This past Friday I went to my parents house. I sat on the couch beside my youngest brother, my mother sitting on the floor in front of me as my kids played around her, and we watched old home videos of when I was two and half years old and my sister Anna was ten months old. I was wild and loud- standing on furniture, dancing and stomping and singing, running around and swinging toys that inevitably hit Anna in the face. The living room was littered with toys, and a basket or two of laundry sat in the corner.
It was like a photograph of my living room right now. And the kids, well, my children live from the same script- the same wild, the same loud, the same accidental injuries.
I looked at my mama and said, "No wonder I call you when it seems like no one really gets it. You get it. You've lived it."
But I think that, really, other people do understand my messy living room and how achingly exhausted I am by ten in the morning some days. But the people who do not get it- the people who smile and politely, gently push back against the honesty once in a while- it is really hard for me to get over that. Because when I get vulnerable and real (as I try to do on a regular basis) and admit that my kitchen is rarely clean, and then I'm told that women of the Lord work hard at home to keep a presentable living environment, it hurts. Not my feelings, exactly, but my heart.
Let me explain.
I've been really struggling lately with what we commonly refer to as "mom guilt." I didn't get it before, but oh, I get it now. For two weeks last month, every day, literally every single time I sat down I thought to myself, "I am being lazy and selfish. What should I be doing instead of this?" and then I stood up and wearily set about doing something. Our apartment was much, much cleaner than usual for those two weeks, because I spent almost all day cleaning it. I picked up the toys from the living floor a half a dozen times a day. I stayed up until absurd hours cleaning the kitchen and the bathroom. I was exhausted and detached and wracked with guilt, desperately and determinedly trying to prove to this voice in my head that I was indeed a good wife, a good mom, and a hardworking woman of God.
Then all of the sudden, I actually heard the words I was saying to myself. So I sat down (oh luxury of luxuries!) and talked to my husband about it. And he looked me in the eye and told me, very seriously, to stop. He told me he didn't care if our apartment was never clean, he wanted me to rest. He wanted me to sit down, to play with our kids, to sleep, to eat lunch, to read my Bible. He told me that our kids need a joyful mother who has time for them more than they need an immaculate bedroom. He told me that he needed time with me more than he could ever care about a meal plan.
And I was free.
I pushed that voice out, slowly, until I stopped hearing it. First, I had to stop listening to it, and stop believing it. I had to remind myself instead of truth. I reminded myself that it is far higher on God's list for me that I worship Him, love my husband, and and love my kids than it is to keep a tidy home. I refocused on trying simply to do my job as wife and mother very, very well.
God is glorified far more when I am content with my messy, glorious life than when I am constantly concerned with what others think of me. I really believe that He is glorified more when I lay on the floor surrounded by toy animals reading my Bible than He is by a toilet so clean you can use it as a punch bowl. God is glorified more when I am at peace and give my full attention to my husband at the end of the day so that I can invest fully in my most important human relationship than He ever could be by tasteful home decor. God is more glorified when I spend time getting to know who my children are as they grow than He ever is by a freshly-vacuumed carpet.
Don't get me wrong. Obviously it's great to clean your toilet and turn the vacuum on once in a while. (Every day, even, if you get the chance.) But I made these things an idol, and I let them rule me. I berated myself and indulged by turn in guilt over the things I hadn't checked off my list and pride in the things that I had- and this, friends, was horribly wrong.
Some people are great at keeping their priorities straight AND keeping their homes clean, and I genuinely think that's awesome! One of my best friends keep a really tidy home, which I truly admire. I also deeply appreciate the fact that she never judges me for the stacks of dishes on my counters, and that we're able to do real life together and love each other regardless of who's house is cleaner. That's how it should be.
Some people, though, will look at my Instagram posts, or chat with me, or come over to our home, and they will think I am failing. They will think I am not doing enough. They will not get it.
That's okay. They don't have to get it. I'm not living for them.
I'm living for the glory of God.
If you are the mom with the clean house that finds herself judging, or the mom with the messy house that finds herself fearing judgement, this is something I wrote a few months ago that may be helpful.
Having just found it again myself, I wish that I had read it during those two weeks when I berated myself mercilessly. This just goes to show that even when we KNOW the truth, we are all susceptible to failure to live it out. Praise God that His grace is new for me every day!
Comments
Post a Comment