the truth

I should be half way through the rosary by this time. But I can not focus. My mind is in three thousand places and the devil is feeling pretty good about himself right about now.

I am under attack.

And I am not giving up on prayer. I will get back to it. But I know myself well, and when my head is flooded with just too much, sometimes it helps to empty it out onto a page, so that it is in front of me. Sometimes it really helps to see the noise, because more often than not, it is not as dreadful as it all feels. The devil likes to keep it bottled up inside of us, hidden in the dark; the lies and the clutter. It is so much easier to fall deeper into despair when you choose to keep the hurt to yourself. It is so much easier to believe the lie when you fail to bring it to the light.

So here is my noise. Here are the things weighing me down and having me question where is my God, and what on earth can He be thinking.

I feel like I have failed at mothering.

I am standing on the shore and watching each of my children drown.

And I am no help.

My feet are stuck in the sand.

And they are looking to me to save them.

But I can not.

There has been disappointment after disappointment the last few weeks, and some, by bad choices we have made, and some, by bad choices others have made for us. And the devil has me convinced that no matter who is to blame, the truth is...I am to blame.

The pediatrician told me at each well baby visit that my primary job as their mom was safety.

"Just keep them safe."

And so we plugged all the sockets and we put cushions on the corner of the coffee table, and we even nailed the standing lamp to the floor of our New York City apartment. Sounds extreme I know, but this was my baby. If it took nails to shield him from danger, then I would use nails.

I am awake this morning unable to pray because I am feeling suffocated by the hard truth that there is very little that I can do now to keep my babies safe. Falling lamps and sharp edges are nothing compared to what is lurking around this world, waiting to destroy them. And when I close my eyes to pray all I can see is the nurse handing me my newborn all swaddled tight, and myself, in total awe of this tiny miracle, and how it never even crossed my mind in that moment that the blanket so perfectly wrapped around this innocence stays tight for only so long. Soon enough, the blanket unwraps, the arms flail, the space around them grows so much wider. Soon enough, they are put into the arms of so many others; arms that do not cherish them the way that my arms do. Arms that do not hold the love for them that my arms do. Arms that would not resort to nails to protect them, like my arms do.

I joke with my little one's therapist about how I live in "code red." How I fear everything. The phone ringing? Must be bad news. The door bell ringing? Must be bad news. Someone not home when they say they will be? Must be bad news. And while I recognize that my mind is playing tricks on me, I still go there. I still travel to the worst case scenario. Because truthfully, lately, the worst case scenario feels like the cards I have been given.

And yet I know that is not true.

There is always worse.

There is always way worse.

And as far as I know, every bed in this house has a sleeping baby in it, who will wake up with air in their lungs and set out for a day filled with His mercy.

I know that.

It is just so hard to believe when you are in the thick of the storm.

I recently heard Simcha Fisher speak, and she shared a simple prayer that I have stolen and made my own and it goes like this: "Save me Lord, I am drowning." Only when I pray this, it is not myself I see drowning, but my children. I am waist deep in the water, and I am holding them high up above me, and I would allow myself to drown first, before I ever let anything happen to them. I honestly would. If you are a mom, you get this. If you are a mom, I will bet you are in that water with me, holding your baby high above your head. And it is not even the waves that overwhelm me, but the force of the knowledge that as I stand in these waters, I am not enough. And I feel like a liar; all those whispers in their little ears as they drifted to sleep while nursing, "I love you", I will never let anything happen to you"...they were lies. I can not protect them. And so I feel like I have failed.

What I need to start doing, and maybe you do too, is to really saturate myself in scripture. I need to memorize God's truths, and I need to claim them. I need to stop crying tears of despair and cry tears of hope, because I will admit, I have been angry with Him, and the hope here is running on low battery. I am angry and I have not listened to his Word. I have been too busy ignoring Him or yelling at Him. The devil keeps telling me we are all doomed and that there is nothing I can do. The devil has made it all too clear that I can not save my children. And the worst part of all is that the devil is trying to convince me that my prayers have not been heard, they will not be answered, and most likely, they never will be. The devil wants me to replace my prayer with demands; demands to know the reasons, to know the plan, to know exactly why things are the way that they are. Demands that destroy my trust. Why would you allow all of this? Why won't you help them? Why have they not been recognized and others have? Why have I not been recognized and others have? It is that stupid prayer of humility, isn't it? ! I knew that prayer was crazy! I need to stop praying that! What is this great plan for good you claim you have Lord, because I am not seeing it at all, and man, would I love to see it. Where are you when I need you? Why won't you fix this?

It is hard to be in this place.

Especially days before Christmas.

It is hard to feel such sorrow, when every Advent candle is lit before you, like a false beacon of hope. Like one big lit up lie.

But maybe, it is right where I am supposed to be.

"She put Him in swaddling clothes and laid him in the manger."

When I empty my head of this noise, I can be right there with her.

Knees in the straw, looking in awe, at this tiny baby we adore.

And peering in on Him, so perfect and new...we vow to always keep Him safe.

But He was not born for us to keep safe.

He was born to save us.

And I am not saying I like this at all, because I really do not, but good grief, why does it always take a complete loss of control to knock me on my knees, and open my fists, and remember that it was never God's intention for me to have all of the control in the first place. He never intended for me to do it all on my own. And He certainly did not gift me with HIS children, so that I could raise them all on my own. He never asks me to save anybody, other than myself. And the only way I can do that, is by feeling the weight of my cross, allowing it to bring me to my knees, and to recognize that what He has given me to carry is not a burden, but rather, the directions; the directions to find Him. It is here, knocked down and broken open, where He meets me; where I can finally surrender, allowing Him to be my God, instead of me trying to be God for others.

Since I began writing this morning, I have made oatmeal and pancakes, I have helped pack bags, I have put lunches together, I have washed hair, I have found hoodies and clean pants, and I have made a batch of cookies that were wrapped up and put on the bus while still warm. These are the things that I can do. These are the ways I can love and can hold. And then, they walk out the front door, and strings are cut. They are out in the world, they will make their own choices, and I have no control over any of it.

And that is ok.

Because they are not alone.

They have angels to guard and they have a heavenly Mother that protects.

I can no longer use nails to keep them safe, but thankfully, we have a God who already took nails on Himself, so that He can do the saving. A God who did lay down His life for my children. A God whose arms are wider and more loving than my own.

And they have a mother at home, who will never stop praying; who will not drown herself in the lies of the enemy, but who will swim laps in truth.

I needn't worry about holding my babies above the waves, because they have been created by a God who walks on water. And THAT is the truth.

I