Better to Be Mary than Martha when in Postpartum

After months of struggling in postpartum depression , I think of when Jesus visits Mary and Martha and how Martha struggled with the busyness of her life and questions Mary. Jesus has dwell ed in my brokenness, my home of despair... wanting to teach me while I ran around in the wide path of nowhere. I heard him daily whispering to me, "come, sit and learn what I am doing in your life."But in the beginning I would say "no I am too angry at you for allowing me this much pain" and now I sit with a struck of humility weeping at his feet in pure joy. He looked favorably toward Mary because she sat with him in stillness , teachable. Many areas of my life I have resembled Martha in her running around trying to keep up and appear to my company that I am okay. These months of pain and disappointment moments have pushed me in a corner with no choice to lean against, slide down, and sit with HIM. He continues to train me in surrendering to his will and reminds me to take joy and thank him in this circumstance of suffering. I have yelled at my God and pleaded asking "why?" Yet he continues to smile on me while his enemy swarms around like a bee stinging me with self doubt, pride, failure and a heart of idleness. And with each sting, I smile back knowing only by his mercy I have survived , I am better, I am his will, I am Martha discovering what cannot be taken from me.

House of prayer or den of robbers?

Jesus was disgusted by hypocrites and I feel close to that wrath. In the past few months I have encountered people who claim false gods, worship a mother that never existed, and replace with a peaceful sign of a natural lifeless journey. I am unable to communicate to them anymore and hear that my God is some helper out there for only me, something I have created in my own. I feel that I have risen from this place they call safe and like minded and ripped out for the glory that I may have forgotten had I comfortably stayed. I have long suffered in the valley feeling the sun blaze my back calling me home. God has revealed his teaching and that suffering is an honor and I grow from the pain that inflicted my body, my womb, my breasts. True surrendering is not giving up, its letting go what really was never mine to keep, to worship, to beg back. I pity the one who sits and asks, "what is she saying?" The one with sight can see but choose to stay blind and look for the shiny gold calf to justify.

down came the rain and washed the mother out....

In my profession we identify it "postpartum depression" but when I sit with Jesus, he reminds me of the cross he has chosen me to bear. I know that I am a good mother but I cannot help but sing lullibies of the spider that drowns from the rain waiting for the sun. Hours go by and I look at my schedule because if i sit too long, my fear is that I will die. Pain seems to sit next to me on the other side of Jesus letting me know it's time to cry. When I cry, I feel like I have emptied out the overly flow of desparity , it feels soothing like when my breasts are emptied from nursing. I find solace, I remember but I no longer recognize my face, just a shadow of meekness crawling around the house picking up toys and folding a pair of pants that need to be hung. This ritual brings peace to my children letting them know that a mother doesn't fall , she limps even when it's painful , when it's slippery, when it's unimaginable.

Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall.... My great fall

God says "thou shall not judge" and in these past months I have felt the wrath of why not to judge others. In all areas of my life I have been measured in the same length of my judgments. Little things make me smile because I dont even look high enough to see anything bigger. I am tired, my body aches to move and my heart wrenches when I see someone enjoying mother hood. I love my children but I am having a hard time connecting with my infant son. He continues to pull me closer and I keep listening for his small voice to direct me. Days have no become months of tears, scraped knees from praying and pleading to HIM. A friend said I looked tired, and i really believe she wanted to say I looked sad but like me its hard to admit to others...because I use to be strong. I am learning that in his weakness I am becoming stronger but I wonder if my anger will subside, will I overcome , is there such thing as a cloned Job? I want to dance again, wave my hair , and stride my mothering, instead i wash my face with filthy hair strands , not moving , looking for the sun while medicating my mind that I am somewhere else. Someone asked me today if I were okay. What will they do if I am not, cook a meal, hug me, pray for me....all the kings horses and all the kingsmen couldnt put humpty back together again. I am angry at my maker today, the same hand that has blessed me, has striked the core and left me to bleed all of who I thought I was meant to be and I want to scream "screw you" but instead I shamefully bow my head in dirt praying for his mercy while drowning in his grace.

Hannah's Prayer

God led me to her prayer over a year ago confirming that I would have another child. How I never imagined that her prayer is my thorn that continues to poke me from each side leaving me in a pillar of pain. I know now that I am to leave my expectations, my reason, my knowledge at the alter returning my son to who he really belongs too and train him to permanetly stay with him. Many days I sit here in the wade of my tears asking why have I been forsaken Lord. Like birth this is when we think we cannot take anymore and then it happens, we breathe in new life. Spiritually I have taken gasps of this and unable to comprehend his teachings. Sadness has overcometh me with little light and hope but I press forward knowing he is a good God, he is my savior, he is my giver , he is my taker .... and my tears will continue to wash his feet with praise and honor, asking forgiveness for my strike of anger.

Out came the sun....

and dried up all the rain

Stripped and Naked: art of mothering

God says to not have any other gods before him and when I think of this , I think of wood, something shiny, but sitting here with my almost 3 month old, I now see what god I had sitting in my heart, my soul, my mind. I thought that I could master mothering without Jesus . I shamefully admit that as long as I had the "tools" I could mother naturally and blend in with others. I now sit here not having any direction or light that guides me so I fearfully hold on to God's promise that he never leaves and that it's not for my understanding, it's his will. I wake up in fear of feeling like already the day will be a failure yet when I yield to prayer , I press against the dragon and blow away images of my expectations. I would not trade this dinner place with Jesus for anything because I know he makes no mistakes and his invitation to trial is an honor. Indeed , my table set is not what I chose nor looks familiar but its exactly where I am suppose to dwell. Everything I thought I was is shredded in bits of pieces , yet what is clear and strong is God and my faith that dwindles back and forth singing a song of redemption.