House on the Rock

It’s been a long time since I’ve written…anything. There’s that looming discomfort that my words aren’t quite as smooth as they once were, and my ever-growing Drafts folder is evidence of that. Lots of blogs started with no point, and therefore no end. So I close the computer and move on once again.

The repetition of day-to-day survival in Luke’s earliest days of life did not allow room for much thinking, let alone writing, beyond keep the baby alive. Those sentiments have since shifted to tasks and to-do lists as I hustle through commitments, convinced at first that I can do all the things because I’m a stay-at-home mom before realizing I still have only two arms, so signing up to bring muffins and a water cooler while still somehow carrying the baby is not only lofty; it’s laughable. Foolish, really.

But right now, Luke is asleep. We were up earlier than normal, and I lack his newborn ability to curl up in a crack on the couch and sleep through the sun’s pounding rays that strike his eyes no matter what angle I turn him, no matter how much I strain for the curtains to stretch. So I’m up and he’s not, and there’s no telling how long this sweet little slumber will endure.

Typically at first sight of his eyelids growing heavy, I begin mentally strategizing everything I can get done in this maybe fifteen, maybe forty minute nap. The options feel endless: shower, shave, sleep? Eat or clean or cook or read? Take up running? Or finally unbox that stupid baby book that requires way too much but also nags me with lies like how else will you remember these days?

Despite the endless possibilities, it feels right to use this time for some writing at last. With the sleeping baby and the warm coffee and the sun rays warming my dead-from-winter feet, I ought not scramble to clean the stove which had a bottle of milk spilled on it as I tried to season pot roast for not one but two meal train dropoffs. I hold my breath through the stench of burning breastmilk and wonder why I decided to sign up for two. Was it merely out of convenience, that I’d have one less grocery run if I did it all in one day? Or was it to be a hero — to garner applause and live wishfully waiting to hear someone say man, that girl does it all!

I think it’s the same reason I want to be at every Bible study with my notes completely filled out. The same reason I sign up for meal trains and insist on something home-cooked over DoorDash gift cards. The same reason I want a spotless house at all hours of the day, whether people are coming over or not. And the same reason I want the “coming over” more often than the “not” — I have a deep-seated propensity for striving.

The phrase “give yourself grace” has never really been my MO. I prefer “rise and grind” or “work hard, play hard” or some truncated version of “if committing to one thing is good, then committing to twenty is surely better.” After one particularly stress-filled rant, a family friend suggested capping my to-do list at two — only giving myself two things to get done in a day. And while that advice is brilliant for a brand new first-time mother, it felt like she was posing a challenge. How about three? Four? Twenty-two? Watch what I can do.

Really, at its core, it’s a plea for applause. A desire to be praised. An earn-your-approval effort that is the very antithesis of gospel rest. I do it not only with my earthly relationships, but my relationship with God as well: if I never miss church, spend the “right amount” of time in the Word, serve a little, pray a lot, then we’ll be good — I’ll get Your approval and You’ll get my worship. It fails to fall back on the grounding truth that I am a wretched sinner whose only hope is the work of Christ on the cross. There is nothing I can do to garner more approval from God.

In the same way that Luke won’t love me any more if I have his baby book done, my friends won’t love me any more if their meal train drop-off is cooked at home. More critically, my God won’t love me any more if I achieve massive spiritual feats or spend extra long in the Word and prayer.

If motherhood is teaching me anything, it’s to stop striving. To cap my to-do list at two things at let that be enough, even if those things are simply hold and admire the baby. To stop overwhelming myself with things that I feel like I need to do to maintain friendships or win approval. To look at Christ’s work on the cross and truly believe it is finished.

And that doesn’t mean we give up on work altogether — it is still good and right to bring a meal to friends, to clean the house every once in a while, to wake up and run toward the living and active Word of God. But it does mean that I stop doing these things to earn approval and simply as an outpouring of the love of Christ that indwells me!

I’m still not sure if there’s a point to this post. These half-baked thoughts are perhaps better shared over coffee than on a blog. But if publishing this will inspire me, even for a brief moment, to bask in the sunlight and precious love of Christ, without that desperate internal race that I must do something, then maybe it’s worth it. Blogging, we’re back.