dear mom you are stronger than you think

Let me tell it to you again.

You are stronger than you think.

You. The mom. In the trenches. In the valleys. On the peaks. On the road of normal. In seasons of change.

You are strong.

Don't listen to the doubts. To the voices telling you that you don't measure up, that you don't matter, that nothing will ever change, that what you're doing day after day after day won't make a difference. Those aren't truth statements - they are subtle fallacies that keep you and me stuck and not seeing the amazing tenacity tucked within.

Let me tell you truth.

Pulling up the covers and kissing a little one goodnight after the hardest day of your life matters. Smiling when you have tears in your eyes matters. Pushing the swing in the hot sun when you have a list of things to complete matters. Opening the peanut butter jar that is almost empty and scraping out the last bit of peanut butter and spreading it on the bread and giving it to your three year old matters. Walking out the door and into an office so that you can buy that bread and peanut butter matters. Pumping gas and driving to soccer and cutting orange slices and baking bread and helping with math facts and taking temperatures and changing the laundry load and scrubbing the counters and listening to stories from the day and going to bed exhausted because you gave and gave all matters.

That is strong.

And for so many of you right now you are doing this in a world where life feels overwhelming and impossible. The money is tight. The marriage crumbling. The child is sick. The normal everyday seems to drive you crazy. You work long hours. You can't find work. You miss work but don't want to ever talk about that. You can't seem to ever stay on top of laundry much less the pile of dishes or the mail or just every day life. To you, dear mother, I tell you that you are strong.

And for so many of you right now you are doing this in a world where life feels normal and comfortable and good and yet you wonder if what you are doing every single day is making a difference. You're wondering about the monotony and the normal and the simplicity. To you, dear mother, I tell you that you are strong.

And for so many of you right now you are doing this in a world where you feel not very strong and you are sitting there wondering how in the world to get through the next five minutes much less the end of the day and the baby is crying or the phone ringing or you are alone and your heart hurts. To you, dear mother, I tell you that you are strong.

Maybe it's hidden under years of stuff. Maybe it's this baby bit of strong. But, I tell you, it's there. It's there waiting to be found and unearthed and put to work. Mothers are strong.

You are strong.

We could listen to ideas of what makes us strong and amazing and powerful. Ideas and images of perfect lives, bodies, homes, marriages, children, and front porches. That's not amazing. That's just stuff. External grades of failing and succeeding that in the trajectory of a life will someday get in the category of things that didn't really matter. They aren't the things that people will share about us at the end of our lives and say that we were amazing.

Amazing is in getting up again and again and again and trying.

You are stronger than you think.

So when you stand at the sink with the water tumbling out and the toddler pulling at your leg and the phone ringing and you're not sure how to get to tomorrow much less today and yet you still get through it all you are, in fact, stronger than you think. When you look at your day and it seems daunting, overwhelming, and impossible, and yet you get up, get your coffee, and fight you are in fact igniting the strength, the raw amazing strength, within you.

Strength isn't found in perfection. It is found in the moments, the minutes, the seconds where you give and believe and try and laugh and cry and mother. It's found in laughter, tears, sighs, hugs, laments, I love you's, and dreams shattered in the midst. It's not in keeping it all together - it's in being real and admitting that life isn't perfect but that you aren't quitting. You are fighting.

Strength is an amazing gift that you have even though sometimes you don't see it. Or you've forgotten it. Or dismissed it. Or don't remember.

Believe in you.

I do today.

Dear mom, you are strong.

You are so incredibly unbelievably amazingly strong.

to receive finding joy via email simply click subscribe.
All photographs used by permission and credited to Hannah Nicole.
Images and original content are sole property of Rachel Martin and may not be used, copied or transmitted without prior written consent.

Want to read more letters to moms? Grab my ebook with 21 original letters.

the light yoke

The snow has fallen many times this winter.  We've had four winter storms in just over four weeks -- not little storms, but large snowfalls exceeding 8inches at a pop.  And with it? Dark skies.  Overcast.


Where is the sun?


The sun has become lost in a blanket of clouds -- to the point where my little Elijah wonders if it's truly morning. This lack of sunshine wears me out.  


Where is the light?

There are seasons in life where everything is dark and dismal.  Perhaps it's finances, or health, relationships, or just the daily grind of life.  Here there back and forth move move move.  It is difficult in the midst of trials to look beyond the present reality and set of circumstances.  Society and human nature can apply pressures to our lives at an unrelenting pace so that after awhile the future seems to be tainted a dismal and cloudy gray.

Come unto me, all who labor and are heavy,and I will give you rest.

Take my yoke upon you,and learn from me,

for I am gentle and lowly in heart,and you wil find rest for your souls.

For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.

Matthew 11:28-30

In the NIV I believe labor is replaced with the word – weary.  Oh, how true those words of Jesus are for us today. Especially now at Christmas time we can seem to labor endlessly -- dishes, laundry, phone-calls, email, cleaning, driving, teaching, cooking, preparing, and on and on and on.   Our work doesn’t cease when the skies of life become overcast, no…we simply press forward.  And yet, after awhile, if we only wear the yoke of the world we'll burn out. I've done it.  So many times.  I was simply wearing the wrong yoke and "too busy" to replace it with the light yoke. Or I was too full of my own pride that I didn't want to let go...

Jesus tells us to come to Him.   In Him is true rest.  I always chuckle when I think about a yoke being called easy.  When is it easy to be constrained?  But, when I read these words I don’t picture life with Jesus being constrained…rather in yoking myself to my Savior I know there is real freedom even in the midst of overcast and weary days.

Who knows when the skies here will finally part and the sun will shine?  I know it’s under there, waiting to shine.  I have faith that there will be sun again.  I also have faith that our Savior is always there, wanting us to release our fears and anxieties to Him and that He will give rest.  A rest that cannot be found in self or in this world, but a rest that is sweet and peaceful…in any weather...in any season.

joy

That doesn't look too joyful. 

Darkness.

There was a huge storm system that swept through Minnesota this evening.  At 6 pm skies were blackened, tricking the mind into thinking it was later. Rain pelleted the windows, and the trees swayed wildly.  There were numerous tornadoes and funnels throughout the area.  In my neighborhood the siren rang multiple times.  I knew I was to go to the basement -- like my children -- and yet I stood at my back door.  In awe.

I stared as clouds swirled in circles, dancing a dangerous waltz.  The utter power of nature, of God, mesmerized me. Then, in the midst of turbulence, complete calm.  The trees in the back yard stood straight, while the trees in the front bent as if bowing to the ground.  I knew I should move -- downstairs -- but I still stared.

It's so easy to start believing that we can control everything.

And yet, there's more. There's real power. Not from ourselves, but from our God. The God of power. A power infinitely more powerful than this storm that we label as power. And that brings me joy. Joy to know that my God, our God, has power beyond my imagination. Joy to know that He can still a storm with just two words.  Whispered. And coupled with that power? An infinite love for you. For me.

And that is reason for joy.

He got up, rebuked the wind and said to the waves,

"Quiet! Be still!" 

Then the wind died down and it was completely calm. (Mark 4:39)

the bobby pin that broke...

...the momma's back.

Well, not really, but almost.  (and between us...this post almost threw me over the edge...I went to hit publish and literally the entire thing vanished.  So this is round 2.  I am determined.)

You know those days?  Those days when you need a blogger to be real and transparent about how life isn't perfect?  Well, I had one of those days.  It was a day where I wanted to pull every single hair off of my head...by noon.  It was a day where the littlest thing seemed to push me over the edge.  

You see we give our kids off the day for their birthday.  It's kind of a way to honor them.  It's relaxing, they can play, laugh, and enjoy each other's company.  Yet, it has it's drawbacks.  The normal routine is out the window, and typically by the end of the day our moods are, well, shall we say fraying a bit?  Except that this day...it happened much earlier.

This wouldn't be so bad, except that yesterday, when I was in the need to get the lawn together mood...see my husband's comment "we're growing kids...not grass."...I decided it was time for the season's first application of weed and feed fertilizer.  That's great!  Green grass!  No weeds!

No kids on the Apparently yesterday I didn't equate the consequences of having a birthday day off and not allowing my young, active, and loveable boys access to our yard.  Our greening yard, I might add. 

So the day progressively got a bit more tense.  Chaos was beginning to take over, along with the words, "it's not fair," being shouted from various corners of my residence.  I tried to read.  Fail.  I tried to play a game with them.  Fail.  I tried projects.  Fail.  Putting them down for a nap.  Fail.  I needed to get my mood back on track.  Ok. Organizing and getting rid of a laundry basket of toys.  Fail.  The fighting continued.  The grumbling.  The sneaking of food.  Spilling of raisin bran over the kitchen floor that had already been swept six times today.  I was going a bit crazy.

So I pack them up to take Gracie to ballet.  (Grace's little bun was so quickly put together, with little hairs poking out...mirroring my day.)  Now, while we may cut back on our home birthday day obligations, I do keep all outside commitments.  So we started on our way.  And,  I am not joking, within a block of my home massive LOUD yelling began in the Suburban.  Screaming.  Crying.  Pleading.  Over what?

A bobby pin.

My husband heard the noise via my cell phone and told me to pull over and stop until it stopped.  So I did.  I drove that suburban right into the Dairy Queen parking lot.  And we sat there.  The poor patrons must have had quite a sight when they saw that Suburban full of kids with yelling pouring from the creases.  Then Grace looked at the clock, saw that it was 5:37, realized that she would be late and got quiet. I asked them if they were done and they both replied, "yes."  Then I asked them why they were fighting over a bobby pin and Brennan (my six year old) replied

Well, Grace said she needed it for her hair, and I needed it as a tiny sword.

Sigh. All that noise and tension for a 4 cents metal object?

OK.  Truth.  I pulled out of the Dairy Queen parking lot and continued to ballet.  I thought.  I calmed down.  And I prayed.  And I began to gain a bit of perspective.  You see...I had been doing the entire day on my own strength.  It was just me.  It was me who decorated, who wrapped the presents, who cooked, who cleaned, who did yard work, who called the doctor, etc... and I was getting a little bit resentful.  Well, it became all about ME. Me, me, me.  And that, quite obviously, just does NOT work.  At all.  It became a day of relying on my own strength.  And trust me, with my allergies, and a six month-old baby there isn't much extra energy tucked in there.

I never stopped to listen.  To pray.  To give my day to the Lord.  I just plowed right into it thinking I could do it. And I couldn't.  I wanted to throw in the towel at lunch time.  And when you're a mom you really can't throw in the towel.  So I became frustrated.  And crabby.  And looking for solutions to soothe my grumbling self.  It wasn't until I surrendered that I began to see the truth.  The truth that I needed to stop focusing on me, and focus on HIM.  Only then did I begin to see and feel the joy again.

We picked up some pizza for Grace and a little cake while she was at dance.  I kept the kids with me in the truck and the littles fell asleep.  Brennan listened to some Greek Mythology cds with Chloe.  And I rested.  Later, when Grace was home I took her sweet face in my hands and told her how blessed I am to be her mom, and how much she means to me, and how honored I am to walk this road of life with her.  Then we ate pizza, and played her new game. We laughed.  I even took Elijah out of his bed so that he could eat birthday cake with us when Dad got home.  And you know what?  It was good.  It was really good.  When I try to carry the loads of life - mom, wife, bills, house, yard, school, errands,etc...- all by myself I'll fail.  When I live with Jesus by my side, with Him giving me strength...then I win.  Bobby pin or not.

I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. ¹³I can do everything through him who gives me strength. Philippians 4:12b-13