Sitting around a cafe table in our local Barnes & Noble, we were drinking coffee and talking about life and motherhood. The conversation was upbeat and there was laughter. Some of the laughter probably served only to keep the tears from falling, but I guess that’s not the worst defense mechanism.

These were not only fellow mom friends of mine, they were also fellow homeschooling moms. In the midst of our fellowship, one of them revealed, with a mixture of regret, embarrassment and humor, that she had gotten so angry with her children recently that she had thrown a dry erase marker across her dining room.It was supposed to be a funny confession of sorts, a hopefully relatable moment.

But my heart sank.

Was that the most horrible thing she could think of to confess? If so, I must be the worst mother in the world. I had not just thrown the dry erase marker across the room, but also the dry erase board. (It was a small one, 8.5×11, but still.)

And not only had I thrown those things across the room in anger, I had stormed out of the house and slammed the door, not telling my kids where I was going. But they weren’t old enough for me to actually leave the premises, so the garage was as far as I made it.

Sitting inside my minivan parked inside my garage gave me the freedom to scream and sob and groan and pray for help. It went on for quite some time. An onlooker might have thought I was in labor, suffering the agony of childbirth right there in my Sienna.

And you know what? I was.

Because the cursed pain of childbirth doesn’t end with the final push – or the adoption court date. It lingers for years, taking many different forms, and it can bring us to our knees in weakness and failure and despair.

I have failed my kids with my impatience, my harshness, my passive aggressiveness, my raised voice, my sarcasm, my anger, and my selfishness many times. Even in all of my earnestness to be the best mom I could be, I failed. Even though my own mom hurt me with her selfishness and rage, and I swore I would never do anything similar, I couldn’t keep my own vow.

Wretched man that I am! Who will set me free from the body of this death?

Romans 7: 24

When I was much younger and my mom would summon me to her room in anger, I would stand at the end of her king-sized bed, holding onto a post of the white wicker loveseat that served as a footboard of sorts. After a while, and in the midst of her harsh words and accusations, I began to envision that wicker knob as God’s hand holding mine. I would grasp it tighter and imagine Him to be reassuring me, telling me He was with me, that He cared for me, and would never leave me. I am convinced that He granted me faith at such a young age in order to carry me through those years.

But if I was the victim of a mother’s anger as a child, I, at times, became the perpetrator when I had children of my own. And God’s condemnation, as well as His forgiveness for each person is the same, for there is no partiality with God.

But do you suppose this, O man, when you pass judgment on those who practice such things and do the same yourself, that you will escape the judgment of God?

Romans 2: 3But let me remind you (and myself)…

…there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. 

Romans 8:1

Here’s what happened to that white wicker loveseat of my childhood: it turned into a white down comforter in my adulthood It’s the one that envelops me as I crawl into bed at the end of each day. When I do it right, as the regrets, the failures, the sin fill my mind and cause anxious and condemning thoughts, I imagine the down comforter as the arms of God wrapping me up and reminding me of His love and forgiveness.

If you, O Lord, should mark iniquities,
    O Lord, who could stand?
But with you there is forgiveness…

Psalm 130: 3-4

Attributing home furnishings to the presence of God may sound silly to you, and I may be taking theological license of some sort here, but God’s symbolic hand of strength holding mine through those childhood years became His loving embrace of forgiveness for my mothering years. And oh, how I needed it.

In Him we have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses, according to the riches of His grace which He lavished on us.

Ephesians 1:7

He lavished the riches of grace on me.

If you are in Christ, fellow mom, He did it for you, too.

Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord! 

Romans 7: 25So, moms…created lifegivers, called by God to rule, subdue, and produce…

steward your children well

shape and aim those arrows in your quiver

teach them diligently

train them in the Scriptures

be as eager to finish raising them as you were to give birth to them

ask for vision for your kids and implement it

be a loving leader

work hard

and don’t let them drink only Gatorade

God will equip you for all of these things as you go…

And God is able to make all grace abound to you, so that always having all sufficiency in everything, you may have an abundance for every good deed;

2 Corinthians 9:8

But when you fail, by all means – even if one of them is God’s imaginary covering in the form of a down comforter – rest in His grace.

Our enemy lives to accuse us before God day and night.

Let Christ cover you with pardon and acceptance.Recently, Robert was speaking at a conference in New Hampshire. During the worship music one evening we sang “It Is Well With My Soul.” I’ve always loved that song, but the last stanza made me feel the burden of my sin and the beauty of His forgiveness more powerful than ever before. I couldn’t stop the tears.

And Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight,
The clouds be rolled back as a scroll;
The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend,
Even so, it is well with my soul.

In my mind I saw Jesus descending and myself standing before Him.

Standing there in His powerful presence. Me with all of my weakness and failure and sin. Me with my small offerings of worship and failed efforts at obedience.

Him with His holiness, His perfect righteousness.

And even so…even in the midst of of His terrifying, powerful, glorious, trumpet-resounding return, I felt nothing but love.

His forgiveness had made it well with my soul.

Rest in His forgiveness, fellow mom.

(This is part five of a series reposted from May 2018, but I’ve been thinking a lot about motherhood lately and Mother’s Day is approaching. If you are interested in reading parts 1-4 you can find them here: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 , and here’s another of my favorite posts about motherhood: Still The Best Convent.)

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