Revelation

Sometimes revelation is a long process. Sometimes it happens in a moment.

Sitting on the puffy green leather couch in our townhome in Irvine, CA, nursing newborn Chandler, with curly-haired two-year-old Chance right beside us, and Chase at Meadow Park Elementary kicking butt in first grade, I experienced a moment of revelation that would reshape not only my mothering, but also how I approach my life.

I have always been driven to achieve. In school, I had to get all As. In college, only a 4.0 would do. When I entered the world of adulting, the achievements took on a form less quantifiable than a GPA -- full-time job, helping with our youth ministry and my own drama ministry, keeping a clean, orderly home, and eventually mothering three little boys. There were micro and macro achievements of various kinds along the way, and I took pride in answering the question, "How are you doing?"

"Busy, really busy."

Followed by a list of all I was doing (READ: accomplishing) with my days.

Becoming a mother of three didn't dampen my drive to accomplish things, to get stuff done. I had added three kids and failed to renegotiate my expectations of myself. I was physically tired, yes. But more than that, I was mentally and emotionally flailing about, trying to figure out what I should do (again READ: accomplish) next.

I'm not saying anything new here. You can find a million books under "self help" with some variation of this theme:  When your sense of worth is tied primarily to the things you do, you lose sight of WHO you ARE.

I want to be clear here — it is healthy to have goals and strive to accomplish those goals. It is a good thing to take pride in your accomplishments and conquering to-do lists. The question is, do you equate your accomplishments with who you are?

I realized I at one point that my answer to the question "How are you doing?" always consisted of what I was doing...accomplishing. Not in a grand way, like I'd just earned an Oscar or discovered the cure for plantar warts. It could just be something about the drama team I was coaching or that I was doing sign language interpreting for the concerts at the fair.

OR...

As a young mom, a consistent and admirable goal that I relished accomplishing was — brush your teeth, get a shower, and change into some clean clothes that will, by day's end, be covered in spit-up, Oreos, and smooshed Play-Dough.

It wasn't as easy to get stuff done with a newborn, a toddler and a six-year-old. And getting stuff done, well, that's what I did. The solution — set some goals that fit with the realities of my life. My hunger for answers felt urgent, like if I didn't figure something out quick, I would lose time getting things done. I would lose...myself.

So, sitting on that couch that sunny weekday, tears streaming down my cheeks, I prayed for answers.

"What am I supposed to do? What do I pursue next?"

I am often suspicious when people say, "God told me..." But I would be lying if I said anything other than this:

God spoke clearly to my heart, "Pursue me. Enjoy your family. And I'll show you what's next."

My perspective shifted suddenly, dramatically. I gave myself permission to just play with my kids and to really BE there.  To engage my mind and soul as much my body in pushing the swing at the park instead of mentally reviewing all the other things I needed to get done that day.

I discovered that my children were not an obstacle in my spiritual journey toward God. God was with me and loving me through my children. God was in my children. Though at times, I was convinced it was the devil, not God, inhabiting my beloved offspring.

I discovered the sheer joy of making play my best accomplishment of the day.

I let go of the need to rattle off a list of things I was doing when people would ask, "How are you doing?" Instead, I could simply answer, "Doing really well." Sometimes, if I knew it was more than an obligatory greeting, I would share what God was doing in my heart. The more I talked about it, the more my passion grew for encouraging other young moms struggling to find meaning in snotty noses and poopy diapers.

My pursuit of God took on a different shape. It was no longer confined to a journal, a Bible and a contemporary popular devotional. I discovered ancient writers who spoke to my soul. I began to understand prayer in a new way...that there is no failure in prayer. Prayer is simply opening myself to the mystery of one who is bigger than me, who is loving, and who wants me to know He is present.

I learned that the care of my soul is not a luxury. It is the grounding, centering, strengthening, life-giving axis around which everything else turns.

I gave myself permission to be fully present with my kids instead of looping the message, "You should be accomplishing something more. What are you even doing with your life?"

I may regret some choices I've made. But I will never live with the regret of skipping over the surface of the precious years I had with my little boys...and then with our amazing bonus, Charli. There is nothing on earth I would trade for sweaty, sandy, dirty days at the beach, at Wild Rivers, at the mud park. For grilled cheese and hot chocolate by the fireplace. Or for bedtime prayers and kisses.

As for the "I'll show you what's next" part...I helped start a MOPS (Mothers of Preschoolers) group at our church, began speaking to moms groups across the country, recorded an album for moms called Candy Kisses, Muddy Hugs and wrote a book called Days of Whine and Noses--Pep Talks for Tuckered Out Moms. All of this happened because I leaned into the first two parts -- "Pursue me. Enjoy your family." These accomplishments were simply the overflow of my desire to encourage moms as a result of what I was learning on my own motherhood journey.

I would like to paraphrase the message that changed my life so many years ago into a prayer of blessing for you, dear reader.

May you pursue God in the ways that most feed your soul.

May you live into the moments with your loved ones —fully present heart, body, and mind.

May you watch with expectant gratitude for your next simple or grand adventure.

Amen.