You know, in the last post, I made failing sound so super great. And talked about how we value failure in our family because it gives Jesus an opportunity to shine. Well, the part of failure that I'm experiencing today is how failure.... stinks. It really is no fun. Like dating "for fun" in my 20s was also no fun, failure is empty, lifeless and a totally lame way to spend a Friday.
It's like music stuck on one beat, or that endless din of background, annoying noise at suburban restaurants like Ruby Tuesday's. It's unoriginal, common, dull, and completely unspectacular. It completely lacks the punch of a fresh palette of spring color, and matches the drab, dreary, non-winter outside. And today, I failed miserably again. Which supposedly I believe in and celebrate, according to my previous post. And it just so happens that today I'm not-so-ok with it, and so I have come to a shocking conclusion: I fail at failing. Imagine that!
I will just say that it's been one of those days with the kids where I wonder what happened to those sweet munchkins I tucked in last night. Where did they go?! Is this some sort of candid camera experiment to see how long before I lose it and drive myself to a "special place" for mothers like me? I am holding out hope that what I'm seeing isn't the truth. Because if it was, it would be pretty damn discouraging.
I have decided that life is one big "flash mob," really. This big earth full of billions of people gets together and plays something they call "life." In defining a flash mob, Wikipedia states that flash mobs are groups of people who assemble together in a public place and perform "an unusual and seemingly meaningless act for a brief time." That sounds like everyday life to me. At least my life. I get up, I get together with these little monkeys, and then we do this thing called family or togetherness which at the moment seems very meaningless and unusual to me. But then I fail at it. Again and again. And so it becomes one day after the next -- a failure flash mob.
Now before you think I'm being hard on us moms, let me just say this. We have every right to fail, and it is no wonder we do. Recently, our children brought my strong, incredibly steady Sweet Husband from playing chase-and-tickle happily for hours with them, to practically rocking himself in the fetal position during their naptime. I found him laying in bed, and he was groaning, sort of like he was in pain. You see, Sweet Husband had a hard day. He had my better-than-normal day with the kids. He got up one hour later than I normally do and fed the baby. Then he got the other sweeties up and fed them breakfast and cleaned up. He watched as I dressed them, potty-sat them, and changed their diapers, and then Sweet Husband helped as I made lunch. I went out at naptime and ran 14 errands and then ran out again with my little sweet 2-year-old and had a special date at Home Depot and Sam's Club. While I was gone, Sweet Husband watched movies and ate candy with the sweet 3-year-old. Then I brought home dinner. Then came this moment where Sweet Husband collapsed, and could barely speak, as he told me how difficult his day was. I will add that on this particular day the kids were fairly well-behaved and really in a loving, generous place in their hearts.
Now before you think I'm being hard on Sweet Husband, the truth is, this parenting 3 little monkeys under 3 years old really is like a marathon. You moms who have more than 3 close together are like those crazy women who do the Iron Woman race. I don't get you. But I admire you, and I thank Jesus for the ideas you give me and others on how to parent many kids well. But just like a marathon, if you don't have your daily training in, it will LEVEL you. That's what happened to Sweet Husband. His leisurely drive-to-work-with-a-warm-cup-of coffee kind-of-morning got bitch-slapped by the bring-you-to-your-knees-systematically-with-lots-of-tantrums-and-typical-childlikeness-kind-of-morning.
Now, imagine having a normal day with no Sweet Husband home, and the children channeling Spongebob, or something worse. I don't even know Spongebob, but what I've gathered is that he fits into the sassy, LOUD, disrespectful, selfish, and un-loving hearts that I saw today. Demanding, entitled, ungrateful, and unaware of compassion. Good heavens, it was enough to send me to bed and just start over tomorrow. Because this is a failure flash mob, right? It'll all end, soon? Pretty please, Jesus? I got hooked. The sin I saw hooked the sin in me. My own discomfort with me being a failure extended to them. There were lectures. Talks about children who have no homes, no parents, and no divided plates at lunchtime. It was dramatic. Even funny now as I write this. Because the looks on their faces were priceless. Like, "But, I thought you loved us when we fail, Mommy?" *Sigh* And there it was. Smack-dab in the middle of a Friday, my need for a Savior.
And this is the *moment* I am writing about on this blog. But my true confession in this moment is this: I don't like needing him. This is why we "play church" and avoid real stuff in our hearts. This is why we pray AT God but don't listen as much. We don't want the Real stuff because it hurts. It hurts because there is no answer except dying to our own wishes of being great, celebrated, recognized, and having what we want. And nobody likes to die to themselves, especially not those who specialize in failure, like me.
So, I find myself again hearing Jesus invite me. He whispered this little thing to me that I just can't get past:
If you don't specialize in failure, Love will never become a headline.
Because we won't need him. If we don't fail, we don't get to this desperate place for his fullness and life. His love and grace washes over me if I will simply get over myself and allow him to have my heart. All of it. Not just the little bits I give over. He wants to occupy all of it, and once again, to have me then go to the Ruby Tuesday's and Chili's of the world and bring my spicy, Jesus-beat to dullness of what we see. He does NOT want me to go, go, go in my own strength all the time, hit the wall, and then decide I need him. Oops.
Failure is the entry to Grace. Grace is him loving us as we are, not as we should be. Grace revives our hearts with his, and then spreads like wildfire to others who fail too.
So, I'm challenging myself and you today to think of failure as it truly is. It is the Answer, the Key, and the Way to Grace. If we're gonna make Love a headline, we have to experience it ourselves.
I just love this Jesus, who literally in the past 30 minutes made me feel like a million bucks for failing today, instead of allowing me to sink into discouragement. I think he's proud, too. After all, he got to rescue a precious bunny in the Nursery today, and up Love's score in the world by 1 point.
Now to all the Shabby Mamas, go fail! Fail miserably in the name of Love and Grace!
