"It takes a village, Amy," she said with a sweet smile and innocent intent.
As the weeks of having a newborn drug on, I would think about that comment often, yet not allow myself to acknowledge my desire for help. I would look around and see others in much harder circumstances and carrying more responsibilities and managing. I refused to admit my feelings of failure. I refused to admit that I wanted help, that I needed help. After all I was just a mom - as my culture tells me.
Fast forward a few years and the lie continues to fight for control. "Amy, you have to be able to do it all (AND do it flawlessly AND without effort AND in heels) in order to succeed at the life the Lord is entrusting you with." My ego and my pride don't want to have to ask for help. I don't want to humble myself and admit I can't. I can't do it all.
In the past 20 months, having a child with severe physical disabilities and heightened demands, one would think it would have suddenly become easier to embrace help. I wish I could say where the Lord has me now has cured me of this infectious lie; however, the lie permeates me to my core. I look around at my life and see nurses buzzing around my home, a husband who rescues his damsel whenever she's in distress, grandparents that jump at a moments notice to commute hundreds of miles to offer relief, and friends eager to lend a hand. How can I still feel as though I'm drowning? Why am I still exhausted from treading only to keep my head barely above water?
That's the problem with sin. It runs so deep the roots become embedded so that if I prune the weed yet fail to remove the root, the roots remain and it's only a matter of time before the lies start to blossom again. I pause and look at my life when I am at the end of myself and think, how am I not doing a better job? Why is this so hard for me? Remember, I am only a full-time, stay-at-home mom with grandmas to my children that drop things at a moments notice to help, a husband that serves me well beyond what I deserve, remarkable support of friends and family near and far, not to mention that I have nurses in my home roughly 84 hours each week. The echos of the lies, oddly enough, become magnified. Look at the village taking care of you and your family, and you still can't keep up?
I must notice two things: I become focused on myself and how I measure up, and I fail to look to the limitless Lord I serve. I have to remind myself, not only am I not enough but my children and husband have needs beyond me that I can't meet. Spiritual needs for sure but also physical, social, and emotional as well. I have limits. I am not God. Jen Wilkin describes me well in her book None Like Him. "...human beings [are] created to bear the image of God instead [they] aspire to become like God. Designed to reflect his glory, we choose instead to rival it." It is beautifully convicting for me to read. In these moments when I feel like I can't, I am beginning to remind myself I am trying to be limitless. To be God. It's ugly.
I pray as I grow in my awareness of the depth of my pride and desire to be limitless, I would not simply prune a weed but pull it out at it roots. To no longer be defeated by my limits rather embrace them. To no longer deny my limits instead take joy in the humility they birth. To no longer be stagnant in this area of sin but to allow my limits to teach me to have greater awe of my limitless God.
In the past 20 months, having a child with severe physical disabilities and heightened demands, one would think it would have suddenly become easier to embrace help. I wish I could say where the Lord has me now has cured me of this infectious lie; however, the lie permeates me to my core. I look around at my life and see nurses buzzing around my home, a husband who rescues his damsel whenever she's in distress, grandparents that jump at a moments notice to commute hundreds of miles to offer relief, and friends eager to lend a hand. How can I still feel as though I'm drowning? Why am I still exhausted from treading only to keep my head barely above water?
That's the problem with sin. It runs so deep the roots become embedded so that if I prune the weed yet fail to remove the root, the roots remain and it's only a matter of time before the lies start to blossom again. I pause and look at my life when I am at the end of myself and think, how am I not doing a better job? Why is this so hard for me? Remember, I am only a full-time, stay-at-home mom with grandmas to my children that drop things at a moments notice to help, a husband that serves me well beyond what I deserve, remarkable support of friends and family near and far, not to mention that I have nurses in my home roughly 84 hours each week. The echos of the lies, oddly enough, become magnified. Look at the village taking care of you and your family, and you still can't keep up?
I must notice two things: I become focused on myself and how I measure up, and I fail to look to the limitless Lord I serve. I have to remind myself, not only am I not enough but my children and husband have needs beyond me that I can't meet. Spiritual needs for sure but also physical, social, and emotional as well. I have limits. I am not God. Jen Wilkin describes me well in her book None Like Him. "...human beings [are] created to bear the image of God instead [they] aspire to become like God. Designed to reflect his glory, we choose instead to rival it." It is beautifully convicting for me to read. In these moments when I feel like I can't, I am beginning to remind myself I am trying to be limitless. To be God. It's ugly.
I pray as I grow in my awareness of the depth of my pride and desire to be limitless, I would not simply prune a weed but pull it out at it roots. To no longer be defeated by my limits rather embrace them. To no longer deny my limits instead take joy in the humility they birth. To no longer be stagnant in this area of sin but to allow my limits to teach me to have greater awe of my limitless God.
I pray this brings freedom. Freedom to experience the beautiful truth that at the end of myself I find the Lord.
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