I used to know this woman, a mother. She was nearly perfect. She had a baby. Not just any baby, a perfect baby. This woman lived in a small town. She was loved by everyone she met. She met the man of her dreams who bought her a beautiful farm house out in the country. It was big and always clean. She became pregnant. She never gained any weight. She could afford the most expensive and adorable maternity clothes. She gave birth at home, no pain meds, but a beautiful birth surrounded by candles and worship music in the background. She breastfed her baby with no problems. She dressed her baby in beautiful clothes. Her baby slept all night from day one. Her baby never got sick, never cried, never did anything that would cause the mother any stress.
She woke up every morning to clean and beautiful house. Well rested, she spent her morning in the kitchen baking from scratch. Scones, cakes, muffins, cookies, and she prepared multiple meals just for fun to have stocked in her freezer just in case there was a day in the next year where she didn't cook dinner. It was a rare occasion for her not to have a delicious hot meal prepared, fresh with organic vegetables that she grew in her own garden, on the table when her husband came home. She would always be showered and dressed exceptionally. Not a drop of spit or milk on her clothes. Her hair was always done and she smelled wonderful.
Her child grew and stayed perfect. Her child never had a tantrum, never was disobedient and could recite bible verses on command. They would go to church on Sundays as a family where her husband was the pastor and she sang and played piano for worship every Sunday morning. She lead a women's bible study twice a week and could often be seen in her window at early hours of the morning sitting and ready her bible and drinking coffee.
Her days consisted of cooking healthy meals, shopping at the local organic store, and visiting the other moms in town. She mostly just felt bad for them because their children were disobedient, watched too much tv, ate non-organic food and not to mention that their house was usually trashed. She felt the need to minister to these ladies because she clearly had her act together. She drove expensive minivan to playdates and always had healthy snacks prepared for her child and the others, whose moms forgot or didn't have something healthy them to eat. She felt bad for those children. She would watch the other moms, who hadn't showered, yelled at their kids, and seemed to be falling apart. She never understood why they had such a hard time. Soon, she had another child. Another perfect child who grew and made a perfect addition to their family. The children were home schooled and achieved high honors. They went to college at an early age. Her husband was always supportive, always happy and always "satisfied." They had a perfect marriage. They had lots of money. They were perfect.
I knew this woman. I knew her well. I was her. Or at least what the goal was for me to be. After learning I was pregnant the first time, this was the image of myself I had in my head. This was the wife, mother and woman I would become. It would be easy. People would look at me and think, wow, look at her. How does she do it and do it all so perfectly?
So, here I am, 5 years later, pregnant with my 4th child and things have clearly changed. That women I once longed to be, I now despise. I now look at her with anger and resentment. She may have had it all together but in long run, what did it get her. Was she relateable? Was she able to sympathize with other mothers who had a hard time? Was she able to minister to new moms in the those first crazy and confusing months? No. She was focused on herself and keeping herself and her child together at all times. She was prideful and selfish. She looked down and judged others for their "imperfections." She was rude and opinionated and often made others feel bad because they couldn't compete with her.
I am glad to say that I am nowhere near this woman. Far from it. My home, my children, my marriage, my finances, my cooking, my cleaning are not something to desire. I live in a world of imperfection. I am an imperfect mother. I am an imperfect wife. I have imperfect children, and I am PERFECTLY okay with it all. Nope, I don't cook, but I can make a mean PB&J that rocks the socks off of my 4yr old. My children disobey, make messes, have tantrums, and watch too much tv. I yell too much, shower too little and shop the Target clearance rack because I'm broke from feeding my kids non-organic food that I microwave most days. My house usually has a mess somewhere, and my minivan is cheap and filled with crumbs of cookies and fruit snacks that I fed the kids so they would be quiet on our way home from a hectic grocery run.
Do I feel any guilt about any of this? NOPE! None, whatsoever. I have embraced my imperfection. I know that all of that isn't important. I love my children and my husband fiercely, I love my God passionately and I know that I am eternally perfect in the eyes of my heavenly father. I know that I am not meant to be perfect by the worlds standards, nor would I want to be. The expectations on myself will be no higher than that of My creator. He expects me to love Him and others and to do it in the most passionate way I can. Whether that means reading the bible to my kids, praying with my husband or serving others outside of my home. God will not love me less if I can't cook or if my house is dirty or if my kids are naughty. He supplies me with all the things I need to live my life FOR HIM, not for myself or for what the world says I should be. I'm not out to impress anyone or have anyone envy my life. I am what God has made me and I am right where I am supposed to be, in the condition I'm supposed to be in. He will use me as I am. And I think THATS perfect :)
