If Mary had a camera

 I am not referring to the nursery rhyme regarding said little girl taking a lamb to school but Mary, Joseph’s wife and mother of Jesus.  I have been thinking of her lately in reference to the verse in Luke 2:19 that says, “But Mary treasured up all these things, pondering them in her heart.”  I just wonder what her heart contained… after all that had and would transpire in her life.

I am the mother of a toddler.  To be precise, the mother of a 19 month old who runs, climbs, and touches everything (except his own toys) in an attempt to manipulate, figure out and ultimately destroy-in- the-process everything this world has to offer.  I am a mom.  And it’s the hardest job I’ve ever had.

I run all day and crash at night.  I know most moms do.  Some of the running is fun, but mostly it’s keeping my child safe and attempting to keep patient while hoping to have some time for teaching and learning.  What I’ve seen lately is that I am doing most of the learning here.  And I confess that I am not approaching it with any better attitude than Andrew gives me about hearing the ABC’s yet again…  I thought that I would be learning a lot from the books that I keep buying/borrowing.  With my limited sit-down time I am currently reading books on how to bring up boys, keep home, searching for significance, and my favorite currently, on how not to be a hoarder!  I see a lot of wisdom in these, and I do my best to put it all neatly into my brain. 

But it’s not enough.  At the end of the day I still seem to have so much to do/learn.  And that can be depressing.  Tom told me last night about an article he heard about in Christianity Today.  It talks about how stay-at-home-moms are more depressed than working moms.  I can see that.  This is hard, and makes me often feel like a failure.  Images of past glances at TV shows like Montel or Dr. Phil can be haunting.  Would reading that book (halfway) one more time yesterday save my son from a life of crime?!  No one likes to feel like a failure.  

            And the other side of the story is the one told in our photo frames and albums.  There are so many lovely pictures to look at.  Smiling, laughing, calm photos.  I love photos.  I love taking them, getting them from family and friends and keeping them. I have boxes and boxes and albums and albums from all eras of my and my family’s life.  I enjoy looking at them and remembering the story behind them.  I keep mementos for that same reason.  Thankfully I haven’t moved on to a hoard by any means, but I can easily put my hands on an essay I wrote in junior high or a candle favor from Andrew’s baby shower.  Again, memories… I cherish them and I guess am so afraid of not remembering them that I need these triggers.  But how accurate are these?  Thankfully most of the photos have happy people in them.  To look at only these would paint a picture of an always happy, smiling family.   And we are happy, but not always smiling.  But there are also the pictures that I tried to take.  Ones of an extremely funny or happy moment that just didn’t take.  The moment is gone before the camera comes out.  So, I guess these pictures tell a better than half happy tale.  No extremes.  The camera can’t remember for me.

            And so I turn to Mary and her heart.  What would that scene of Christmas look like in a photo book compared to her heart’s treasured story?  Not as full, I imagine. And what does my heart contain? What do I treasure?  Unlike the photos there are some painful things stored up in my heart.  There are no photos of the moment of losing loved ones, of the instant that the roller coaster ride starts down the hill after a terrifying climb or of the cut on your face from a toddler’s swing.  The heart sees it all; unlike a camera, and it is what makes me be me.

            Wishing that being a mom was easier is an easy temptation to fall into.  Like I said before it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done.  There are no awards or bonuses here.  I don’t get a plaque if Andrew says “thank you” unsolicited at the grocery store or if we get through a day with no time-outs.  It’s easy to wish for it to be easier.  But as I already knew and am being reminded, we are not left by God the way we came to him.  We are refined as gold and silver, which are refined by fire (1 Peter 1). Fire is hot, and it burns (like I tell Andrew so very often).  But that is how I am refined.  God will refine me because He loves me.  My weaknesses are difficult to handle and my temptation is to run to where my weaknesses aren’t so evident.  I have never felt so weak or unsure of my self.  I’m beginning to see that is a good thing.  God’s power is made perfect in my weakness.  And my weakness is shown here and now.  My son has been the biggest mirror of myself.  I may not visibly stomp my feet, swing a fist or lay on the floor kicking in a tantrum, but inside I may be.  My reactions to God have often not been any more compliant than my toddler’s.  But I am seeing how He is changing me.  I am not the person I used to be and am so grateful for that, even though I have a long way to go.

            Mary treasured all these things in her heart.  My prayer is to work on doing the same thing and asking for help along the way.  All of “THESE THINGS” that I might want to wish away or run from are refining me and making me be the best mom, wife and daughter of God that I am meant to be.