Before I entered the world of motherhood I had some pretty strong (and ignorant, mind you) ideas of what kind of mom I was going to be. I visualized myself prancing around town toting my offspring in a pristine and crumb-free stroller, with my hair bouncing on my shoulders just like Gwyneth Paltrow and baby Apple. I was going to get up early every day, shower, do my hair and make-up and would not allow myself to look like the exhausted and haggard moms I spied at the mall, donning their husband’s over-sized t-shirts and worn out sweats, with a multitude of bags hanging from their shoulders and forearms. Their strollers, encrusted with sticky substances and stale cheerios, grossed. me. out. I vowed that my children would be forbidden to eat in the stroller, that I would only carry one bag, and I would never be caught dead sporting anything from my husband’s dresser drawers. My baby would coo and giggle while out and about on our shopping ventures; not scream, cry and throw tantrums like the ones I so often observed parked in goo-infested travel systems outside MiMi’s Maternity Boutique. I was going to do motherhood right – a one bag, spotless stroller, stylish Mommy, and adorable offspring kind of gal.
Let’s flash forward about six years. I am now the proud mother of three, ages 6, 4 and 3. Our stroller looks like it’s been pummeled with applesauce and bananas with remnants of saltine crackers wedged into every nook and cranny. It’s a health hazard. Try as I did to firmly adhere to the “no food in the stroller” rule, a peaceful shopping experience won out, along with goldfish and mushy fruit. (Anyone with a baby over the age of six months knows exactly what I’m talking about.) A squeaky clean stroller was just a pipe dream.
Speaking of outings. Remember my vow to “never be caught dead sporting anything from my husband’s dresser drawers”? Children, too, have changed my perspective on what is appropriate “going out” attire. These days comfort is key. I long to be comfortable. I have worn Joel’s t-shirts, sweatshirts, socks and ball caps. And all I’ve worn shamelessly to the grocery store, shopping, walks around the block and running errands. There have been days on end when not a smudge of make-up has touched my skin. It’s not that I don’t care about my looks, but looking good tends to take a back seat when I’m absorbed with the needs of my little ones.
And then there are the bags. (Oh…the bags!) They were, in fact, the inspiration of this post today. As I was preparing to head out the door the other morning I stopped when I suddenly caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror with bags hanging from various body parts. I looked like a Christmas tree decked out in backpacks, book bags, lunch bags, my purse, coats and sweaters. “Oh no! Say it ain’t so!” I turned from my reflection, blinked my eyes hoping the image was not as it appeared, and snuck a second glance. Nothing had changed. I knew right then and there I had become the bag lady.
Not just the bag lady, but the poor mom huffing and puffing her way through the church foyer, feeling like she has forgotten something, hoping her hair still looks as cute as it did before Jackson’s curious hands touched and grabbed it while being buckled into his four-point harness car seat, and praying that no one will drop on the floor in blatant protest to mommy’s whispered instructions. I am the mom that I said I would never become. I’m the icky stroller, multi-bag toting, wearing hubbies cast-off tees, exhausted, and breathless mommy.
In the literal sense, it seems that everywhere we go requires huge amounts of excess baggage. Just managing all the kids’ miscellaneous items is enough to wear me out – even when they, too, are carrying part of the load. Which brings me to my “big thought” for the day. What about all the excess stuff I carry around spiritually? All the worries, stress, needless expectations I put on myself, the guilt (Oh the guilt!), and the fear…the list could easily go on and on. Even when I unburden myself to my husband or a close friend, still the “bags” continue to hang from my shoulders or pull on my arms. While there’s not much I can do about all the backpacks, water bottles, blankets and coats while my kids are young, there is something I can do about the bags I carry around in my spirit. Those bags are unnecessary, and there is nowhere I can find that God desires for me to continue clinging to them.
So how do I get rid of this spiritual baggage?
By setting them down at the feet of Christ. The whole reason God allowed His son Jesus to come to earth, dwell among us and sacrifice His life on the cross, was so that He could take every care of the world, every sin of every man and every burden we struggle to balance onto His own back and carry it for us. We love to sing, “I surrender all”, but most of the time once we’ve left the altar where we’ve made that submission, we end up picking up our “all” right outside the door. The challenge is not so much to spill out our lives in a moment of emotional surrender, but to daily give everything over to God. Daily lift up our hands and say, “Take my fear today, take my sadness, take my struggles, my finances, my priorities, my family…take every burden weighing on this heart of mine…today.” And then daily, He can take all those spiritual bags we’ve been dragging around for so long, and bring us the relief and peace we so desperately need and want.
Psalm 68:19
Praise be to the Lord, to God our Savior, who daily bears our burdens.