Out of the Dust

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Today was one of those days where I convinced myself that not only do I not deserve any more children, I probably don’t deserve the two I already have.

Sometimes it can feel like everyone else has it so under control. Their kids are smiling and doing crafts and know how to actually draw and color (as opposed to ham-fisting a crayon and just scribbling everywhere). No one else gets impatient with their baby or practically has an out-of-body experience upon hearing the word “no” for the tenth time when we’re trying to go somewhere fun for pity’s sake.

How can I be almost 40 years old and still need so much sanctification? How can I still have so many rough edges?

More than anything, I just want to get smaller.

I think about myself too much. Do I worry about my kids getting too much screen time because I worry about their development, or because I care more about what I think it says about my mothering?

On Sunday we sang Gungor’s “Beautiful Things,” and all week I have sung to myself—as I wash dishes as I rock Posey to sleep as I write this—”You make me new, You are making me new,” because I need to be reminded, and I need so very much for it to be true.

The bloom is off the rose, as they say, on our new lifestyle, and all I’m left with is feeling like I’m not any good at it. But no matter how hard it is, even after a day like today, when I ask myself, would I rather be back at my job? The answer is a clear no. That chapter is closed. That season has come to a finish. This is our new season, and it’s only just begun. So I better stop second-guessing myself and get better at it. Or at the very least learn that there really is no “get better at it,” not really. There’s just living it. Moment by moment. Day by day.

This afternoon, after naptime and rest time and time-to-breathe time, I sat down on the floor with them in their playroom. I tickled and gave airplane rides on my feet. I stacked Legos and pretended to drink coffee they’d prepared in their little kitchen. And it reminded that this is all they really want. They don’t care about enrichment activities or sensory play or whatever. They just want me, and honestly that’s what makes it so dang hard. Because I’m no good. I’m weak and selfish and lazy and easily annoyed. But they want me anyway.

It’s the Gospel, isn’t it?

He wants me anyway. I’m no good, and yet, He wants me anyway.

He makes beautiful things out of the dust, so He can make a beautiful thing out of me.