Everyone pats your tummy, smiles at your innocence,
and comments on that certain “glow.”
It takes less than a week of motherhood and
a living, breathing, crying baby - up close
and personal to tarnish the tiara and make
one realize that motherhood and “playing
dolls” are not in the same category
at all.
“Oh,
no. Not again.” How many times in the
course of motherhood have you said those words?
May your nose immediately grow six inches
if you say, “Never.”
I
was reading Matthew 14 this week. Jesus needed
a break. He deserved it! But every time He
got his friends on the boat, headed across
the sea and arrived at Destination Vacation,
so did the crowds – the ever-needy crowds.
Surely their constant presence was at least
as overwhelming as the gangrene hour between
four and six when whiney children seem to
usurp all power, patience, and equilibrium
one mother can muster. I was struck with the
fact that no matter how tired or how long
the Lord’s “to do” list
must have been, there is no record of His
saying, “Oh, no. Not again.”
Jesus’
compassion for the pain of people was greater
than His own desire for comfort or even His
commitment to the daily planner. There are
days He must have felt that He was just “spinning
His wheels” – when He had the
outlines ready and the training manuals color-coded
and thought He would spend a little time leading
a motivational seminar for His twelve assistants.
And then – oops – here came the
interruptions - the blind, the sick, the hungry….the
needs that never seemed to end. (i.e. the
skinned knee, the let’s-talk-about-my-life
child, the broken hearted teenager, the disillusioned
young adult, or the husband who left the important
papers on the desk and needs you to bring
them to the office now even though you are
still wearing your pajamas).
I
wonder about Jesus’ system of time management.
It had to have been unorthodox. Maybe He counted
successful days more in terms of who He touched
and who He served than how many things He
could check off the list. Maybe since He didn’t
really own a lot of stuff, He did not spend
His days doing some of the things we consider
so essential – like caring for the possessions
that begin to own us instead of vice versa.
When
I get to the Golden Gate, do I really expect
St. Peter to say, “Look at you! You
have gone too long between hair colors, and
that black pantsuit should have gone to the
cleaners weeks ago, and you should have redecorated
your dining room. That wallpaper is so not
chic.”
But
what if he asks, “Why did you get so
busy that you never went to see the person
you promised to visit at Hospice? Why did
you keep putting off writing that check you
kept meaning to write to that ministry you
liked so much?”
Who
knows if St. Peter answers the doorbell at
the Golden Gate at all? What I do know is
that the most uncomfortable questions of all
come down to these. “Did you tend my
sheep?” and “Did you use everything
I gave you - possessions, place, and abilities
- in such a way that those who interacted
with you experienced the love of Christ?”
