Weepy Little Girl

They’ll say, “Quit cryin’

Or I’ll give you something to cry

About.”

They’ll say it’s a man’s world,

A dog-eat-dog world,

Suck it up, buttercup,

Big girls don’t cry.

You might dry every

Haphazard tear,

Choke and swallow hard until

Nothing

No not nothing

Can break you.

Woman, don’t you know?

Your tears are your battle-cry,

An alarm to take up arms,

Defend the injustice

And shame the unrighteous.

Your cry is power and might,

A warning to the oppressors,

The conscience of your people.

Turn your cheek, woman, and

Let them see.

Trenches

N.B. I wrote this piece initially for Mother’s Day, but I hesitated to publish it because, well, writer-y hesitation. You get it. Maybe. Anyway, I hope it speaks even in August.

I had one child today. For an hour while my younger girls were at their respective schools, I had the care of my oldest child. He is the one who can play at an enclosed playground without constant hawk eyes and spotting hands.

I sat on a bench, darted my eyes, fidgeted with my hands, fumbled with my coffee cup.

What do I do with myself? Stare blankly back at my phone? Half-read the news? Play Candy Crush?

Do you ever forget how to be you?

Eight years of parenting three stair-step babies and three years of homeschooling have made me a mother machine. I have loved it, not because motherhood was my dream job, but because I love my children.

But in these few fleeting moments, I find I cannot easily switch gears. I do not know how to hold my hands.

Strangely, I see that coming return of an identity outside of mother. My youngest is only two, but maturing quickly. The years are beginning to slip faster, like your grandma always said they would. Sooner than I realize, all three of them will be playing independently, taking themselves to the restroom, and getting their own snacks. They will drive cars and work jobs and apply for colleges, mostly without my hawk eyes and spotting hands.

And I am scared.

I am scared I will not remember who I was. I am scared I will not know who I am.

At 25 I was sharp and vibrant and accomplished. I had toughed my way through the first years of teaching. I was a leader in my field – I was confident in my intellect and abilities.

I happily walked away so I could walk hand-in-hand with my children during their formative years. It remains the best choice I have ever made.

But as any veteran will tell you, motherhood is like going to war. My body is worn and damaged. My mental and emotional reserves are depleted daily. I cannot remember my last uninterrupted night of sleep. I have survived in the muddy trenches of potty training and stomach viruses. I have been hit, kicked, pelted, and poked with regular frequency. Every ounce of personal dignity has been lost.

How can we hold on to the pieces of ourselves while in the midst of the battle?

Motherhood is an all-consuming calling, particularly in those early years. Friends, it is vital for us to not only honor the love of a mother, but the sacrifice she makes. Do not give us flowers to hold in our already full hands, but help us pick up the pieces of ourselves we have had to drop. Help us to unclench our fists for a moment that we might see their strength again.

Let us help the mothers in the trenches to survive the battles and not lose themselves. Let us help each other to emerge stronger from the fight. Let us remind each other that the sacrifices we make have rewards that reach far into the coming generations. And let us honor the veteran mothers who have carried us on their strong shoulders.

Let us all be reminded of the strength and sacrifice it takes to exchange your life for the call of motherhood.

Don’t Judge Me

We live in a world of sound bytes. A world where messages must be short and loud and plentiful. And everyday I encounter feeds full of quips and quotes and visually appealing images with mantras in pretty fonts, all attempts to define self behind a screen.

There are a lot of things I could say about the positives and negatives of this over-stimulated and isolated world we’ve created for ourselves, but I will choose to address one for today.

One trend among my peers is to collect bumper sticker-like memes to adorn social media, to make a statement, to 

inspire, to procure identity. Some are true and lovely and noble, and my digital connections are daily populated with them. Some, however, make my heart break. These all take different forms, with varying degrees of poetry or pointed-ness, but they can be summarized as such: Don’t judge me.

That’s from a popular Bible verse, right? “Judge not, lest you be judged…”

I see these mostly from women –  women about my age, intelligent women, strong women, Jesus-loving, born-again women.  Yet when I see these memes or quotes, I feel as though the woman behind them is taking some kind of defensive posture and I wonder why.  Not, “What did you do?” But, “Why do you feel judged?”

You see, I believe in no condemnation in Christ (Romans 8:1). I believe that whom the Son has set free is free indeed (John 8:36). I believe His mercies are new every morning (Lamentations 3:22).

Those beliefs are freeing. They turn my deepest shame into my greatest testimony. They cause me to wear my past like a scar with a story I can tell to anyone who’ll listen. I can tell of His love and His goodness and His grace.

So when I see women I love waving their “Don’t judge me” flags like banners of war, shouting it in 24 point font from smart phones to the audience of the world, I can only come to a few conclusions:

1. We’re trying to justify open sin. Okay, that was the harshest one, but it needs to be addressed. I would rather be the friend who tells you when there’s spinach in your teeth than the one who smiles on the outside and laughs on the inside. When Adam and Eve sinned, their first response was to cover it themselves. They hid, they covered, they pointed fingers and threw out distractions. And, ladies, it is our first defense as well when we aren’t ready to give up or admit a sin. Jesus forgives. He does not pass judgement. But He also told the woman he saved from stoning to, “Go and sin no more” (John 8:11). His kindness leads us to repentance, not defensiveness. Simply, God did not send Jesus to die so we could continue in the same sin which

 draws us away from Him. If there is the ache of conviction in our hearts, throwing our fig leaves in people’s faces and daring them hold us accountable only causes a deeper gulch between ourselves, our Savior, and the people we love.

2. Someone is condemning us unjustly. I have to be honest: for all the talk about hypocritical Christians and gossiping women, the reality is much less dramatic than the belief. By and large, most people are not spending their precious minutes or hours throwing shade at you. Our enemy, his powers and principalities, would certainly like to make us think so, but it just isn’t true. Some people do gossip or pass judgement, and that is a terrible thing, but it is an indicator of their own issues, not yours. However, can I make a freeing suggestion? Let them! I said above that my past and all my sin (recent included) is my test

imony of His grace. I will own it. I will share it. And, if that doesn’t silence the naysayers and ninnies, nothing will. I won’t lose my joy, or develop a self-righteous, don’t judge attitude about it.

3. Someone is condemning us unjustly, and she’s living in our heads. This is the most poisonous answer, but the one I fear is most common. Maybe you’ve had the talk with Jesus, the teary and snotty on-your-face talk, but there is a linger. That linger is not a voice but a sense that easily projects onto others, particularly other women. It is applied to looks in a hallwa

y or a concerned question or even to the lack of someone else’s communication. We quickly chalk up every misinterpreted signal as evidence that someone knows, someone condemns, someone judges. Beloved, we must get free of this. It is not only dangerous to ourselves, but our sisters. It is the same spirit that caused Cain to look at Abel with hatred and murder. It is the spirit that perpetuates isolation or drama in female relationships. It is a root of the real war on women. Satan has a field day with it, and it grieves the Holy Spirit and retracts the advancement of the Kingdom.

So, how do we deal with the linger? We take our thoughts captive. We shut the mouth of the liar every time the notion of condemnation enters our minds. We own our faults so no one else can use them against us. And, if we have sin in our lives, we stop justifying it and submit it to God with open and rendered hearts.

We must stop shouting from the rooftops we don’t want to be judged. Living in grace, living in “no condemnation” doesn’t mean screaming at others to mind their own business, but humbly and gratefully accepting the mercy of our Father, rejoicing that He has made a way for us to be restored to Him.  Instead, let us release with abandon the faults of our lives and the worr

y in our hearts. Let us use our social media microphones, our inspiring images, to shout His name and the glory of His goodness that we may walk in true freedom.