Imperfect Prose: the seemingly impossible

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To mother well is to work against nature

It is to re-condition the human condition

King David penned:

in iniquity and sin did my mother conceive me

Prophet Isaiah’s rejoiner:

none seek God..all have gone astray

Long days hurried years-

from sippy cups to senior proms

we are called to rise to the task to re-cultivate our children to:

found, holy, lovely

Cast a casual glance at my life-

Take in the cycle of making soiled clothes clean and dry, to only find them dirty and wet again, the putting away of stuff I don’t remember buying, that will soon reappear again, out of place. Food! Three meals everyday, plus snacks, drinks and sneaks.  I clean that kitchen like a dog chasing its tail. I grab it only some nights, but am too tired from the circling to enjoy it.

Added together, the weight of these days has the pointed arrow hovered over :

Boring. Pointless.

Tasks easily preformed by an under ambitious person who never finished high school

So says the casual glance

So says my fatigued mind

So says the ancient liar when my mind clouds with an outlook as cheery as muddied waters pooling in dirty slush

Some days it feels as if this whole motherhood thing is the position of a trapped teacher to pupils who do not perceive their need to be taught

We teach with no set curriculum

Our lessons only unfold as we ingest God’s Word, letting it teach us first

No teacher aid other than This {the funds have been cut, times are tough}

The Holy Spirit who whispers: to the left, the right, less here, more there,stay, just go!

To be handed a child who is unrighteous and to know he must be righteous is as seemingly impossible and as daunting as asking an introvert to be the life of the party in living room full of strangers

But I must, I must.

But how to go about it?

I see religion bore minds and harden to pride

I see the moralist path lead to arrogance, shame, isolation

I see indulgence turn to materialism, apathy, shallowness

Finally,

I see The Word Made Flesh…The Incarnate

I see a Master don a towel to do the lowliest of a servant’s task

I see an innocent Man not open His mouth

I see the Meek lashed

I see the blameless One swallow up wrath

I see myself, guilty

I see myself, ugly

I see Him pardon me

I see Him change me

The seemingly impossible long ago astounded the world, and shut the mouth of the accuser

He is doing it today still

The seemingly impossible is that this world still shines beauty over the stench of death

The seemingly impossible will guide the humble hand to create a rare jewel out of common course clay

Jesus:

The impossible One

The Man of contradictions

Whose upside kingdom is not of this world

His greatest feat in my life?

Reaching down deep to that untapped nerve ribboned and coiled deep inside of me

The strand of life that courses His blood not mine.

It pumps out joy when I should be bored

It smiles when weary

It gives when exhausted

It listens when hurried

It loves when empty

It’s nothing to do with me

Mothering with Abba Father parenting us,

sees the short comings of self

the idiocy of housework

the fleetingness of material gain

and demands an alternative

To mother well is to be desperate; but it is the desperate to whom He always will answer

And because He answers me

I can do the seemingly impossible.

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Linking up today for the first time with Emily Wierenga

Its called Imperfect Prose

I have known about it for about half a year, but never jumped in, though I sometimes comment on post I like anyway.

Today’s post was scribbled down first in a journal I keep near my bedside, last Summer, that I wrote in one sitting, or rather one laying, after what I imagine was a pretty annoying and exhausting day.

Cheers.

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2 thoughts on “Imperfect Prose: the seemingly impossible

  1. oh friend… these are holy words. “mothering with abba father parenting us”… THIS. i love your heart, how you’re longing to be a mother after God’s own heart. i’m so glad you linked with ip. XO

    Like

  2. True words on motherhood and sainthood, Leah. I get caught up in the “work” of it all and fall into thinking it hinges on me…when it doesn’t. He is so good to transform all who are willing, and the desperate mom prayers that her children would be just that. (Welcome to Imperfect Prose!)

    Like

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