Free to Be Me

"Mommy, are we going anywhere today?"

"I'm not sure, why?"

"If we're going to stay here then I'm going to wear my Minecraft shirt."


"Why does it matter if we're here or out?"  I ask.

My daughter stands before me, her blonde hair disheveled because she refuses to allow a brush anywhere near it, claiming to "like it hanging in my face;" her brow furrows in frustration and her lips form a pout.  I see that tears are beginning to form in her eyes.  "Because people will laugh at me."  She throws herself dramatically onto her bed.

"Annie," I say gently and pull her to a sitting position.  I cup her sweet face into my hands.  "Do you like your Minecraft shirt?"  She responds with a vigorous nod then says, "I love it!  Do you like it, Mommy?"

I pray for wisdom and say, "It doesn't matter what Mommy or anyone else thinks about your shirt, Pumpkin. If you like it, that should be enough, and yes, I love it.  If I didn't think it was absolutely adorable, I wouldn't have purchased it."

She wrinkles her nose, not quite sure she believes me then asks, "Why do they only make Minecraft shirts in boys?  I'm a girl.  If people find out I'm wearing a boy's shirt, they'll make fun of me."

I look at my girl.  The boxy blue shirt, a size too large because it was the only size that remained but we had to have it, hangs on her frame.  The amorphous Steve and his square pig run from a green creeper.  A wears pink pants to assure people she is not a "boy with long hair."  I assure her that no one would mistake her for a boy then give her a big hug and make one last attempt to reassure my daughter's confidence.

I wonder, as I leave her room, if I've done anything to make her feel self-conscious about her adorable, quirky lists of likes and dislikes.  Parenting is so overwhelmingly hard.  We are all flawed, and parenting, while often bringing out the best in us, also tends to magnify our own faults and insecurities.  Do I project my insecurities onto my daughter?  When I discovered I was having a girl, I don't recall any particular preconceived notions about what it should be like to rear her?  I imagined pink, but I didn't necessarily envision a tutu.  Honestly, when I daydreamed about my little ones, we were usually snuggled around a book, but I wonder if I subconsciously attempt to steer her toward activities that are safe, status quo, and appealing to me?  As parents, it is our responsibility to nurture the dreams God has placed within our children's hearts, but if those dreams are so foreign and beyond my own comfort zone, do I somehow compensate by sending my girl the message that they are unacceptable?

Mine and A's conversation has preoccupied my thoughts for days, forcing this thinker to analyze and re-analyze every syllable because there are some parenting moments I don't want to flub and besides all things concerning her faith in Christ, this is another big one I don't want to mess up, so I'm asking for a do-over.  Sweet A, here is what I want to say, and this all goes for your amazing brother, too.

My sweet Annie and Connor,

You are beyond what I ever imagined a daughter and son would be.  Whatever I dreamed, you have exceeded that dream exponentially.  You are exactly who God made you to be and His grace frees you to be you.  No exceptions.  He didn't place dreams in your heart to be crushed by the opinion of everyone else. He handpicked you for your particular earthly mission, and no one else will fulfill it quite like you are called to do.

My precious little ones, if you live your life based on what others think of you, you will die by it as well, a small, imperceptible daily death of all that makes you unique, those qualities meant to make you shine will slowly succumb to the starvation of not being nurtured because you're so afraid of what everyone else is thinking. It's a crushing way to live.  Slowly, those things that ignite passion within you are snuffed by the worry of what others think.  Every time you concern yourself with the opinion of others, it is like someone pulls a feather from your wings, and when the day arrives for you to spread your wings and fly, you'll be missing so many of those feathers uniquely designed for you to soar, that you won't be able to take flight.

Mommy isn't immune to this compulsion to concern myself with the perception of others.  When I was in high school, let's just say I didn't always fit in.  Perhaps it was a misguided point of view, but it was my comprehension of reality.  Your mom could be a bit dramatic.  I loved  The Baby-sitters Club book series and wanted so much to be like the character Claudia, that like her, I stashed snacks all over mine and Aunt Amy's bedroom.  Let's just say, mice like M&M's.  Once, I was in an argument with friends and when one of them asked what was wrong, I actually responded, "Well, you're not exactly turning bread and water into tea and cakes."  I mean, who says that?  Your mom, that's who.  I was a rather quirky kid who desperately wanted to fit in and by doing so, I probably missed out on adventures God had designed for my unique personality.  I lived on the edge of being myself and trying to be like others, constantly bobbing from one side to the other.  It's exhausting.  I wish I'd lived more on the exhilarating edge of being who I was uniquely called to be.

Fortunately, your mom found friends who understood her quirks and loved me because of them, friends who didn't think it was at all strange to call each other every afternoon when Jeopardy came on and compete via phone.  It didn't bother them that Mommy was obsessed with Harry Connick, Jr. and Ernest Hemingway.  As a matter of fact, your mom frightened a boy away on a first date by talking all night about Hemingway and his indelible imprint on American literature.  Um, let's say I never heard from him again.  See, that's how I knew your daddy was a keeper.  After listening to me drone on and on about Holden Caufield one night, he surprised me with new release of J.D. Salinger's biography.  For years, I believed my idiosyncrasies meant there was something wrong with me, but I have learned that those things about which I'm passionate make me who I am.  Those dreams that seemed weird to everyone else were God's unique gifting in my life.  Once I embraced myself just as I am, I began to live with freedom and joy.

I hope you both learn this lesson long before Mommy did.  A and C, don't waste time trying to fit in.  Don't spend your life hiding who you are in an attempt to be "normal" to not stand out.  Sweeties, God created you to shine for Christ, to boldly live in a way that points the world to Him.  He commands you not to conform to the patterns of this world.  You have permission to be who God created you to be.  Annie, I love that you never leave the house without a stuffed animal and want to be both a vet and an astronaut.  I love that you toss the instructions to your Legos and spend hours building your way. I love that you grasp Minecraft and attempt to pull your clueless Mommy into that fun, virtual world.  Connor, I love that you can correctly pronounce the names of every dinosaur ever discovered and know the periods in which they lived.  Every time you say Cretaceous, I want to forever freeze your adorableness in that moment.  Your knowledge of NASCAR astounds me, and though the thought of you becoming a race car driver terrifies me, I will be the loudest cheerleader in the stands.  The opportunity to discover your gifts and talents alongside you and to nurture those into maturity is one of the greatest gifts I've ever received.

May I never crush your dreams with my folly.  May I never inadvertently discredit your passion with seeming disinterest.  May my own fear and selfishness never attempt to prevent you from living your own life fearlessly.  May I not slip into the easy snare like the parents of a dear student, who shared her wonderful dreams for a career in international business with me then looked at me sadly and exclaimed, "But, Mrs. Johnson, I can't!   My father wants me to be a lawyer, and it would break his heart if I did anything else."  While I'm sure her father had never actually said that to her in words, something in his body language and tone had spoken it clearly.  And I'll tell you, as I told her, your dreams are yours to live.  God places His passion and gift in your life for a reason, and as parents, we cannot recapture lost dreams through the lives of our children.

May I instead be like the parents of Katie Davis, who when their daughter left the comforts of the first world to go to Africa and raise a house full of orphans, opened their grasp and released their daughter, entrusting her to an all-wise, all-loving God. May I be like the parents of Amelia Earhart and Sally Ride and Sandra Day O'Connor, who saw dreams not as male and female but as attainable for their little girls.  May I be like the parents of John Wesley, Neil Armstrong, and Thomas Edison, who taught their children to remain true to who God created them to be.  My sweet children, you are amazing.  You are loved. I will always love and accept you as you are.  Jesus loves you as you are right now.  No hoops to jump through, no tasks to achieve, but the beauty of His love is that it empowers you to go beyond where you are into places you never imagined.  Never forget when you stand against the flow that you are loved.  God loves you so much that He sacrificed His son for you.  Let that kind of love give you the boldness to live your life fearlessly.
   

Scheduling Frenzy

My schedule is ridiculous.  I reached this groundbreaking revelation when I was trying to diagnose why I had recently been plagued with an overwhelming sense of fatigue.  I would come home from work at 8:30 or 9:00, sit on the couch, look at my husband, and think, "I would really like to have a conversa....zzzzzz."  I wish I were exaggerating.  I would later groggily rouse myself around 10:00 from my late evening nap then plod upstairs where I would collapse into sleep before my husband could find his toothbrush.  Like any intelligent girl, I examined my diet, overhauled my eating habits, made kale and other green leafy things my best friends, began taking multivitamins, dragged myself out of bed every morning at 5 am to go to the gym because we all know exercise gives you energy.  All to no avail.  My body still craved a nap every afternoon, not seeming to care that I had two children with explosive afternoon energy.

Still trying to figure out my dilemma, I decided to examine my schedule, which, my friends, turns out to be a doozy.  Most mornings begin at 5 am, so I can make it home from the gym before my husband leaves for work around 6:45.  On Mondays I drop C off at preschool then A and I head to the home school co-op where I teach from 9-12:15.  I rush to get C from school, grab A something to eat, then head back to teach for another hour and a half.  Monday evenings find me tutoring from 5-8:30 pm.  On Tuesdays, A and I spend our morning schooling then meet one of my best friends for our weekly lunch (one of our treats each week).  That evening I tutor from 5-9.  Wednesdays, I spend 9-4 teaching at the co-op, tutor from 5-6, then head to church from 6-9.  Thursday evenings, following a day filled with home schooling, I tutor from 5-8.  Because my husband works half-days on Fridays, I tutor from noon-6 then on Saturday I work from 9-2.  Sunday is my off-day, but as a choir member and sometimes Sunday school teacher, I hate to admit, but it often seems like work.  This doesn't count the hundreds of pages I read each week to prepare lessons for classes and the individual students I tutor. It also doesn't count the mid-week texts from students who need help with homework, the editing essays via email, and the day-to-day operations of running a business like returning phone calls, emails, and texts. It doesn't count my role as room mom for my son's preschool class.  As a wife and mom, I also have grocery shopping, meal planning and prep (yay, frozen pizza!), house cleaning, and I'm training for a half-marathon because I desperately need to do at least one thing that I love for myself.

Y'all, it is by the grace of God that I am still in an upright position.  If I didn't have such an amazingly helpful husband, who shoulders just as much responsibility as me, I'd be on the floor for sure.  I am one task away from the crew of Intervention showing up on my front porch.  I have at least two friends, I know, prepared to lead the charge. Every moment I am awake is spent teaching, discipling, or raising children.  This kind of schedule strangles friendships; this kind of schedule can eventually strangle a marriage; heck, this kind of schedule is ridiculously close to strangling the joy out of me.

First of all, I realize this is a first-world problem.  Got it.  Waah me. Point taken.  Yes, I am grateful for the work and opportunity to do what I love, including home schooling my children.  That has long been a dream of mine.  (Now, if you tell me to be grateful for all the work to my face, I will round-house kick you then cease to be your friend.)  While all that may be true, it doesn't change the fact that I've lost my joy.  It doesn't make the reality of that work load and it's consequences any less detrimental to my well-being no matter how first world it seems.  It doesn't keep me from questioning if people just expect this sort of performance from me every single day.  This post isn't an attempt to win sympathy or wallow in my selfish attitude; it's simply to crawl in my own head and figure out what on earth I'm doing.  Here's the even crazier part:  I happen to know I'm not alone.  I know a lot of mommas burning the candle at both ends.  This is my attempt to say, "Girls, what are we doing?  Why are we wearing our to-do lists like they're some badge of honor.  Stop.  Stop the madness. Let's get off this crazy train before it drives us straight to the asylum."

It appears I am a performance-driven people pleaser, and it is a curse. I hate confrontation and I can't stand to tell people no.  I hear it in my head then it gets stuck on the way to my tongue.  "N, n, um, sure, I can make that happen."  It's like an out-of-body experience where even as I'm saying it, I can see all the negative consequences of that yes playing out in slow motion before I even finish the sentence of affirmation, but I say it anyway.

Part of my quandary is that I like to think what I do for a living helps people.  In fact, it is an excellent opportunity for ministry.  I have been blessed with opportunities to minister to the families of students who have just experienced a traumatic health diagnosis, the death of a loved one, or just a bad day.  I've made a connection with students who just needed someone to believe in them and help them believe that they are capable of achieving, even when it seems unlikely.  I've shared the gospel and been given countless opportunities to be the hands and feet of Christ. I am able to work with amazing kids, and I love what I do.  When I'm teaching a class full of readers and writers, I'm in the zone.  I love it. I actually have too much fun to consider what I do an actual job.  I also feel that because my business has been so blessed that it is my responsibility and call to work with and help as many children as possible.

Yet, I've been wondering lately if God isn't working to refine me and calling me to the carpet about how this is really simply a struggle with my own pride.  It feels good to be needed.  It's nice to be able to use my gifts to help others, and while I pay lip service to the truth that the success I have as a teacher is because God has blessed me with that gift and is nothing I've done on my own merit, it doesn't seem to change the fact that every time that phone rings, I see it as another opportunity to be recognized and to be needed.  I get to dust off my cape and rush in as Super Teacher, and that is a good feeling.  It's great to hear someone say that I was referred to them by someone else, but it is also appeals dangerously to my pride.   Now, I'm wondering if every time I receive a call, it isn't actually an opportunity to lean on God for discernment and put Him and my family first and say, "No, thank you, but no, my schedule is full until April," and depend on God to meet any financial gaps turning down that person may incur.  Is He showing me that this business has become bigger than Him and the priorities He's given me in caring for my own family?  Have I become so concerned with what other people think of me, that I'm willing to sacrifice my health on the altar of pleasing others?  It's as if my business has become my identity.

My life has become one giant cycle of work.  I rarely have anything to anticipate that doesn't involve teaching.  Even when I'm not working, I'm mentally preoccupied with it.  I feel like I've been placed in a pressure cooker and if something doesn't release the pressure, I might explode.  As moms, I think we look around and see each other seeming to have it all together because we're pretending like mad that we do.  We fall victim to the lie that we can have it all and have it all at once.  It's hard to run a successful business, be a great mom, wife, friend, daughter, and volunteer.  I'm tired of tossing balls in the air, desperately trying not to drop one. I can't give my best when I'm committed to a hundred different activities.  I'm bound to drop the ball, and I'm terrified it's going to be the one that matters most.  What is it that drives us as moms to believe that we're expected to maintain this kind of pace, that by asking for help or by admitting that we're exhausted and can't keep up the pace, we're somehow letting others down?

Even Moses, who had a direct line to God, struggled with setting boundaries in his work. I find it to be no coincidence that the Holy Spirit has brought me to a story in Exodus at least twice this month, a story I had honestly never noticed before in scripture until this past month when I began to feel the weight of my schedule settle heavily upon my shoulders.  In Exodus 18, Moses has just led this massive group of grumbling Israelites out of Egypt and into the desert when his father-in-law Jethro comes to visit.  Moses, I imagine, is much like me sharing with Jethro about all that he is responsible for.  Without him doing it all, surely it wouldn't get done.  I love Jethro's response, "When his father-in-law saw all that Moses was doing, he said, 'What is this you are doing for the people? Why do you alone sit as judge, while all these people stand around you from morning til evening?'"  Moses basically responds, and I'm paraphrasing "If not me, who?  The world will surely stop turning if I don't do all this."  Jethro responds simply, "What you are doing is not good?"  I love that.  He doesn't give him a wake up slap  in the face and shout, "What's wrong with you man!"  He just acknowledges the obvious, which Moses and I apparently have difficulty recognizing.  He then recommends a practical system of judges that will help Moses with his workload.

I felt, through this passage, the Holy Spirit saying, "Julie Anna, what you are doing is not good?"  Even God's friend, the one He handpicked to lead His people out of slavery, couldn't do it all on his own, so God sent Moses the wise counsel of Jethro.  How humbling is that?  Moses could not, nor was he expected to, bear that burden on his own.  I am slowly realizing that it's not up to me to help every child in Birmingham.  God's already given me the task of raising two of the most amazing children I've ever known right under my own roof.  And news flash for me, I'm not the only tutor in Birmingham, nor am I the best....not even close.  Any iota of gift I have comes from God and isn't mine to feel prideful about anyway.

The bottom line is that I'm tired.  I'm tired of spending all day with my own sweet children and while being present physically, failing to be present mentally.  I'm tired of feeling like I'm on edge all hours of the day.  I'm tired of spending all of my free time worrying about what I've forgotten to do, expecting a call at any minute from a distraught parent or student reminding me of an appointment I forgot to record in my calendar.  I'm tired of giving my husband and children what's leftover after everyone else gets a piece of my time.  I'm tired of being three seconds away from crying at any point in the day.  I'm tired of having no meaningful time to spend time with family and friends.  I'm tired of being too tired to do the things that matter most. I'm tired of doing this to myself.  Above all, I'm tired of being too tired to give my best to Christ.

And I know I'm not the only one.  I know so many of us women stretch ourselves to the breaking point thinking that in doing so we're somehow honoring God and our family.  I don't know about you, moms, but I'm ready to lay my crazy schedule at the feet of the One who is never worried, never frazzled, never exhausted, and never in a hurry.  I'm finding it's time to let go of the pride that is driving me to a fall and humbly rest in Jesus.  I hope any other frazzled moms out there will join me in stepping out of time with the frenetic drum beat of the world and fall into step with calm, easy rhythm of the Prince of Peace. "Come to me all you who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you an learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For my burden is light." Matthew 11:28-30  It's time I quit always being the teacher and for once, became the student and learned from Him about how to stop doing it all, good things, mind, you, like Martha and instead, like Mary, choose what is better.