I had a moment this morning.
It’s the morning before my favorite holiday, the sun was shining, my kids were all safe and healthy, and I had a moment.
I was tired. I hadn’t eaten breakfast.
The baby was crying.
Two sisters were bickering.
One brother was looking for a lost jersey.
One brother had to tell me a Harry Potter spell rightthatminute.
The three-year-old was yelling my name from the bathroom because he wanted to be wiped.
And then the crying baby knocked over a container of wallpaper glue, and it spilled all over the kitchen floor.
And I had the moment. The moment when I felt completely alone, and I closed my eyes and thought
Please. Let me be anywhere but here. Let me be in any moment but this one. Let me be anyone but this mom. Let me do anything except clean up this mess, put my hand in someone’s poop, settle this argument. I honestly believe that I might not survive this moment.
Thousands of years ago, there was a young man. And before He died on the cross, before He rose, before He showed us what Love was, He had a moment. In a garden, when He felt completely alone, and He closed His eyes and thought
Please. Let me be anywhere but here. Let me be in any moment but this one. Let me be anyone but this man. Let me do anything except sit here while they arrest me, torture me, put me to death in front of my mother.
In those moments, He and I have a choice: we can run and live – or we can stay and die. Die to ourselves, to selfishness, to worldliness. In those moments, you and I have a choice: to live for ourselves or to live with Him. To allow ourselves to be crucified with Him in that moment. To show the world what love is. To rise with Him.
These moments aren’t beautiful at the time. In fact, for me, they’re some of my ugliest moments as a mother. Impatient, tear-filled, close-to-temper-tantrum moments that I hope no one sees.
But these are the moments that refine us, that move us from what we were before to what we’re trying to be.
These are the moments that unite us with Christ.
These are the moments that make this a vocation, not a job.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some rear ends to wipe.