Settling into my chair, I open the little white bible gifted to me on the occasion of my First Communion. Sturdy and satisfying to hold, I like the feel of the smooth faux leather cover and take great care not to tear the delicate pages. As my family sits in silence together in adoration, I stumble through a chapter of Matthew, where I come across this verse, “For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.” Confused, I reread the verse again. And then once more. I’m used to not understanding parts of the bible, but this is troublesome. Worry clouds my ten-year-old mind as I begin to wonder why Jesus wants us to lose our lives? This interpretation does not match my simple, but firm understanding of a loving savior. Sitting back for a moment, I know what I need to do.
Creeping catlike, I sidle up to my dad’s chair where he too is reading. “Dad?” I whisper, “What does this mean?” Following my finger to the verse, he silently reads. And never once smiling to himself at my childlike confusion, he calmly whispers an explanation. I don’t remember it word for word, but I know that it clears away the confusion. Jesus is talking about how we save ourselves and get to heaven only by giving our lives to Him and following His will. This losing your life business is the idea of sacrificial love. It all makes sense now. Satisfied, I quietly slip back to my seat.
It’s been years since this seed of understanding nestled itself in my young heart. Years filled with asking myself the question of who am I? and what is my calling in this life? Whether we talk about it openly or not, each of us aches to know that we belong in this world for a reason, to be told that we matter and that we are enough for our calling. To be found.
Yet often, especially as a mother, this “losing yourself” demands a rather unfashionable way of life. Amidst the diaper changing, the yelling, the insatiable curiosity, the incessant hunger and need for entertainment and attention, sometimes, it doesn’t seem like there is enough room for me. While running the household and meeting everyone’s needs, I sometimes just blur into the background like a hazy, out-of-focus photo.
One morning in February, I fall into the rocking chair with a hefty sigh. If the toddler makes one more mess I might implode. In desperation, I wish that my two children will magically fall asleep in the next 3 minutes just so I can have a moment to myself. Needing to vocalize (a nicer word than scream) my feelings somewhere that is not at my children, I open the notes app in my phone and type out my frustrations. To spare you the details, it is a cry for personal space and a prayer to somehow gain that perfect balance of loving myself and my kids well all at once. And as soon as I reread my fuming, I am brought back to that beloved, but intimidating verse in Matthew: 16:14: “For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.” Yet this time, I’m not quietly contemplating scripture in a silent chapel. I am in the thick of the losing part, and fighting hard to save myself.
There will always be a difficult balance between losing ourselves and loving ourselves. In that hard moment (amongst many) of motherhood, I know that Christ invites me to lose myself in loving Him through my children. I also know that this doesn’t mean never taking time for myself and making motherhood my entire personality. What I do know is that who I am and my vocation are complementary and that I am enough only when I decide not to be in charge of everything and to lose myself in the beautiful cross that Christ has invited me to carry. And the best part is that when I breathe deeply and embrace that cross, I find that I am made for this work. I am enough for it, and it is enough for me. The blurry photo quickly comes back into focus and I can see myself clearly.
No amount of Montessori toys or park playdates will make me enough to measure up as a perfect Mom. And no amount of time away by myself to sip lattes and type up blog posts sans children will be enough to make me feel like a professional writer. Only when I see both who I am, my talents, and every moment as a gift from the Creator will it all be enough. And like the sweet scribbles of a toddler proudly holding up their finished picture, I can take my broken crayons and crumpled pages and offer my humble, but sincere self back to Him in an imperfect thank you for a gift that can never be repaid but perpetually received.
This post is part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to view the next post in the series “Enough”.
Beautiful, Grace!