Bottoms Before Bags

It happens so often that it has almost become normal.

When travelling on public transport or sitting in public places, we put our bags on the seat next to us.

I really get it. No one likes to put their lovely (and sometimes very expensive) bag on the dirty floor. Floors are filthy. 

Today, I took the boys to a nearby water play park. There are quite a few bench seats around, each catering for two adults. When I first arrived, it was not very crowded, so I dumped my three bags on the seat next to me and sat doing my crochet while the boys splashed and played. 

An hour later, more people had arrived and all available benches were taken. I looked up from my crochet and noticed a fellow mum standing as there was no where to sit, watching her own kids play. I quickly packed up my things, trying to get her eye contact across the space to indicate that I was making room for her. As that didn't work, as soon as I had put everything down, I walked over and asked her if she would like to take a seat. She looked so grateful and thanked me profusely. 

You're welcome, I said. It's too hot to stand around. 

And that was the total sum of our conversation. 

But it made me think about the common occurrence where I have had to stand while others have taken space with their bags. 

And I also wondered how often I had not noticed others standing while my bag occupied a seat?

The most expensive bag I have ever owned was probably about $200. I really don't remember. It was so long ago since 'branded' meant anything to me. I don't actually know how much branded bags cost, but have heard of them costing thousands in some cases. 

There is NO bag that is more valuable than a person. None. When a person becomes less important than an object, something is seriously wrong. 

Our personal convenience should also not outweigh the value of another human. It's easier when carrying multiple bags to take up more seats than we need to. There are, of course, exceptions to this. I am not trying to be legalistic. I have often struggled carrying a backpack, a tote or three, and had the two boys alone while on public transport and in such cases, as much grace as possible from my fellow commuters is welcome! 

But as far as I am humanly able, I want to communicate worth to those around me. To make space, to give grace and to assign value in the right direction. 

Our Childrens' Hearts

We are now two days away from the biggest move of our 4-year-old's life. He was 21-months-old when we moved into our current home. Although this new home will be his fifth since he was born, this is the only one he remembers living in.

We started to notice some difficult behaviour in him last week. He was sometimes angry, and at other times anxious. When I sat down with him to talk, he made statements like, "I will miss my friends", "I will miss this house" and "I feel angry". 

Levi is the most like me, in terms of outward appearance, but also character and personality. One of the traits that we share is that we don't like change. We enjoy adventures, exploring, creativity, new experiences, but we both need and crave a stable home life. 

For myself, growing up, I had the opposite of stability. I have lived in more than 20 homes in my life. My family moved very often, usually every 1 - 2 years. There was no real reason for moving so often. I am not entirely sure why we did. I learnt to manage and to cope, but as an adult, I can process it better now and can see how the instability led to a lot of different behaviours in me. 

For example, I was constantly collecting things. I like to save and hoard things because they were constants. Granted, there was also the creative component of that, in that I saw beauty and usefulness in almost everything.

Levi is quite similar. He loves collections. He knows all his toys and notices if any go missing. 

As a parent during a major life change like moving house, it can be easy in the busyness of packing, etc. to forget that we are responsible to carry, care for and help with the processing of our children's emotions. They do not have the same ability to analyse what they are feeling and to respond appropriately. Change is inevitable, but how we deal with it helps us to transition well. 

So we sit with him. We engage. We give him space to talk. We don't tell him he is silly. We acknowledge his pain. We let him talk about what scares him. Often just the act of looking into his eyes and reiterating his emotions is enough to bring peace to his heart. 

Say The Words

We were on the way home by train on Saturday. We'd had a morning appointment which had run late, so both boys were tired, cranky, wound up and overdue a nap. Our 2-year-old was particularly angsty. I was holding him in my lap and humming to him, while also listening to and occasionally answering our 4-year-old when required. Needless to say, I was hardly aware of anyone else around us. 

When we were at the station before the one we would get off at, I mentioned it to our eldest, as he likes to count down how many stops left.

It was then that I became aware of a Muslim woman, who was standing next to us and had apparently been listening and watching all that we had been doing and saying. 

She suddenly leaned forward, made eye contact and said, "You are such an amazing mother! You would have to be 101% patience. I have never seen anything like it. Well done!"

Four simple sentences. 

And I started to tear as I thanked her.

Now of course, she doesn't know the whole story. She didn't see the many, many times when I was the opposite of patient. 

What struck me the most, was how incredibly rare her comments were.

I/we are bombarded every day with negative messages. 

We aren't good enough. We don't look right. We don't behave correctly. And endless list of 'you should be more's. 

What a breath of fresh air this stranger was! And now, four days later, her words still echo in my thoughts. 

I am reminded of the verse in Ephesians 4:29:

"Let no corrupting talk come out of your mouths, but only such as is good for building up, as fits the occasion, that it may give grace to those who hear."

And as I consider the workings of my own heart, I am challenged. Too often, my words are biting and critical. It's become a habit that I must share my (usually negative) opinions, even if only to my husband. But am I as quick and as compelled to share the good? 

I asked myself, what 'glasses' would I rather view the world though? Is my energy better spent noting the negative? Or should gratefulness, joy and contentment be my filter? 

Which attitude comes from a life filled with the Holy Spirit. 

What attitude do I want to model to my sons?

So I pray, and I now work, at catching the little negative comments and replacing them with the good. I am not saying that we should deny the existence of bad days, moods or circumstances. 

But as Philippians 4:8-9 encourages:

"8 Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. 9 What you have learned and received and heard and seen in me—practice these things, and the God of peace will be with you."

I want to choose to spend my energy, physically and mentally, on the good things in life, that are really just blessings from our Father God. 

And I want to be the person who steps across barriers of shyness or social norms, to be the one who encourages others in their various walks of life, speaking kindly and cheering them on. Who know's who might need to hear some positive words in their day?

Presence and Presents

One of my most favourite things is when our almost four-year-old comes into the bedroom in the morning for snuggles. His hair is all ruffled and his eyes are still sleepy as he nestles into my arms. I kiss him on the head and for that moment, everything is perfect.

Some of my least favourite parenting moments are when he constantly asks me for things. Every advertisement, kids show, playdate with friends or at the local playground leads to... "Mummy, I was thinking about buying..." or "Mummy, I want to have..."

I love it when my son wants me, and not the things, the 'blessings' that I can give to him.

Parenting has opened my eyes a lot to how it might be for our Father God. Since thinking about this, I have been intentionally noticing the amount of time I spend asking God for something versus the times I just want Him, and His presence. 

We named our eldest Levi purposefully. In the Bible, when the promised land was being divided among the tribes of Israel, the Levites were not given land, because their inheritance and their reward was the Lord Himself, and to serve him in the temple. (See Numbers 18)

We hope and pray that Levi will grow to be a man who loves God, and lives his life as an offering, without seeking first the inevitable blessings that come from being in God's family. 

It's a challenge. We have needs and desires. And they are valid. But as a parent, I already know what our sons need to grow and thrive and I take additional delight in giving them above and beyond those basic needs. 

And being nagged for things is exhausting. 

A great delight and desire for me is for my sons to want to be with me, to spend time in my presence, without asking for 'stuff'. 

And my great desire as a daughter in God's house is to grow to seek His presence to the point that His 'presents' are not even in my view. 

Goodness is It's Own Reward

It is almost four years now since I 'became' a mother. 

In my pre-motherhood days, I was quite certain of my mothering skills. I knew that I was going to be a natural. I had so many plans and desires about who and what I would be as a mum.

Of course, it came as quite a shock when I realised how far from my ideal I actually was. In fact, not even a week of motherhood had passed when, exhausted beyond my previous me's imagination could conceive, I realised that I just wasn't enjoying motherhood. 

Since then, with a second boy added to my tribe, I have had infinite examples of my own sinfulness as a mother. It has been the biggest struggle of my life; both to recognise my fallenness and to see the effect my bad behaviour has on the little people I love the most.

Lately, God has been teaching me the truth that sin is a choice. I know we believe that in our heads, and have heard teaching on it often, but we hold the opposite as true too, that we are fallen humans, sinners on the road to grace, and won't achieve the fullness of our sanctification until we meet Jesus in eternity...

When I read the Bible, I can no longer hold that as true. 

An example of this can be found in John 8:1 - 11. The passage talks about the adulterous woman caught in her sin. The religious leaders want to stone her to death, and they bring her to Jesus, hoping to trap Him. But Jesus replies them by saying, whoever among you is without sin, he can throw the first stone...

The story ends with Jesus saying to the woman: “Neither do I condemn you; go, and from now on sin no more."

If you look up the words, "no more" in the original Greek, it means, "no longer, no more, not hereafter"... (Another example of this can be found in John 5:14)

The problem with this truth is that it is a real slap in my own face. If sin is indeed a choice, and I find myself still sinning, it is my own fault. 

Jesus has already paid the price for my sin, and as a born again, new creation, I already have the power inside of me to overcome sin, that is, the Holy Spirit. 

The weakness and error is mine. 

Not His. 

I am not willing to do the work of dying to my own self, counting my own self as dead, and living in Him. 

And the result is a life NOT filled with the fruit of the Spirit. Which, to be honest, has been what much of my parenting has looked like.

I have been meditating on His fruit for the past week, asking the Spirit to bring them alive in me. Asking HIM to be alive in me. 

Today was not the easiest day. I was stretched, had a migraine, my boys were cranky at being confined inside while a thunder storm raged outside. 

And yet, I was self-controlled and parented with goodness, all glory to God. 

I didn't lose my temper. I didn't get frustrated. Yes, I did correct them, but I did so with love and kindness. 

It stood out to me so starkly because it is so rare. 

And now, at the end of the day, I am sitting thinking about the day, sipping my tea, and I'm grateful to God for being strong in me today.

Responding in love today, entirely powered by the Holy Spirit, felt good. It feels good to not be controlled by my emotions. 

Goodness is indeed it's own reward. 

My Mother's Daughter

Four generations on my mother's side

The women in my family are strong. They've had to be. 

My maternal grandmother was an amazing woman who learnt how to thrive in difficulty. She was resourceful beyond measure. She wore the tool belt in the family, teaching herself skills to repair and construct, while my grandfather didn't know which end of the hammer to hold. 

My mother has been through more than a single body should. With three very unhealthy marriages under her belt, she has lived a life that no one would choose for themselves. She sacrificed so many things throughout her life for men wouldn't sacrifice anything for her. 

My mother isn't the very feminine type. She has never cared much about her hair or her clothes. To this day, she labels herself a 'dag', an Australian expression for someone far from fashionable or cultured.  Personally, I wouldn't go that far in describing her, however, to my own shame, I have some fairly strong memories of being embarrassed by her growing up.

Now, I am also quite sure that being ashamed of your parents is a general human experience. What teen hasn't wished that their parents were anything except for who and what they were?

I made a lot of internal promises, that I would 'never be like my mother'.

And now here I am, a mother of two boys, in my early to mid 30s, and reminding myself of my own mother on an almost daily basis. 

In our bedroom, we have full length mirrors on our wardrobe. I was laying down, putting my two sons to sleep, and without really thinking, I glanced at my reflection. I was struck by how much I looked like my mother. 

And in that moment, all the memories of trying to be as different to her as possible, came rushing back.

But I also realised that I no longer minded. 

I am not my mother. I have made my own choices in life, and walked my own path. But the genetics of me comes from a clear hereditary line. 

As I look at my body, not often with love or appreciation, I can see my history. And suddenly, I recognise that I am part of a family. My heritage is strength. Our bodies are not always beautiful, but they endure, they can do amazing things from creating art to birthing life. 

Correction

My husband corrected me this morning. Oh yes, he actually did... 

Fortunately, he did it nicely.

I was making a few remarks about a friend of mine and my comments were on the judgmental side.

My dear husband said to me, It's funny how we like to talk about establishing heaven on earth, God's Kingdom here, when it comes to sickness and victory etc. But in heaven there also won't be anger and irritability and judgment either.  Why don't we work to establish that aspect of heaven on earth too?

To which I replied, Good point! 

And promptly shut up...

How grateful I am to have a husband who cares enough to correct me lovingly when I am behaving less than Christlike. Thank God!

Yelling

I recently read a blog post called '7 Life Changing Things I Learned From 30 Days of No Yelling' by Allie Casazza.

It struck a deep, personal chord with me, because I, too, am a yeller. 

Just typing the above sentence makes me feel vulnerable. I don't like to be perceived as THAT kind of Mum. I am often complimented for my maternal patience, which I do immediately correct, because patience is one of my most lacking virtues. However, I can see that my rebuttal is seen as 'modesty'.

But it is true... I yell when I am frustrated, angry, hurt, sad. It is a learnt behaviour. I was yelled at a lot when I was a child. And now, as I see myself echoing my own childhood to my children, I know that it has to stop here and now, with me. 

These past 6 months, my husband and I have been getting to know the Holy Spirit more. A lot of emphasis has been on God the Father, and Jesus, the Son, but there is a third person in the Trinity, and He is just as important to personally know. 

And in knowing Him more, the Spirit, I am challenged to see how His fruit, the fruit of the Spirit, are so often not my first response. 

In Galatians 5:18 - 21, there is a list of the works of the flesh, i.e. our natural selves. Among them is 'fits of anger'. 

It goes on to say, in verses 22 - 23:

"But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control; against such things there is no law."

I am not going to do a '30 Day No Yelling Challenge'. 

It's not the way I work and such things are rarely effective for me. 

I AM asking the Spirit to work in me, everyday, from now on. 

I am currently on Day 3, and I have to confess, I have yelled at least once on each of those days. My flesh is weak. But I rest and will continue to rest in the fact that it is the Spirit who changes me. 

At each 'failure' I can stop and confess my sin to God and to my children. And I will keep doing this, resting in Him, reminding myself of His Presence moment-by-moment, until I look exactly like Him.