Thursday, October 4, 2012

humble communion :: day three/four

{via pinterest}
being a parent is a lesson in humility. this i have learned already.

i've started in with the litany of stammered apologies at the state of my house to any guest that might stop by, and the blushing shame that lingers even when they assure me that they understand. because part of me thinks they don't, and they simply cling to polite courteosy as a way to make the frazzled new mom feel better.

and then today my mom came by with a box of things from home, and the stammering began. could she come upstairs? well...yes...but...my house is a mess...i'm so sorry for the mess...

and then my mama started in with her love. she held my daughter while i showered, and when the tiny warrioress slipped to slumber, she started in on my dishes. and dishes turned to floors and sinks and the toilet and tub and the messy stack of haphazard books and welcome your new baby cards in every shade of possible pastel.

and i again started with the i'm sorry you're seeing my house like this...and my mother lifted her head up and looked into my eyes and spoke words that melted my soul like wax.

:: that's the devil's lie

i wept in secret as i fed my daughter and my precious mother scrubbed the limescale from my tub. and  i felt my pride starting to fold in on itself.

because i was living in pride, in this dark land of messy dishes and unvacuumed floors that were crushing me from the outside in and bringing me to this place of overwhelmed confusion. and He was giving me a thousand outs, a thousand chances to rest and breathe again, and i was tossing them back in His face.

i am enough. i can handle this. 
i don't need You. 

{yesterday, me and my daughter) 
and then i broke. and i sat in the armchair while my mama brushed my hair and twisted it into a French braid out of my face and told me that i was radiant in my new motherhood. and we washed and dried dishes and laughed while my infant heart-clinger slept in her basket nearby.

we shared communion without the bread and wine, but with our mother-daugher-granddaughter hearts all meshed together. and i know He sent her to melt me down and restore me whole again.

even if it was just a shower and a tidied house and no more stammering apologies.

i need others. and i need Him.
there's no surviving without Him.

i'm inhaling His breath. and i'm loving my baby and letting the pillows fall where they may for now. no more pride, just on bended knee between the notes of the Lion's eternal song.

no more devil-lies. i'd rather share communion with my mama.
with my baby.
with my Jesus.

4 comments:

  1. smiles...my mom would come help us occassionally like that...and to breath for a minute and not feel like you were continually falling behind with everything that needed to get done...smiles...we do need people, each other in this world...we were never created to do it on our own...

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  2. this was beautiful. as is your tiny warrioress. xo

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  3. oh beautiful. and she is darling.

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  4. Oh sweet girl.
    I have had four babies, and I need to tell you some important things.
    First, you are blessed to have a mama like that! Those of us who don't are a little jealous... Second, when there are babies/toddlers in the house there is no such thing as 'just' a shower and a tidied house! A tidied house is something rare and precious and to be delighted in like a rainbow, because it will last just as long. :)
    Third, babies are one of the most amazing, delicious and incredible things in all of creation - but they are also exhausting and very, very hard work. If you were writing a book and spending all your time and energy on it, the house wouldn't be perfect. You are doing something much more important than writing a book, you are writing the first lines on your sweet girl's experience of this life. Give yourself grace, and always, always, ALWAYS say yes if someone asks if they can help!
    Also... you have such a gift with words. I am loving following your journey into motherhood!
    Handsfull

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I look at you and see all the ways a soul can bruise, and I wish I could sink my hands into your flesh and light lanterns along your spine so you know there's nothing but light when I see you. :: Shinji Moon