An old coworker
of mine once told me a story of her mother
that illustrates joyful sacrifice: When this
woman would cook a whole chicken for the
family, she would always dish out the choice
pieces to her children and serve herself the
neck, so as not to waste anything. To mature
eyes, this would have been an obvious
sacrifice on her part, but she must have done
it joyfully and without fanfare, because her
children came to assume the neck was her
favorite piece. Imagine her surprise when on
her birthday several chickens were cooked and
prepared by her children who then presented
her with a plate of all the chicken necks,
saying “Mom, we saved them all for you because
we know they’re your favorite!”
I am not yet a chicken-neck mom - that is, I
have not yet mastered the art of sacrificing
myself joyfully for my children in the little
things. Joyfully being the key word. I am a
student of sacrifice, as all mothers are - of
my time, my sleep, my body, my plans. But my
sacrifice most often comes with a sort of
“grit-my-teeth” attitude if not an outright
sigh or eye-roll. A favorite author of mine
talks about the uncomfortable truth of
resentful giving:
“The question here is not whether you are
representing the gospel; it is how you are
representing it. Have you given your life to
your children resentfully? Do you tally
everything you do for them like a loan shark
tallies debts? Or do you give them life the
way God gave it to us: freely?” (Rachel
Jankovic,
Motherhood is a Calling)
I struggle to give myself freely, much as I
want to in theory. When the rubber hits the
road, when it comes down to letting my spouse
sleep in or passive-aggressively letting the
kids be loud outside the bedroom door, I can’t
say I always choose the former. When it comes
to dropping my to-do list to listen to my
toddler’s story, I groan inwardly (and
sometimes not just inwardly).
I have much to learn about being mature and
complete, as James says:
“Consider it pure joy, my brothers
and sisters, whenever you face trials of
many kinds, because you know that the
testing of your faith produces perseverance.
Let perseverance finish its work so that you
may be mature and complete, not lacking
anything.” (James 1:2-4)
It may seem melodramatic to call these little
things “trials of many kinds” that “test my
faith”, but aren’t they? They are, each of
them, opportunities to die a little death to
myself, to live out my faith on a micro-scale.
And the micro-scale things are often the
easiest to brush aside, or ignore, or deem
unimportant.
Why
do we love so passionately on a grand
scale and yet sacrifice so half-heartedly
in the daily things?
Why do we love so passionately on a grand
scale and yet sacrifice so half-heartedly in
the daily things? How can I love my children
and husband so much I would take a bullet for
them, but inwardly groan when I see their
laundry piled up yet again? Or inwardly berate
my kids as I scrape their uneaten food into
the sink (again)? I want to be mature and
complete, lacking nothing. I want to sacrifice
out of deep confidence in my Heavenly Father’s
provision for me - for that, I think, is at
the crux of all of this grumbling: fear. Fear
that if I give too much of myself, I’ll have
nothing left. Fear that while I’m caring for
everybody else, nobody will care for me. Fear
of being taken advantage of - if I sacrifice
too joyfully, maybe people will think I like
it or that it’s easy for me, and ask even more
of me. Maybe if I pretend to like chicken
necks too much, I’ll end up with a whole plate
of them on my birthday! Fear that if I don’t
show people the cost of all this sacrificing,
they just won’t care. Fear that my Heavenly
Father won’t see, or worse yet, won’t care.
Do you hear the echo of Martha in all this?
When Jesus went to visit the home of Martha
and Mary, she said something similar: “Lord,
don’t you care that my sister has left me to
do the work by myself? Tell her to help
me!”(Luke 10:40).
Lord, don’t you care?
Lord, I’m feeling alone and exhausted. Lord
I’m tired of serving. Lord, don’t you care?
Can you hear it, that longing that probably
almost every mother, every woman has felt at
times? That overwhelming weight of the
practical details of feeding and caring for
and cleaning up after people every day? I’ve
always felt that the Mary & Martha story
is too often oversimplified to something like
“Martha just needs to chill out and enjoy
Jesus’ presence like Mary”. I don’t think
that’s quite it, at least not all of it,
because it side-steps the reality that there
is work to be done and
somebody needs to
do the work. Taking care of other people
is work and it is important and needed. It can
feel never-ending, and someone has to do it.
It isn’t something we can usually just “drop”.
I don’t think we’re being asked to “drop” our
responsibilities, stop serving, or try to
muster up a better attitude about sacrificing
on our own strength. I think we’re being
called to address our fear, our worry and our
anxiety in regards to our relationship with
God and his provision for us.
Lord, don’t
you care? Lord, will you care for me when I
have nothing left? Lord, will you step in
when I’m at my limit; will you provide when
I’m at the end of my strength?
Lord,
will you care for me when I have nothing
left? Lord, will you step in when I’m at
my limit; will you provide when I’m at the
end of my strength?
“Martha, Martha,” the Lord answered, “you are
worried and upset about many things, but few
things are needed—or indeed only one. Mary has
chosen what is better, and it will not be
taken away from her.” (Luke 10:41-42)
It will not be taken… Not lacking anything…Do
you hear it, the resounding assurance that
combats our fears? Not that Martha needs to
drop everything and become like Mary, but that
what Mary has chosen in that moment-closeness
and nearness to the Lord - will not be taken
from her. That Jesus cares, personally and
deeply about each of us. He wants us to
draw near to him as we live out our callings
and serve the people he’s put in our lives,
and do the hard stuff he’s given us to do.
That the nearness of him, the assurance of his
love and care will not be taken from us. Not
when we’re overwhelmed, not when we’re
resentful, not when we’re so tired that our
best prayer is “Lord, grant me rest”. That we
can choose for this closeness with him amidst
the chaos of our lives by choosing trust
instead of fear, and out of that will flow
joy, perseverance and a sense of completion
and provision. That we won’t be lacking
anything. And that we can all choose it; that
our infinite God has no less of himself to
give to you just because he has given himself
to others. That there is no need for
resentment.
Only this strong assurance of a place at the
feast of God can compel a mom to joyfully take
the chicken-neck portion for herself at her
table here on earth. Only when she knows,
really knows the answer to her question:
“Lord, don’t you care?” can she give of
herself freely, without counting or
calculating, without keeping score, without
grasping for her fair share. I’m not fully
there yet - to that place of joyful sacrifice.
But I am learning to direct my prayers in
those moments when I begin to feel overwhelmed
or resentful as I serve my family.
Lord
show me I’m not alone. Show me that you care
for me.
I believe that the Lord loves these kinds of
prayers and always shows up to answer in some
form or another because we’re responding with
faith. It’s an “I believe, help my unbelief”
kind of faith. A raw and needy kind of faith.
A humble offering of loaves and fishes that we
know aren’t enough on their own. He loves to
provide and comfort and multiply. Sometimes,
you might literally end up with a real feast!
After one such prayer a few weeks ago, when my
husband was gone and I was parenting alone, a
friend from my sharing group ended up bringing
me dinner, unasked, and not just dinner but a
true feast! Gourmet salad and fresh cut fruit
and roasted beef and potatoes! Warm homemade
bread and ice cream sundaes! And, in the truly
mysterious economy of the kingdom of God, her
joyful and freely given gift (which she
sacrificed time to make) was also the Lord’s
compassionate response to me. For no gift of
love is ever too small or goes wasted. And no
one who seeks the Lord, even amidst the
craziness of serving her children or others,
will lack any good thing. And the provision
and love of God - the one thing that we need
and crave most as we serve - will not ever be
taken from us.
“When one loves, one does not calculate” -
Therese of Lisieux
This article
(c) by Amy Hughes was first published in The
Lois Project
Amy was inspired to start The
Lois Project as a way to combine her
love of writing and deep discussion with her
desire to strengthen connections between
Christian moms. She has a degree in French
Education and English and taught high school
French before becoming a stay-at-home mom
with her three children. Amy and her husband
John are part of the Word of Life Community
in Ann Arbor. She loves anything and
everything to do with France, has read
the Harry Potter books way too many times
and has a mild addiction to baby girl hair
accessories (and two daughters to wear
them!)
