My 10-year-old son asked his brother, “Don’t you think mom is the best mother there has ever been?” (I immediately sensed a hidden motive in that sappy setup.)
“Well, I don’t know,” replied the 7-year-old. “It’s probably Mary, Jesus’ mom.”
Clearly, he missed the cue from his big brother—the simple prompt for agreement, setting themselves up for a potential afternoon treat in return for flattering me. Nope. He sided with Mary as if that was the hyper-spiritual answer that would get him an Icee.
I’m not disagreeing that Mary was a wonderful, honorable mother and had to overcome countless challenges. She worked hard for her recognition. But just for fun, I engaged them in a lively discussion about the sinless nature of Jesus and reasoned that his mother didn’t have to work as hard teaching him to obey as I’ve had to work with the two of them. I felt I made a good case, citing examples of poor attitudes and disrespect for authority among my children. I even recalled an instance (okay, many instances) in which my kids rolled their eyes and complained about having to go to church. Surely, I argued, Jesus would never have put his mother through those shenanigans. I must be the winner, right?
“You’re right,” he admitted. “Maybe she wasn’t the best mom in the world. I’m not sure who is.” He said it with a serious face, which meant I didn’t even make second place on that day. That’s mom life, isn’t it?
Many days I feel like I’ll never measure up, despite my best efforts to do it all right. Don’t they see how I’ve cared and provided for them all these years? Why couldn’t he just fake it and say I was the very best mother in the history of the world, the supreme winner of all motherhood competitions, and the reigning champion of parents?
At first, I was humorously prideful and slightly annoyed by his inability to name me the “best” mother. I thought about the funny conversation on the drive home and came to a conclusion. There is no single “best mother.” Sure, some moms are doing a more intentional, purposeful job of parenting than others, but no one gets the trophy. We’re all just moms, trying to keep calm and mom on.
Do you struggle with motherhood as a competition? Let me extend a hand and help you out of that hamster wheel that’s wearing you out. How often are we racing toward a finish line that doesn’t exist? We try to sprint ahead of the next mom in an attempt to inch out a tiny lead over her discipline method, organization, or upkeep of her home. We suffer Pinterest exhaustion at every holiday and school event. We kick and scratch our way through an invisible contest to be crowned the “best” mother, only to discover it belongs to no one individually.
Motherhood isn’t a matchup against one another. In fact, we are better together. I’m a stronger mother because of the women I link arms with. I am more to my kids when I make it less about how I stack up with other moms. Want to be a better mom? Stop making it a competition and join the sisterhood of women working together to raise a generation of Christ followers.
Was Mary the best mom? Of course. And so are you.
Iron sharpens iron, and one *mom sharpens another. —Proverbs 27:17
Look at me when I’m talking to you! How often do you say this? I’ve said it 3700 times. Just this month.
Why is it difficult to get my children to look me in the eyes when I’m giving a (perfectly crafted, well delivered, and rhetorically magnificent) lecture? Perhaps they don’t expect what I have to say will benefit them.
Such was the lame man at the Beautiful Gate in Acts 3. (Hey friend, do not skip reading the scripture because you’ve “heard it 1000 times.” You’re already here, just do it.)
Now Peter and John were going up to the temple at the hour of prayer, the ninth hour. And a man lame from birth was being carried, whom they laid daily at the gate of the temple that is called the Beautiful Gate to ask alms of those entering the temple. Seeing Peter and John about to go into the temple, he asked to receive alms. And Peter directed his gaze at him, as did John, and said, “Look at us.” And he fixed his attention on them, expecting to receive something from them. But Peter said, “I have no silver and gold, but what I do have I give to you. In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, rise up and walk!” And he took him by the right hand and raised him up, and immediately his feet and ankles were made strong. And leaping up, he stood and began to walk, and entered the temple with them, walking and leaping and praising God. And all the people saw him walking and praising God, and recognized him as the one who sat at the Beautiful Gate of the temple, asking for alms. And they were filled with wonder and amazement at what had happened to him. (Acts 3:1-10, ESV)
#hearditbefore. I know. The lame man carried by someone else, sitting at the gate, day after day, begging. Peter and John walk by, offer him nothing of worldly value. They simply extend a hand, look him in the eye and heal all the broken places in him. Then he goes on his way, practically break-dancing in the streets. Right on, not-so-lame man. Dance it out.
Don’t miss what jumped out at me as I read this. Before he went into the temple, notice his location. He was plopped down at the Beautiful Gate. Not the Ugly Gate. Not the Mundane Gate, not the Impossible Gate. It was called beautiful, and it was taunting him day after day while he sat close enough to see what he didn’t have.
How often do I sit at the Beautiful Gate of motherhood, envious of Instagramably perfect families, dreaming of what life with children should look like? We all know sassy kids, rebellious teens and a sink of dirty dishes is the furthest thing from beautiful on a Monday morning. I’ve been known to accept a less-than-joyful day as the norm and wear my frustration like a permanent tattoo. I can see what I want, but too crippled to attain it. As much as we long to walk through the beautiful, we are often too content to sit — broken and lacking — and settle for the mundane life of the spiritually lame.
That lame man sat at the gate, eyes cast downward, mumbling as he begged, passing time until he was carried home again. Same story, every day — a few coins in the can, a couple “excuse me” grunts as people tripped over him, a handful of pitied looks cast his way — just part of the daily grind of going nowhere. Peter and John, rather than simply stepping around him or ignoring his appeal, called to him, “Look at us.” Maybe Peter even raised his voice and called, “I said look at me when I’m talking to you!” A crippled man on the ground would have to look up and acknowledge such a charge. Then scripture says the man gave them his attention and expected to get something. Oh he was about to get something alright. A big something.
Go back to you and me, mothers sitting at the Beautiful Gate, begging for life to be amazing. It is Jesus who calls to us as we lament. Is this all there is to my life? I’m paralyzed with fear of how my kids will turn out. I’m crippled with self-doubt and convinced I will always be fighting a losing battle. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ll never be enough for my kids.
Look at Me, Jesus says to all the moms reading this. Look at Me when I’m talking to you. Expect it. You’ll find what you’re looking for. Believe Me. I am the redeemer of inadequacy.
Therein lies the answer. Look at Him when He’s talking. Expect Him to be the Master of the Unexpected. He leads us to be strong mothers, wise mothers, competent mothers – but we don’t receive it until we intentionally look and fervently expect. Look at me when I’m talking to you. We use the command to signal our kids we are about to say something critically important. Don’t miss what the author of parenthood has to say:
“Look at me when I’m talking to you, mom. You have no ability to change a child’s heart. Your rules, your preferences, your words — they change nothing independent of Me. You cannot do in the flesh, the work that is designed for the supernatural. Show Me to your kids. Trust Me. Expect. I am more than enough to heal the lame places in your parenting. While you sit at the Beautiful Gate of raising children and worry yourself crippled, I am calling to you to look at Me, and expect to receive. It’s time to dance your way through motherhood, right through the Beautiful.”
Look at Him, moms. He is talking to us.
I’m not a book pusher — most of the time — but this one…
When my sister texted me and said she has a must-read for me, I listened. Her kids are younger than mine by several years, but she has often given some of the best objective advice for some of my toughest mom moments. (I’m tucking it all away to give back to her when her kids are in full unpredictable-teen swing.)
She recommended Parenting: 14 Gospel Principles That Can Radically Change Your Family. I was skeptical because I’ve read a lot of parenting books. Many have altered my view of motherhood, but radically? I was doubtful. But she’s my sister, and sisters are generally trustworthy, so I purchased a hardback book. (Y’all, I don’t do hardback. I’m more of a discount/used/paperback kind of girl. Again, the #sisterfactor made me do it.)
I was engaged from page 1, and tearfully underlining and turning pages with the same intensity I have when eating a Little Debbie snack cake. It was that serious.
I’d like to interrupt this commentary for a sidebar to the author while it’s on my mind.
Dear Mr. Paul Tripp,
Your recent book left me a bit undone. I really thought I was nailing this motherhood thing. Four sons and almost 21 years of parenting — through a lot of hard things reserved for a different post — and prior to your book, I thought I was doing the best I could for my kids. <Enter flash of enlightenment.> Your words challenged me to examine my purpose as a mom. Every chapter held a mirror to my heart and I didn’t always like what I saw. Funny how a person can get slightly off track and over time the margin of error is so much bigger. Thanks for wrecking perfect mascara and making my nose run uncontrollably. Your gentle truthfulness kept me turning the pages instead of dropping your book into the “donate” pile in my garage. My original goal didn’t change, but I saw how humanly flawed my plan to achieve the goal has been at times. You probably saved me a few hours of family counseling down the road. You wrote that book for me.
Hats off to you, Mr. Tripp. That was a worthwhile read.
I want you to read this book. Read it only if you have any influence over anyone, anywhere, and only if you really want to see authentic life change in the hearts of people around you. Otherwise, waste your time watching reality TV or something.
There are too many takeaways to list, and I don’t want to spoil a perfectly good book by telling you everything in it. I was reminded of principles I already knew — I’m parenting sinners, just like every other mom and dad. I can’t control them with my rules, even though boundaries and consequences are absolute necessities. Perhaps most importantly, while I read Mr. Tripp’s book in search of strengthening my parenting, I found my own heart needed some re-alignment. I didn’t feel the Holy Spirit dropping condemnation on me as my shortcomings were revealed. There was a gentle nudge to move closer to Him, set my eyes again on Him, and let my will be conformed to His. “There now,” I could feel the Spirit say, “this is how I need you to parent your little world-changers.”
I don’t know if my family will be radically changed as the title claims, but I know the Word of God changes everything and this message did not fall on deaf ears. As I am building future adults, the Father is building me.
Read.this.book. You’re welcome.
Eventually, all kids reach an age when they know more about driving than you do. In my house it happens around age 4. From the confines of his car seat, Kid Four instructs my every move. I pretend I’m not annoyed at his shouts of correction.
“The wight is not gween, mom!”
(It’s somewhat tolerable when he says it with his “almost-four-year-old articulation.”)
I know full well he uses /f/ when it should be /sp/ but sometimes I can’t help myself, because he is so cute…and ‘assertive.’ When he began to critique my driving one particular morning, I poked the bear. I admit it.
Kid Four: Mom, you’re feeding!
Me: What? I’m feeding?
Kid Four: NO! feeding! Swow down!
Me: I’m feeding?!? (egging him on)
Kid Four: feeeeeeeding! You’re feeding!
Me: Oh! I’m speeding?
Kid Four: yeth.
I was amused by his inability to pronounce the word correctly, coupled with his irritation that I was not saying it properly. A familiar quote from my pastor pricked my heart. We judge others by their actions and we tend to judge ourselves by our intentions.
How many times have I become irritated by something done to me yet I excuse my own actions because I intended to do good? Kid Four knew I was saying the word incorrectly with no regard for how he said it. His irritation was completely focused on my error.
I have a tendency to do the same thing to others. I can hold people to a higher standard than I’m willing to live up to myself. For the follower of Christ, the double standard divides relationships and weakens the body of believers. The only acceptable standard for us is Christ, alone – not merely the good intentions of our sinful, human mind. The Holy Spirit enables us to live it out and empowers us to extend grace to others.
Father, let me not be a woman who sees only the fault in others and ignores my own shortcomings. I want my actions to mirror the posture of a heart surrendered to You.