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.

Gibby, right? Sweet and funny sidekick from iCarly? But think twice. He’s more than just Gibby. He’s Noah Munck.

I had the privilege of meeting Noah for a couple minutes at the Nickelodeon Kids’ Choice Awards pre-party in March. Being the mom that I am, I of course explained that my kids love watching him on iCarly and we were sad the show had wrapped. Noah thanked me kindly, but made it clear he was looking forward to moving on with his acting career in movies and TV shows.

I’ve pulled this picture up on my computer screen more than once since March because as much as I enjoyed meeting Gibby, Noah got me thinking. How many of us want to break free from old, out-of-date, worn-out images of ourselves?

Maybe you’ve been the funny sidekick like Gibby, and you desperately want to be taken seriously for who you really are.

Maybe you’ve always felt like the fat girl, the fat boy, the one on the sidelines, insecure, not good enough.

Maybe you’ve been the quiet one, you feel small, you’re afraid to express your opinions, but long to break out of your shell.

Maybe you’re the good girl, the “perfect” one, doing what’s best, making the right decision in every circumstance, and you just can’t do it anymore.

Maybe you’re the sarcastic one, hiding your true feelings behind jokes that make others feel bad, looking for a laugh when you’re dying on the inside.

Maybe you’ve been addicted, looking for security and stability here, there, anywhere, and you haven’t found it yet, so you shop and you eat and you drink and you work, you wander and you roam, you’re aimless, and it’s getting you nowhere.

Maybe you’ve felt alone, nobody understands, you’ve been abandoned and abused, and you can’t shake the feeling that nobody notices or even cares.

I give you permission today. Break free. You’ve been you, and nothing is wasted on God’s clock, but it’s time to break out of your shell and become who He created you to be. You’re even more than you’ve been. You’re beautiful, you’re you. Perfectly unique, ready to bloom right where you are.

Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart; I appointed you as a prophet to the nations.  Jeremiah 1:5

Amy

Noah’s next project, Swindle, premiering on Nickelodeon August 24th! Best wishes to you Noah.

The battle. It continues. It rages silently.

Daddy, he ended his own life this week. Mama and three kids are left with questions of why and what now? Souls torn apart, changed forever, from just one act.

And mama, she’s not sure what to do. Her young one struggles with autism. He won’t eat and he’s spitting stuff up. There are no answers. She’s rocking this way and that, and she can’t grasp his ways.

Sister fell off the wagon. A strike of fear runs through hearts, for memories of days gone by don’t fade fast. They long for peace, healing, complete restoration, but truth is, all that’s been slow to come.

Brother’s heavy already, and sister’s getting bigger too. Mama brought them to the buffet. They’ve eaten, but hunger for more. Empty eyes on smart phones fill moments of ordinary, and there’s talk of fancy, far off places, hoping something, anything, will fill the holes in their hearts.

In this world you WILL have trouble, we are told. But this trouble, it’s so hard to bear.

For My yoke is easy and my burden is light, He says.

No more tears, no more gnashing promised in this other-world place of glory.

To survive, we believe. For He is extraordinary, His plan far beyond ordinary.

“I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”  John 16:33

Amy

 

It’s been in her a while now, this yearning to break free.

She’s spent a lifetime doing just what she should. But should brings with it a heavy weight of expectations, and when you live under a burden as heavy as that, eventually you have to get out from under. Because expectations filled with should never satisfy.

She’s always known what she should do.

That path she should take? She’s been on it.

The decision that would be most responsible, most noble? She’s right on it.

The next step that would make sense and be best for everyone? She understands it.

But at some point along the path of should, she found herself in a place that wasn’t her own. The good girl veil of obedience and doing everything she should became heavy and it was hard to see through. She knew her true life’s path was still good, likely even great, but different. And not that of others’ choosing, but of God’s choosing and her own.

She began to struggle, she sat in the pain. Hints, glimpses of another path were there, but she was so unsure.

She wrote in desperation. There must be a way to write out of this, to reason out of this, to make sense of this. She scratched and sketched in those books for years. On and off, they were her solace, her place to express things no one else understood. The questions, the unknown paths, the wanting to be free of should, she wrote it all there.

As she wrote, she birthed new lives. And with each new life came a little more clarity about how to get off this path of should. She began to make wishes and dream big dreams. In-between the pages of pain were pages birthing hope. She dreamed big, really big. The pages were free, open spaces for her to be who she wanted to be. The burdens of should had no place.

She wrote just as she needed, and the years added up. She didn’t write because she should, she wrote because she could.

After a while, it was hard to deny. The far-flung wishes she had scratched on pages were becoming the daydreams of her heart. In-between doing all she should, she dreamed of all she could. And it set her free, if only in her dreams.

She sought wise counsel from one who knew there was a different path to choose. And for the first time, she was freed to follow the call of could rather than the burden of should.

She followed the call, without inhibition. It was wonderful and glorious, and she felt right in this place.

But after a while, she found herself straddling two paths, the path of should and the path of could. She felt a bit desperate, stuck. She wanted to jump out of the should right into the could, but the forest was thick and dense between the two. It didn’t seem there was a way.

Quiet moments led her to pages she scratched in those books all the way back to 2000. She saw with fresh eyes God’s master plan embedded within the pain-filled pages of should. On one page, confusion and a wanting out. The next, His master plan, in detail. She knew clarity came only because she read the books in their entirety. The significance of each page would have been lessened if not read in the context of the next page, and the next, and the next.

And on that day, in the midst of her confusion and near desperation, she discovered even greater detail that helped her trust God’s master plan is in place, even when it’s hard to believe.

She found this, scratched little on one page of 30 brainstormed visions from March 2007 – No more supermom. 

It was April 2013, and she had just written this, Turning Capes Into Gowns. 

And she found this, also scratched as vision in March 2007 – Special moms.

It was April 2013, and she was about to launch a month-long Special Mamas series on her blog. Her wish became a dream come true thanks to the willing hearts of Jennifer and Tamara and Jessica and MNAutismMom and Jennifer and Lisa.

And she found this, a detail she had not recalled from conversation with one who affirmed her vision and dreams – Walk and follow the lily pads of grace. One by one God will place them for you if this is His call.

She knew she needed to trust. She must proceed with abandon towards the path of could. Because the expectations of what should be always disappoint, while the possibilities of what could be provide hope.

So she’ll make wishes, she’ll keep dreaming, and she’ll keep following the lily pads of grace. And maybe one day, she’ll discover all of the scratches and sketches came true.

For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”  Jeremiah 29:11

Amy

The pressure cooker of life wears me down some days, no doubt it wears on others too.

Pressure cooker, defined by Merriam-Webster:

1. an airtight utensil for quick cooking or preserving of foods by means of high-temperature steam under pressure

2. a situation or environment that is fraught with emotional or social pressures

Pressure so great that a prominent pastor’s son ended his life.

Pressure so great that wee ones were and are ripped from wombs.

Pressure so great that innocent spectators and participants were terrorized with pressure cooker bombs at a marathon.

And there’s a baby named Charlotte who has Spinal Muscular Atrophy (SMA) Type I. She’s dying. Charlotte’s mama dances with her in the living room to “Blessed Be Your Name” as she holds dear to precious moments that remain.

The grief feels unbearable for Aden’s mama. Her sweet boy passed just weeks ago to cancer, and she and the rest of the family are on a cruise to help relieve the pain, but tears stream in quiet on the ship deck. The pain from loss overwhelms Caribbean beauty, and she sits paralyzed, just her and God in this place of sorrow.

And down your street, men and women fight. Husbands and wives sleeping in different rooms, and they can’t figure out how to fix this. They don’t remember the love, the promise that brought them to the alter years ago. The pressure is building and it needs to be released. Somehow. Now.

On top of all this comes the rain, the sleet, and the snow. We’re hearty here in Minnesota, but when it’s April 18th and it’s been cloudy for weeks and the temperature hasn’t risen above 40-something except for maybe a day, everyone feels the pressure. So when the 1-4 inch snow predicted turned to a major snowstorm in the middle of my work day yesterday, I just about lost it. It had been raining and sleeting all morning as I made my way from house to house for therapy. The sleet turned to snow before my 12:30 visit, so when I returned to my car an hour later, it was covered with a thick layer of snow. And the scraper was nowhere to be found, so my wipers sufficed. Cold snow fell in on the driver’s side arm rest and onto my pants as I pushed the automatic window button, the bare minimum necessary to remove snow from the side windows just enough so I could see. As if denying the snow’s presence was going to make it go away.

The roads were snow packed, the only thing filling baseball fields was snow, and I felt like I was trapped in a snow globe with no hope of ever getting out.

Even the snow packed trees were hard to see as beautiful because I kept thinking it’s April 18th, and we’re supposed to be wearing flip flops and shorts and playing outside on the playground today. For when life’s served you too much pressure, and there’s never an opening for release, finding beauty, finding something to be grateful for is like finding a needle in a haystack.

And when I got home, the task of clearing the driveway from inches of snow loomed.

The school had called notifying us of a school delay and my husband stayed late to avoid the traffic, so after the girls went to bed, my son volunteered to help me shovel.

I shoveled one strip all the way down the driveway, and to be honest, I wasn’t up to the task. But my son, he was pressing on, and I didn’t have to beg or plea, so I thought it best for me to be an example.

After a while, I told him “I can’t do this anymore. It’s too long, it’s too cold.” “Who cares,” he said, and kept shoveling. After that, I was determined to finish that driveway, to be an example whether I liked it or not.

The cold pressed in even greater. The snow was heavy, and it felt like each shovel-full was 20 pounds. And in my grumbling, my complaining to myself, I thought of Ann Voskamp’s One Thousand Gifts, how her book and her blog and through nearly three years of reading, her message of gratitude, of eucharisteo, has been pressing in on me. So I gave thanks for my son who was still shoveling and not complaining one bit, for a flurry of snowflakes illuminated by the street light.

But in all honesty, those moments of gratitude turned to anger because I was still shoveling heavy loads of snow, and there was still half of the driveway to shovel, and it was still. April 18th. In the allowing myself to experience that anger, I thought of messages on anger I heard earlier that day on faith radio, how when we’re angry our “personhood,” our sense of security is threatened. And another message I heard last week about turning our anger not towards others but FOR others, so justice can be served for all the right reasons.

And I realized, I am angry. My sense of security has been threatened, my “personhood” has been threatened. So I started throwing snow in the name of justice. I threw snow for the tiny souls that never got to breathe a breath. I threw snow for little Charlotte who’s going to pass to heaven while still an infant, for Charlotte’s mom who will grieve the death of her precious daughter before she knows it. I threw snow for the little boy whose beautiful life was cut short because evil prevailed through a bomb. And I asked God why? WHY?

In those moments of anger and throwing snow for justice and asking God why, these verses came to mind…

I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world. John 16:33

But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from Godand not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body. For we who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus’ sake, so that his life may also be revealed in our mortal body.  2 Corinthians 4:7-11

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

So I stopped and I stood still near the end of the driveway. The wind picked up, the snow blew cold on my cheeks, and I heard His still small voice “Feel my presence, even in the cold. Even in the cold.”

Amy