’s screaming even more.

And in that moment, I wish grandma or great auntie was upstairs or next door, I wish mamas were all around to wash up the mess so I could just eat, or maybe we could be transported to the hut with the dirt floor where the mess could just disappear deeper into the dirt.

I don’t have any great single solution to the isolation, anger, frustration, despondency, sadness, stress, or anxiety we sometimes face as moms, but here’s what I know.

This other-world community I long for has nothing to do with little, big or clean houses. It has nothing to do with being a stay-at-home mom or working mom. It’s not about doing life just right all on my own, and it’s not about proving I have it all together at all times.

It’s about community, it’s about grace, it’s about knowing beyond a doubt that this quote is true…

Be kind. Everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.

Let’s stand together as moms, for moms. Tend to others. Offer a helping hand. Give grace freely. Smile. Bend down low. Have faith that God’s in control and works all things together for your good. And breathe.

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”  Matthew 11:28-30

Amy

 

**I do not approve of nor condone the behaviors of mothers I observed in this post. Mothering is hard business, and I do my very best to reserve judgement unless I know another woman’s situation intimately. I am simply observing and suggesting that mothers are far too isolated in our culture. Further, I am not suggesting the American mothering experience is all negative. There are, of course, many reasons why the positive aspects of parenting outweigh the negative. I am simply offering a glimpse of the other side of mothering that often goes ignored.

The day started with a bang!

Just three hours in to the morning, I received news that had the potential to change the direction of my future, and if it was true, I had no choice but to surrender. Goose bumps and tears, shock and peace ran through me all at once.

So later that afternoon after I dropped my daughter off at the American Girl store for a birthday party, I found myself with an hour and a half of free time. Normally, I revel in free time at the Mall of America because it means access to every store I love, and provides endless opportunities to engage with interesting people. But before I knew it, I found myself at the Nestle Toll House store buying diet soda and two chocolate chip cookies. I plopped down on a bench in front of H&M and spent a half hour pouring over the words that might change my life, trying to make sense of it all. Carefree shoppers passed with bags in their hands, and there was a part of me that wanted to forget it all and just chill, but I was in a fog – just me, my smart phone, and my Nestle cookies. Yes, I do believe those Nestle cookies provided me a bit of solace in that moment!

My time alone was running short, so after a half hour, I forced myself to get up and spend the last 45 minutes shopping! I bought a first day of school shirt for my daughter at Gymboree, and then after wandering aimlessly, found myself at Old Navy, drawn in by thoughts of a cute dress I had recently seen advertised in a magazine.

I can’t remember why it was a special day for Old Navy, but there were balloons and big signs advertising fashion shows in the rotunda. I don’t do a lot of shopping at Old Navy, but the Mall of America location is the best by far, and the promise of that dress kept me going deeper into the store. The dress was nowhere to be found, so I kept wandering back to the activewear where I picked up a few pair of workout pants as possible replacements for the one with holes I just threw in the garbage!

I held those workout pants and not-so-passionately began looking for a dressing room, but my mood got the best of me. As I thought of those potentially life changing words, worry, doubt, and uncertainty snuck in, grabbing ahold of any reserve energy I had to try on the pants. But as I hung all three pants back on the rack, I realized there was music playing in the background, louder than any music I’d ever heard in a store.

I’ll admit, as I moved further back, deeper into Old Navy to determine where the music was coming from, I quickly became annoyed with how loud it was. Empty handed, moody, annoyed and now overstimulated by the way-too-loud music, I looked around at all the clothes and people shopping and started thinking even more negatively – we’re obsessed, consumption driven maniacs driven by the acquisition of more and more, and for what?

But suddenly, I had a change of heart and my mood shifted. The volume of the music was no longer annoying because for the first time, I really listened to the words. “Don’t You Worry, Don’t You Worry Child. See heaven’s got a plan for you.” The beat was fast and the words repeated over and over, and to be honest, that music was no longer an annoyance, but a relief for all of my worrying and obsessing about something I had no control over.

So I walked a little deeper and turned right, and there was DJLow getting his groove on next to his equipment! Just the sight of him dancing helped me chill out to the next level. The song ended and my anxiety remained much lower than it had been just a few minutes earlier, so I knew I had to let DJLow know how his choice of music had impacted me so positively in that moment.

Just as I suspected, DJLow was kind and chilled out, and he waited patiently as I tried to make room on my phone to take a picture. “No worries,” he said, when I apologized for taking so long. He wished me a better day and bid farewell.

And a shy boy with little expression danced reluctantly with another brave enough to dance freely in the middle of the Old Navy store. I smiled. DJLow smiled, and kept playing his music, on and on.

(Perhaps you needed that reminder, too?)

Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.  Philippians 4:6-7

Amy

*If you’d like to hire DJLow for your wedding or special event, follow him on Facebook here!

We approached a big spill on our way to the corner table and intentionally walked around it. A woman seated at a table near the spill warned us to be careful as we passed.

Moments later, the Taco Bell manager, James, appeared with a bucket of water, a mop, and a bright yellow caution sign he placed carefully near the site of the spill. He cleaned it up briskly and when he had completed his work, he smiled and joked with the woman at the table “What spill?” James and the woman shared a bit of light conversation in which I overheard him tell her with all sincerity “I haven’t had a bad day in 30 years, only bad moments.” As the woman got up to dump her tray, she wished him another 30 years just the same, and he agreed whole-heartedly that would be so.

James had more than captured my attention with his boldly optimistic statement that he “[hadn’t] had a bad day in 30 years, only bad moments.” Wow. Imagine how different life would be if everyone had that that mindset! But as I continued to observe this man in action, I realized his powerful presence in this place.

James greeted customers and thanked them kindly for their patience as they waited at the counter, even if they waited only seconds. He approached our table and others asking if everything was alright, and bid customers farewell with a smile, wave, and encouraging words “You have a good one!” James engaged employees in conversation with care and concern to the extent it was clear he was a respected leader.

The energy James brought to this Taco Bell was so strong I could feel it. His positive attitude inspired me and called me to action – to live with more gratitude and optimism, to live richly and boldly, to not grow weary but instead pursue excellence wherever I find myself.

Thank you James. You made my day, and I am grateful. Keep doing what you’re doing. You’re making this world a brighter place.

Light shines on the righteous and joy on the upright in heart.  Psalm 97:11

Amy