Mickey Mouse saved my "quiet" time!

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You know you did it, too.

Before you had kids, you heard some screaming banshee in the grocery store and you thought, “If that were my child . . . ”

And if you’re anything like me, you probably had a mental list of “I’ll nevers” that looked something like this:

• “I’ll never yell at my children.”
• “I’ll never bribe my children.”
• “I’ll never use the TV as a babysitter.”

And then you had kids. And the view from the playing field sure is different than the view from the bleachers.

And you learn quick that as a mom, sometimes you “do what you gotta do.”

But even with that motto, these days I find myself in a bit of a predicament.

I can’t make my life work.

I am totally undone. I have three children, two of which I’m supposed to potty train this summer, a “new” house with a mile long list of things to do, an “old” house to sell, this whole writing “thing” and, oh yeah, I need to lose forty more pounds.

Shoot me now.

In light of all this, it might surprise you to know that in the past couple of months, I’ve been experiencing my own personal revival.

And I have Mickey Mouse to thank for it.

That’s right.

One morning, in total desperation, I plopped James down in the recliner with a muffin and a cup of milk, turned on Mickey Mouse, grabbed my Bible and found my way to the ugliest chair you have ever seen (trust me, up close it's disgusting), left behind by the previous owners and strategically located on my deck.

I didn’t know what would happen, but that dear little mouse bought me a few moments to attempt to have some time with the Lord.

And this time, instead of approaching God with a to-do list or a plan, I just came. And let me tell you, it’s amazing what He can do with my chaos.

Some mornings, my “quiet” time never gets off the ground. James follows me and wants to play. Drew wakes up and wants to eat. Emma comes out and wants to snuggle.

But some mornings, there are no interruptions and as I come to Him, weary, burdened and sleep-deprived, as I spend time in the Word and learn of Him, as I give Him each day and ask Him to show me what to do and what can wait, He is faithful. His yoke is easy. His burden is light. And I am finding rest for my soul.

Don’t get me wrong . . . I’m not out there with Greek dictionaries and concordances as I fact-check my way through a Beth Moore study.

Right now, I’m just reading through Psalms. Nothing elaborate about it. But as I show up, I’m finding that He’s already there, waiting for me. And that ugly chair is turning into my own little patch of holy ground.

I don’t know how your life is going this summer, but can I encourage you in this? Don’t buy into the concept that during this “season of life” you get a pass on spending time with your Savior. It’s during this “season of life” that you and I need Him more desperately than we ever have before.

Don’t wait until you’ve got it all together. And don’t make it harder than it needs to be. Let the kids watch some TV, grab a cup of coffee, find a corner and show up.

Whether it’s 30 seconds or 30 minutes, He will meet you there.

In fact, He’s already waiting.

Deflated

Some days, the “joys” of motherhood just about kill me.

I play with Mr. Potato head. I work puzzles. I read books. I do laundry. I fix breakfast, lunch, supper and eighteen snacks.

I build towers out of blocks. I find missing dolls. I kiss booboos, pay bills and change twenty-three diapers, ten of them requiring full Hazmat gear.

I fall into bed and tell my husband that I feel like someone took a baseball bat and beat me with it.

But those days are easy enough to get over. After a good night’s rest, I’m ready for the new day.

Then there are the days when time after time, something happens that knocks the breath out of me. The days when everything goes wrong—the kids fight, the laundry annoys me, the recipe I try is a flop, the clutter threatens to overwhelm me—and I’m faced with the certainty that I get to do this all over again.

Tomorrow.

And the next day. And the day after that.

Yippee.

I fall into bed without a word. I feel overwhelmed. Defeated. And a good night’s rest can’t fix that.

But I’m not defeated.

I’m deflated.

And it’s an important distinction.

Defeated implies a state of permanent failure—my balloon popped and is scattered all over the floor in jagged pieces.

Deflated implies that there’s hope—my balloon hasn’t popped—it just needs some air, or better yet, some helium.

Motherhood has a way of sucking the life out of you. You can only give so much before you have nothing left. The key, for me, is to realize when I’m almost to the edge—before I get to it—and take some time to recharge, to fill my tanks, to re-inflate my balloon.

I have two ways of doing that. The first is the most important. I spend some time with the Lord. No one is as refreshing as He. The second way is to get out of the house for a few hours.

Alone.

I need time alone to regroup and re-energize. That’s what works for me, but some people need to get out with a few friends or work on a project or throw a party. It doesn’t matter what you need, as long as you know what it is and you make the time to get it.

It’s not about being selfish.

It’s about survival and sanity!

I’m a much better mom when I’ve had some time to myself. I come home ready to tackle the Little People explosion in my daughter’s room, prepared to sing every verse of Father Abraham and able to laugh when I’m changing the twenty-fourth diaper of the day.

Don’t let motherhood get you down. Figure out what your helium is—time with a good book, time in your garden, time at the gym—and re-inflate as often as you can.

Psalm 23:1-3a ~ The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul. (ESV)