Motherhood: The Holiest Form Of... Torture?

Join me in welcoming one of our newest contributors and local friend of mine, Dayna Mager, to The Better Mom! Today she’s encouraging us to find grace in motherhood. - XO, Ruth

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Now, before you call CPS about me torturing my kids, let me say that I adore my children. Not that I’m biased or anything, but they are pretty much the greatest kids ever.

But, it was one of those days.

Oh yes, thoooooose days.

Perhaps you’re familiar with them?

The days where the sight of one more article of clothing hitting the hamper makes you break out in hives. Where one more “Mommy, I need... Mommy, I want… Mommy, I flushed his blanket down the toilet... Mommy, can I... Mommy did you...”

The days where you’re out of yes’s, out of no’s, out of steam, and just about out of whole milk for your littlest one’s nap time in 20 minutes.

Yup, those days.

The days where you stumble on yesterday’s toys while wearing yesterday’s same messy bun and socks with a hole in your toe because only heaven knows the last time you trimmed your toenails let alone got a pedicure!

Ok, so yes, one of those days.

And it happened to be the day where my husband, who works from home one day a week, saw me. He saw me, I mean reallllly saw me, the real me. Or the tainted illusion and lie I had believed about myself as he looked at me. He saw my eyes in sheer desperation, on the verge of swelling into the next flood of Noah’s ark in the middle of our kitchen. But before the flood came, he said these words that, forget the flood, would bring the whole tsunami before this mama could run away to the truth that had been hiding beneath the lie.

“This breaks me,”

he said with a voice of such patience that my mind thought, “there was no way he just experienced the last hour in the same place I was…”

”The person I love more than anyone in the world is being tortured by the other two people I love more than anyone in the world,” he said.

It was right then, in that moment, where I realized. I realized he was right. And not because my kids were torture monsters, but because I had made a choice.

I made a choice to magnify the mess, instead of the miracles calling me Mommy. I’d chosen to let the words I’d waited 6 months to hear come out of our little one's mouth, fill my mind with frustration at the decibel they were being screeched at (maybe you can relate?) instead of being grateful that he was finding his voice for the first time. Which, ironically is something my husband and I pray daily over our children; that they would find, and BE a voice to their generation!

Most days I miss it, but on those rare days, the days that unicorns and rainbows are bred from, I get it right. However, it takes me being in tune with not only myself but The One who created me. Who destined these kids to call ME mommy. Not the Pinterest mom down the street, or the mom who’s never baked a day in her life, but ME. And even at that moment where the torture monsters were knocking at my door, I chose to love. I chose THEM. And at that moment as grace covered my fragile heart of frustration, the cracks in my compromise allowed God to set me free of the trap we can so easily fall into as moms. The trap of perfection. He renewed me and helped me fix my eyes on the Master instead of the mess, the Giver instead of the guilt, and the Perfect One in the midst of my imperfection.

See, motherhood isn’t about the perfect days. And it’s not about just the hard days either. It’s about the moments of grace in between, that wash over us when we make the choice to pursue grace over guilt, purpose over perfection, clarity over chaos, and keep our eyes on The Kingdom we are establishing through our consistency. Not just in our homes, but for all eternity. A grace that reminds us that busy is only ever temporary, and that slow and steady are always there waiting in the moments of pause.

Dayna Mager