Jesus was not a Mom

I'd had a moment. Temporary insanity maybe—an ethereal, out-of-body experience; a need to come to Jesus moment. Because this moment was not about Jesus. It was more of a questioning, a prodding, a deep sense of wonder: where in the world are you, Jesus!?

I was home alone with my kids; there are two of them. One 5 (going on 15) and one a whopping 22 months old—yes, I still count the months, because not-quite-two is a real thing. It’s the rumble before the full earthquake, a sign of the times to come. And I was stressed out. The kids were yelling, and I couldn’t hear myself think, again. I like to hear myself think.

I live my faith on my sleeve. God is at the center of my life, yet there is a constant struggle to maintain this reality at the center of my mind when you’ve got the screams of children as the soundtrack to your life. And there is food to be made; clothes to be washed; children to be entertained; and I still need to think of myself, right?

So, while I was in the moment, I thought about the scripture that declares, For we do not have a high priest who is unable to empathize with our weaknesses. And then I thought: Yeah, right!

Cause Jesus was not a mom! He did not know what it felt like to change diapers and be pooped on. Or be so exhausted at just being awake that you want to jump out of your skin! Jesus wasn't checking for no babies. 

He was out saving the world, living on purpose and stuff. One job.

And there's nothing that will make you question your purpose more than motherhood. Is this all really worth it? Will the smiles outweigh the tantrums? Can I be content just where I am? Did I waste money on this master’s degree. I ain’t never gonna be able to pay Sallie Mae back.

So, High Priest, do you get what I am feeling here? Do you really know what it feels like to be swallowed up by yourself, wanting to crawl in the first hole that you can find if it means peace of mind? Do you know, Jesus?

The short of it: yes.

My relationship with my children has become for me a mirror image of my ever-changing relationship with Christ. Every lesson I am teaching them becomes a lesson for me to learn—of dependency and trust, provision and joy. I am their source right now until they (hopefully) come to know Christ for themselves. Thus, in every interaction, I hear the still small voice that sneaks in over the screeching to remind me that I am not crazy and that God is still good. Perhaps He does know what it feels like to be unappreciated, unrecognized, forgotten and denied. Over and over again.

So maybe Jesus was not a Mom, but the constant peace He brings reminds me that He sure is a good, good Father.