5 secrets to staying married... and in love

You don’t have to raise a diabetic child to know that marriage is hard work.

But for those of us raising a child with unique challenges like Type 1 diabetes, the divorce rates skyrocket past 50% into the 70-80%s. These are sobering statistics.

Todd and I have been married for sixteen years this month. We have survived job changes and multiple relocations, tragic death in the family, physical and emotional pain, and for the last three years, raising a precious eight year old boy with Type 1 diabetes (whose main goal this summer is producing a movie called “Metal Bomb”). Despite it all, I call Todd my boyfriend because I still have a crush on him.

Along the way, we have figured out how not just how to stay married, but how to actually stay in love. This month on Raising Moses, I will share with you our:

                 5 secrets to staying married… and in love.

1. Time

Daily check-ins and weekly date nights are the best secrets for staying connected.

Around 6:30am, before our kids get up and after a few quiet minutes apart, Todd and I meet back in our room to talk, pray, connect. Its 10-15 minutes of check-in time before we are off to our jobs and our busy lives.

When he comes home in the evening, we do another check-in. Sometimes it’s right when he gets home: I’ll rub his shoulders and we’ll talk (a win-win: he gets the back rub and I get to talk). Then “battle hour” commences - dinnertime with four kids. If it’s a sports night or he gets home late, we connect after the kids are in bed. We sit in the rocking chairs on the porch with a glass of wine and jazz playing on Pandora. With summer finally here, this has been a favorite time for us. Sometimes we leave the kids in the care of our eldest daughter and go for a walk around the block.

On the weekend, we prioritize date night. We’ve been working on cheap dates, like a long hike or a trip to the bike store or a free outdoor concert at the park. I’d love to do fine dining every Saturday night, but it’s just not in the budget. We still prioritize time together once a week, for a few glorious hours of uninterrupted conversation.

2. Prayer

Todd and I pray together. Every morning.

It wasn’t always this way. It took lots of “discussions” to find a way for our marriage to mirror our personal spirituality. Todd and I call ourselves followers of Jesus, and part of our faith is regular conversation with God. But we approach God differently: I try to please, he wrestles with God. We study the Bible differently, too: I spend three months on one verse, he reads a Psalm and writes all over his Bible. Prayer is something we finally agree on.

Sometimes we pray for other people, sometimes we just cry out to God for help. It has profoundly knitted our souls together in a mysterious way. We have prayed our way through change, struggle, diabetes and celiac disease and hypothyroidism and the death of our invincibility. Prayer has broken our hardened hearts open to each other. It’s opened a floodgate of tears. It’s forced honesty in the presence of an all-knowing God. Prayer (and its Recipient) is what keeps us married and in love.

Sometimes the intimacy of prayer has other benefits…

3. Sex

Just do it. Really.

Sometimes sex is a four-course meal with fine wine. Sometimes it’s a Dunkin Donuts drive-thru. But just like pizza, even when its bad, it’s always good. Making sex fit into the insanity of life keeps us married… and in love. It changes us from grumpy and cranky, overtired and overstressed, snipping at each other and our kids to… well, exhale. Its all going to be OK, at least for a little while.

I know I’m oversimplifying a complex subject. But simply put, sex is what makes you lovers and not just parents. It keeps you married and in love.

4. Teamwork

We work as a team. We thank each other frequently.

We trade off who changes the insulin pump and the Dexcom glucose monitor and who has nighttime duty. (Blood sugar highs and lows make for lots of sleepless nights.)

We alternate who puts our younger two to bed and who finishes the dishes. I read to the kids; he snuggles. I drive the kids to sports; he picks them up. We help each other when the other is behind on his or her work. We do the bills together. I do the cooking; he makes the money. It doesn’t work without the other. We’re a team.

5. Asking (specifically) for what I want

A wise woman told me never expect Todd to read my mind.

Todd lives his life by a checklist. I just need to add my needs to that checklist. When I ask for something, I add a time and a date, like putting a request on his calendar. “Todd, I am feeling very behind on housework because the kids had a lot of doctor’s appointments this week. Could you help me fold laundry tonight while we watch Netflix?” It’s not that Todd is lazy and doesn’t see my needs. He just needs a specific request so he can add “love my wife” to his check list. He often responds like this: “I need to do payroll tonight. Can we do it tomorrow night?” Yes, of course.

I’m still learning to ask for help. I often don’t know what I really need, or I’m afraid to ask. Asking (specifically) for what I want decreases the disappointment and resentment between us.

                                                                               ***

The “secrets” of our marriage aren’t anything new or surprising, nor is this an all-inclusive list. But time, prayer, sex, teamwork and asking for what I want keeps us married… and in love. It’s all the little choices, day after day, that keep us weathering this storm of life, especially while caring for a child with diabetes.

Be encouraged that you can stay married and in love, too.

                                                                              ***

What keeps you married, despite the challenges of life? Please share your own secrets. 

The Benefits of Denial

They all seemed so sure of what was wrong. They nodded and whispered and knew, but I didn’t. Or I just couldn’t.

Finn sat on the hospital bed putting his Legos together, saline dripping into his vein. He was wearing only a hospital gown and his Batman underwear. He had just turned five. I sat next to him, my feet up on his bed, staring numbly at my son, my phone resting idly in my hand. One test, a tiny drop of blood from Finn’s finger, and they all seemed so sure of what was wrong with him.

“What is wrong with my son? Will someone please tell me?” I screamed on the inside. But on the outside, I quietly waited for confirmation. Didn’t they need to run more tests? Talk to some expert? Bring another doctor in to confirm the diagnosis?

Truth was, I couldn’t face the truth. I was in big, fat denial. Honestly, I just couldn’t wrap my head around it. Type 1 Diabetes? What did that even mean? I knew what it was, sort of. I knew diabetes was a disease that shut down your pancreas and demanded insulin through a syringe with every meal. What I didn’t know was how radically diabetes would change our lives.

We sat in that fishbowl in the Emergency Room for hours, nurses and doctors swishing open and close the glass door to check on Finn. In addition to checking his blood sugar, they were constantly checking for acid which had built up in dangerous amounts in his blood and was spilling out into his urine.

All this is hard to write about. On June 18 it will be 3 years since that day in the emergency room. It has taken me three years to be willing to go back to that place, emotionally. It’s not that I have been in denial about my child having diabetes. I live it and breathe it every day; I can’t deny it. But it’s difficult to allow myself to feel diabetes, instead of just treat it.

Diabetes is HARD, and you don’t get day or night off. Blood sugar checks, carb counting, adjusting for highs and lows, changes in insulin amounts, sleepless nights. There is so much to DO for diabetes that I didn’t have space to FEEL. Raising kids in general is challenging, especially four of them, but throwing diabetes into to the mix… well, sometimes it just feels like too much. It’s easier just to shut the emotions off.

Denial is powerful. It protects us from devastating news. It allows us to do the work that just needs to get done. Emotion, really dealing with the truth, can shut us down and not allow us to do what is necessary. Denial is good and important, but we can’t stay there. We can’t keep our emotions captive forever. We can’t control or push down or deny forever the trauma that comes with this life or it will consume us, control us, embitter us. We must deal with our emotions, rumble with them, so we can accept reality and make peace with them.

Denial in the emergency room protected me and allowed me to be strong for Finn as he calmly put his Legos together. But three years later, I need to finally rumble with all my emotions and fumble my way into acceptance of our lives with diabetes. I hate diabetes, but I love my son, and I will do whatever I need to do to care for him. Denial may have benefits, but acceptance is truly the way to live. 

How has denial affected your life? When did you finally accept your circumstances?

On the Stairs

I climbed the stairs with a smile. I was tired, but happy after a loud 45-minute bus ride with second graders, including my son, Josh, an eight-year-old dimpled blond with a happy grin. We visited my favorite art museum, the one with the three-story swirling display of color, constructed simply with plastic drink cups, and a beach scene dominated by a large orange umbrella. I can’t help but smile when surrounded by color and paint and energetic second graders.

Todd, my husband, had taken our younger boys to their annual physical. I had received a few strange texts from him:

“Finn just bit the doctor.”

“Zac just pooped on the nurse.”

“Finn might have T1D, heading to the hospital for blood work.”

What???

Finn was a five-year-old buzz-cut blond with hair like a dandelion puff. (Poouf!) He liked to play linebacker and run towards me down the hall, full speed, head first, all grins, 50 pounds of solid boy. He hadn’t been himself the last few months: lots of whining, bed-wetting and unexplainable thirst. One sunny afternoon during a baseball game, he downed 3-12oz water bottles and cried for more, running to the bathroom every 20 minutes or so. He was looking thinner, but we thought maybe he was just growing taller?

I told Todd to mention it to the doctor; it was probably nothing, but please mention it. I didn’t expect it to be anything.

T1D? What was T1D? Todd must be joking. I honestly ignored the text. Todd has a history as a practical joker. When I was pregnant with our third child, he sent a fake ultrasound picture to my parents, convincing them I was pregnant with twins. Another time he forged a letterhead and to a coworker suggesting that his wedding reception was double booked. He posted FOR SALE signs of his office assistant’s car and hung them in the parking garage.

Naturally, the response to my husband was “Whatever, Todd.” I sent him a selfie of Josh and me then put my phone away.

I actually called him after he sent me a picture of Finn and three-year old Zac in a hospital waiting room.

I don’t remember his words to me on that call, while I was standing below a huge sunny oak tree watching second graders finish their lunch, but it was the first time “Type 1 Diabetes” was spoken between us. None of it made sense to me: I was still high on art and happy kids. Denial surged through my veins.

When I arrived home and climbed the stairs, my happy buzz ended abruptly like a needle ripped off a record payer when Todd handed me an overnight bag.

“Finn needs to go right to the emergency room. The hospital just called.” There was no joke in that.

Right there on the stairs, my life changed forever. Bad news can do that.

  

*****

Todd wasn’t joking about T1D. In the pediatrician’s office, Finn didn’t bite the doctor and Zac didn’t poop on the nurse. But a urine dip told the doctor that Finn’s blood sugar was about 300. (A normal reading is 70-120.) At the hospital, bloodwork confirmed a 450 blood sugar. I would bring him later to the ER where his blood sugar rose to 602. They diagnosed him immediately with Type 1 Diabetes. I was confused and afraid, but strangely calm. Denial strangled my emotions.

Remember where you were when you heard devastating news? I’ll never forget where I was when I first heard Todd’s words that suggested that our precious 5-year old was sick: on the stairs.  The stairs were the beginning of our journey with Finn and Type 1 Diabetes. That moment on the stairs would change our lives, and Finn’s, forever.

Where were you when you first heard devastating news? How did you respond? I’d love to hear your story in the comments below. 

Shame and mercy

This week I wrecked my grocery budget. We are getting a tax return, and any time I know there is extra money coming in, I loosen up my hold on the budget and act like our money has no limits. So when I was at Sam's Club to buy ground turkey, block cheese, and red peppers, I decided to stock up on toiletries (and a few other things) and ended up with $400 of stuff in my cart. (We'll have razors and deodorant until Jesus returns.) That's nearly half my grocery budget for the month. And its only the first week of the month.

To many of you, this may not seem like such a big deal. Even my husband wasn't upset at all. But for a perfectionist who prides herself on her money management skills, this was devastating. I buried myself in shame all week.

I picked fights with Todd over money. I reneged on our decision to pay off our car loan. I complained that we never have any fun. I sulked and brooded over nothing and everything. All because I absolutely hated myself for overspending at the grocery store.

Then Todd and I finally got a chance to sit and talk for a long while. I rubbed his back and he listened  patiently (its a wonderful arrangement, a win-win for both of us). I realized that all of my rumblings and grumblings were rooted in the crushing shame of my budgetary mistake (not even a sin, really).

In my devotions the next morning, I finally got honest with God and admitted that I was buried in shame over my actions, and that I was desperate for truth to free me from the crushing weight. I asked the Holy Spirit to lead me in Scripture and to set me free with the truth of the Word.

I went first to a verse that I heard recently.

You are familiar with all my ways.   Psalm 139:3b

God knows me. He knows that I loosen up when there is extra money coming in, then hate myself when I overspend. He knows my perfectionist ways, and my struggles with money. He knew that while I bended under the weight of shame that I was deflecting my emotions everywhere else instead of admitting what I thought was a fatal flaw (even though it wasn't). He knew I was picking fights and arguing with Todd because I wanted to cover up my mistake with extra cash so I wouldn't have to admit my failure.

And all the while, He still loved me. He knew, and He still loved. He knew, and He didn't stop providing for me or caring for me. He provided for the birds and the flowers, and they haven't done anything to earn his provision. Which made me think of Ephesians 2:4-5:

But because of His great love for us, God who is rich in mercy made us alive with Christ...      

It was His mercy that made me stop. Mercy is getting what we don't deserve. I don't deserve God's love because I was a good girl. I don't deserve God's provision because I did it all right. In fact, I will never be good enough to earn any of the blessings that I have. God gives them to me because
He loves me, and because of  Jesus. I chose to believe in Jesus, and because of that, God gives me His great love, His mercy, His provision, His approval. All the things I need and long for.

So maybe for you it isn't the grocery budget, and maybe you aren't a recovering perfectionist like me, but I ask you, is there something in your life that has buried you in shame?

God's mercy and great love are enough to lift the heavy beams of shame off your shoulders. Nothing you can do or not do can earn you His love and favor. You already have it because of Jesus.

Stand up tall today because you are no longer buried in shame, but made alive in Christ. I will. I'm going to accept my failure, and move forward and continue to press into the Lord for help with my perfectionism. But oh I need His help! For life, everyday! I need His mercy and His grace. I need to know that He knows me through and through and that He loves me anyway. I need to constantly remind myself that His grace is sufficient for me and that His power is made perfect in my weakness. And I need to come back to His Word, needy for truth, every day, so that I won't stay in a place of shame. I hope you do, too.

Good Enough

It’s the New Year, and like every good American, one of my New Year’s resolutions is to lose ten pounds. My family and I recently moved, and I got out of my exercise routine. And I just ate too much.

So I went to a new class at the gym today. It was called H.I.I.T. High Intensity Interval Training. It was HARD.

I live in a small town with one run-down gym. It’s probably been there since the ‘80s, and they still play heavy metal in the weight room. But this gym collects women in the best shape in all of Lancaster County. Me, well, I show up. Occasionally.

As I’m sweating and straining and huffing and puffing, I couldn’t help but look around at all these women in their 20s, 30s, 40s, even 50s, in just sick shape. They must lift weights while they sleep and never eat chocolate ice cream. At one point during the class, we were supposed to pair up to do some ab-throw-your-legs thing. No one wanted to be my partner. I felt like I was eight years old again at recess. I was the girl nobody wanted on their team. Finally, the teacher paired me with a woman in her 50s, also in amazing shape, who was actually really nice.

The whole thing got me thinking. Is it good enough just to show up? Even if you aren’t the skinniest or the most toned or the youngest or the prettiest or the smartest?

I feel like I’m that way with so many things. I’m not in the best shape. I’m not the smartest or the most accomplished. I’m not the most organized. I’m not the best writer, or speaker, or decorator. I’m emotional and moody and dramatic and devoted and messy.

But it is good enough just to show up and try?

I’ll go back to that class and try again, even if my thighs jiggle in those blasted mirrors everywhere. I’ll keep painting the rooms in my house even though I don’t know how to style an empty wall. I’ll keep trying to be a good friend, even though I talk too much and I’m dramatic, and I tend towards extremes. I’ll love with all I’ve got, even if it’s not enough to fix anyone’s problems. I’ll keep trying to clean and organize and manage my time. I’ll keep trying to carve out a writing niche and find my own voice. Because perhaps the goal isn’t to be the best. Perhaps it’s good enough just to show up and try.

Help for the Weary

Weary Jen, circa 2006

 Moses heard all the families standing in the doorways of their tents whining… And Moses said to the Lord, “Why are you treating me, your servant, so harshly? Have mercy on me! What did I do to deserve the burden of all these people? Did I give birth to them? Did I bring them into the world? Why did you tell me to carry them in my arms like a mother carries a nursing baby? ... I can’t carry all these people by myself! The load is far too heavy! If this is how you intend to treat me, just go ahead and kill me. Do me a favor and spare me this misery!”                       Numbers 11:10-12, 14-15 (NLT)

Moses had walked through an intense time. For the last 18 months, he had contended with Pharaoh, led the people out of Egypt and into the Wilderness, fasted for 40 days, carried some tablets, intercepted a rebellion, fought a battle, managed grumbling, built the Tabernacle and faced opposition from within his own family. Moses was weary. And he was having himself a nice little meltdown.

How about you? Ever been there? “God! Just kill me now! It would be easier than dealing  with these children!!”

Are you burdened? Weary? Overwhelmed? Discouraged? Wanting to have a little meltdown/pity-party/freak-out of your own?

What makes you weary? Young children? Teenagers? A stressful job? Ministry? Challenging marriage? Weight loss? Struggle with addiction? Devastating loss? Shame? A combination of any of the above?

There was a time when caring for my children made me weary, when they were tiny: nursing and crawling and crying and getting into things. It’s easier now. Right now, my olders are happily playing Scrabble and my youngers are “cleaning” their room. I can hear hollers of “I just played ‘zonal’ for 32 points!” and “Do I have to put away my Lightning McQueen set?” and “is SOS a word?” and it’s all directed at me, like it’s not real unless they share it with me. It’s a beautiful noise. (But noisy, all the time.)

Now my pressures are different, but still overwhelming: boys who are CONSTANTLY hungry and a Type 1 diabetic with high/low blood sugars and sticky floors and laundry piles and sermons to write and young women to disciple and a middle schooler. Yes, a middle schooler. That alone can exhaust a woman.

Ministry is what I love, but puts me over my I-can-handle-this threshold. Right now, because of snow days and missions weekend and a women’s retreat rescheduled, I have to teach three times in the next 5 weeks. I’m still pretty new at this regular-teaching thing. I’m feeling attacked, anxious, and ashamed that I don’t trust the Lord more with my burdens.

I do pray, but I must admit that I withdraw within myself, am short with my family, eat too much sugar, and walk around with low-grade anxiety at all times, especially in the 5 days before I teach. I also try to control my external surroundings, knowing full-well that my insides are out of control.

How about you? How do you manage your burdens and your weariness? Do you take it out on your loved ones? Withdraw? Explode? Complain? Pray? Trust? Eat??

Let’s do two things here.  (See, I’m preaching to myself here, too.)

1. Let’s cut ourselves some slack. We are dust after all (Psalm 103:14). Let’s show ourselves some compassion, because God sure does (Isaiah 30:18).

2. Let’s follow Moses’ example. He had himself a nice little meltdown, but he didn’t call a friend and whine, eat too much chocolate, or lock himself in the bathroom (am I the only one who does that?). He cried out to the Lord.

Here’s how God responded:

 “The Lord said to Moses: “Bring me seventy of Israel’s elders… They will help you carry the burden of the people so that you will not have to carry it alone.’”                               Numbers 11:16, 17

Don’t you just love Him? He’s not a harsh Master (Matthew 25:24-25); He’s a loving Daddy (Luke 11:11-13).

God sent help for Moses. Help for the weary and burdened. For Moses, it was some buddies. God sent seventy elders to help manage the workload.

For me, when I am burdened and overwhelmed, God does a few things for me.

1. He reminds me that He will help me. One of my favorite verses in this season is:

Do not be afraid… I will help you…         Isaiah 41:14

I am buoyed knowing that the God of the universe is ready and eager to help me.

2. He encourages me just to keep going. Often when I am weary and burdened, I shut down and freeze. I stop working all together. The Lord urges me to keep going, keep working. Because perseverance is so important. When I see progress, even small progress, I am encouraged. And progress breeds more progress, and eventually I see ripened fruit. And that helps me persevere the next time.

3. He sends encouragements: from His Word which speaks directly to my soul, or from a friend who reminds me that someone needed to see me (http://sarahbessey.com/needed-see/), or a sermon that speaks life into my death, my discouragement. Sometimes he sends an actual person in the flesh, to help fold my laundry or keep me company while I catch up on pots and pans, or my husband who reads my stuff and gives me super helpful feedback.

How about you? Are you weary? Please share with us, so that we can be encouraged by your testimony. So that you can be God’s help to us, the weary. 

The Motherhood Transition

My third child, Finn, is entering Kindergarten in the fall. His younger brother, Zac, my baby, is only two years behind him. I’m looking at, after being home with babies for over 10 years, a change in season. In two short years, all of my four children will be in school all day. I, a stay-at-home mom for all this time, will have to figure out what to do! On one hand, I rejoice. I will finally have some quiet, be able to finish a project without breaking for snack time or to break up a fight, go to the grocery store (and the bathroom) by myself. On the other hand, I weep. Though it has been a challenging season with young children home all day, it has been a happy time. My days have been full of blond smiles and little hands “helping” me with my work. We’ve baked together, read together, napped together, gone on bike rides together. I have often said that it took four children for me to appreciate what a blessing they are and how quickly they grow.

 

 

My oldest, dear Maggie, is 10, and soon to finish 4^th grade. She’s been like an olive shoot in my home, growing in stature and maturity at an alarming rate.

I admit, as I look forward to this rapidly approaching transition in my life, I’ve been digging my heels in, in fear. I’ve been thinking and talking about having another baby. (We’ll call it temporary insanity and amnesia wrapped into one.) I don’t know what the next season of my life looks like. I talk about writing a book, but really that’s just because I don’t know how I will fill my time. Will I quilt more? Blog more? Read more? Will I sit home by myself as my friends with little ones gather for play dates without me? Will I linger at the gym too long, not to lose those persistent 10 pounds, but to socialize like some of the other moms? What will my life look like?

With these questions floating around my head, and my (thankfully) empty womb, I went to church this Mother’s Day. I was happy: I’d been well-spoiled on Saturday with homemade kid cards, “free hug” coupons, rose and lilac bushes, lunch out as a family, and even an unexpected gifts from my generous husband. I was feeling very thankful for my husband and children, and how fun they all are. I was even feeling grateful that they were no longer babies, and we could spontaneously float through the day without a break for naptime and without any toddler (or parent) meltdowns.

My pastor began a sermon about Mary and Jesus. He looked at the relationship between them and how it changed over Jesus’ time on earth. My transition will not look like Mary’s. I’m not raising the Son of God. But as I face my children all leaving for school, I am looking at a transition coming in my own life. And I had much to learn from Mary’s transition – mainly this: God will take care of me in this transition, and all that will come.   

Mommy

In Luke 2:41-52, Jesus is a twelve year old boy. In Jewish culture, not yet having reached bar mitzvah, he was still considered a child. Jesus and his parents travel to Jerusalem for the Passover Feast. In the crowds and chaos, Mary and Joseph lose Jesus, and find him three days later in the temple, sitting among the teachers, “listening to them and asking them questions” (v. 46). Jesus, though a boy, amazed both the teachers and his parents (once they found him) with his understanding. He was God in the flesh of an adolescent boy. He was in his “Father’s house.” But Jesus left the temple with his parents and obeyed them. It’s at this stage of His life that Mary is still “Mommy” to Jesus. She had carried him in her womb, gave birth to him, presented him to the Lord on the eighth day, and watched him grow in strength and wisdom (Luke 2:40). She was Jesus’ Mommy.

Woman

The Bible doesn’t tell us about Jesus’ life from age 12-30. When we meet him again, he is a grown man, and he is at a wedding with his mom and his twelve disciples (John 2:1-2).

At the wedding in Cana, the master of the banquet runs out of wine. Whether it was poor planning or unexpected guests, we don’t know. They ran out of wine. Mary involves Jesus. She obviously knows who he is. She’s known since the angel visited her 31 years prior. She addresses Jesus with what my pastor called “woman speak.” In other words, she speaks the obvious: “They have no more wine,” while implying something else: “Do something about it.” Jesus addresses his mom in an interesting way. He says to her “Woman, why do you involve me?” He speaks no disrespect to her, nor does he talk down to her. He merely calls her “woman.” No longer “Mommy” but “woman.” Mary has transitioned in her relationship with Jesus. She will always be the mother of Jesus, but her standing has changed.

That point is further illustrated in Luke 8:20-21. Mary and Jesus’ brothers came to see him, but at this point his popularity has grown and there are crowds around Jesus. They can’t get to him, so someone tells Jesus, “Your mother and brothers are standing outside, wanting to see you” (v.20). Jesus replies to the person, “My mother and brothers are those who hear God’s word and put it into practice.”

But before we wrongly interpret that Jesus doesn’t appreciate his mom, we need to look at Mary at the crucifixion.

Jesus is hanging on the cross, moments from dying for my sin and yours, and his mother and a few others are at the foot of the cross, looking on. In some of his last words, Jesus asks John to take care of his mom. John 19:26-27: “When Jesus saw his mother there, and the disciple whom he loved standing nearby, he said to her, “Woman, here is your son,” ²⁷ and to the disciple, “Here is your mother.” From that time on, this disciple took her into his home.” Mary is still “woman;” never again “Mommy.” But Jesus’ love and appreciation for her is obvious. His last dying wish to his best friend is that John would take care of his mom. Jesus loved Mary, first as his mom, then as a woman. Mary transitioned in her relationship with Jesus, but her value in Jesus’ eyes never changed. Her role changed, but not Jesus’ love for her.

Disciple

We meet Mary once again in the book of Acts. Her son Jesus has suffered, died, rose again, then was taken up into the glory of heaven. In Acts 1:14, we find Mary in the upper room, praying with the disciples and the others. They are waiting in Jerusalem to be clothed with power from on high, just as Jesus commanded them. Mary has transitioned again in her relationship to Jesus. Now she is his disciple.

Much like my role as mom is transitioning as I watch all my kids go to school, Mary’s relationship with Jesus transitioned as well. She was first his “Mommy,” his everything. As Jesus became an adult, she was “woman,” loved like any other woman Jesus met. Our last view of Mary is as a disciple of Jesus. She knew from the beginning who Jesus would become, and she saw it all the way to completion. Through it all, Jesus loved Mary. At every stage of his life (and hers), Jesus loved his mom. He showed this in a practical way when he asked John to take care of her when he was gone.

In the same way, God will help me as my role as mom changes. God will help me evolve at every stage of my life, and as I transition through every phase of motherhood. I may not know what my life will look like tomorrow, but I do know that my heavenly Father knows what I need. He will change me, equip me, lead me and love me at every stage in my life and my kids’ lives.

So how about you? Where are you in your motherhood transition?  Are you a new mom? Just learning the ropes? Have you just added a child and are adjusting to life with more? Or are your children heading off to school or starting sports and activities? Are your children becoming teenagers and presenting you a whole new set of challenges? Or are they leaving, and you are staring at the empty nest, wondering what happened? And what happens next?

In whatever stage you are at with your children, know that Jesus will help you transition. He has a good plan and a purpose for your life, and your usefulness will never dry up when you walk with him. He loves you, he will care for you, and he will lead you forward into the unknown. Jesus did it for his mom. He will do it for you.