On Cheerios, Failure, and Widows Who Give Their Everything

My house had been a mess.

And I don’t mean mess like we are in junior high listening to the skinniest girl in the group complain about how she feels fat today. I mean mess. As in cheerios had been everywhere. As in my son’s favorite pastime is pulling folded laundry off the chair and throwing it all over the living room. As in my daughter squeezed a tube of concealer onto my carpet, and I was so overwhelmed that I just threw a blanket over it until I could emotionally handle the effort it was going to take to remove the stain. As in momma had been off her feet for the day and daddy did a great job of watching the kids (and only watching the kids)… {I am pretty sure you are getting the idea, but, trust me, I could go on.}

It took a few days to get the house back to its semi-ordered state. I may have even started crying when my kids got up from their nap, and the floors still hadn't been mopped {and I may have even said something along the lines of: “Why?! Why can’t I just have clean floors even if it only lasts for 5 minutes?!”}.

I would be lying if I said that I didn’t walk through that house feeling like an absolute failure. There was an all-out war being waged on my mind to compare myself to other homemakers; to wallow in the woe-is-me’s; to yell at my kids who, true to their almost-2 and almost-5 natures, continued to make messes whether I stopped to clean or not. I kind of wanted to throw the blankets over my head and hope somehow when I emerged life would magically let me be all caught up.

Please tell me I am not the only one who has been here.

I came across this the other day:

“And [Jesus] sat down opposite the treasury, and began observing how the people were putting money into the treasury; and many rich people were putting in large sums.  A poor widow came and put in two small copper coins, which amount to a cent.  Calling His disciples to Him, He said to them, ‘Truly I say to you, this poor widow put in more than all the contributors to the treasury;  for they all put in out of their surplus,but she, out of her poverty, put in all she owned, all she had to live on’.” Mark 12:41-44

Can I share the sweet words I heard Jesus speak to me in this?

Daughter, I see you. I see how you are tired, how you aren’t getting enough sleep, how you feel like you accomplish nothing. I see the way you feel energy-poor, the way you struggle to find a routine. I see you clean a mess while a new mess is getting made. I see the way you think you are falling behind. I see you.

And I see the way that you give out of your lack. The way you keep pushing, the way you stop what you are doing to love on those babies, the way you point them to Me. You might think you gave Me great things when you were younger and had an abundance of time and energy. But I say your contribution here and now amongst cheerios and dirty diapers is greater. You once gave the things that you were most proud of—the things you were most able to accomplish well, the things that didn't require as much of My help. Now you give out of humility and obedience and sacrifice because I ask it of you.

You give out of your lack. And it is good. And I am here. And my Grace is sufficient.

I am proud of your offering.

  

In case you were wondering: Yes. There were tears writing this. No. I do not have it all together. Yes. I need as much encouragement as you do. No. My house is not extra clean, nor am I extra put together because I have a blog (in fact, I would argue my put-together-ness is probably worse for it, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.)

“Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.  Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For My yoke is easy and My burden is light.” Matthew 11:28

So, have you ever felt depleted of time and energy and like you were failing? How did you push through?

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers



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On Failure {And Motherhood}

I’ve always been ambitious and driven. I can be a bit competitive and not very okay with mediocre. I don’t want to be okay. I want to be the best. And failure? I sort of hate it.

I remember being a teenager and making a list of everything my husband would have to be. As a 22 year old, I sat in my pastor’s office and voiced my concern that I may never marry. He told me the strangest, yet best advice ever: “Amanda, you need to lower your standards.”

{And for the record, he didn’t mean to go marry the first single man I laid eyes on. He meant my ideal guy didn’t exist.}

And I let go of my list, trusted the leading of my God, and fell madly in love with my husband. And he is far better than anything I could have imagined up on a sheet of binder paper as a sixteen year old.

In light of this, I think of being a mom. The way it feels like I fail a thousand times a day. The way I fall so short of how I imagined I would be as a mom. I am terrified of failing and deep down I think I have to be a perfect mom.

I love my kids. To the moon and back. With all my heart. No matter what.

But I wonder if I lowered my standards, wasn’t so afraid to fail, wasn’t so set on being perfect if I would fall in love with being a mom.

I think things like the blue lotion in my son’s hair and the bedtime battles wouldn’t speak to me and tell how badly I am doing at this thing called motherhood.

I think I would let go a little, trust God a lot more, and enjoy the daily grind of being a mom… because I wouldn’t be so afraid of getting it wrong.

Because if I am really honest, some days I find myself looking for the things I am naturally really good at instead of what’s right in front of me. I struggle with being content here and now. I want affirmation. I want to know I am good at something. And the days where the floor got covered in Cheerios and the son hit his sister and the sister rolled her eyes at me and the son got out of his bed for the 15^th time and it’s now pushing 10 pm and he’s still not asleep and the dishes got left in the sink for the next day and the daughter wet the bed and I haven’t gotten a solid 8 hours of sleep since that first baby started bladder jumping in utero in the wee hours of the morning… I feel like I’ve failed.

It’s not that I should intentionally do a terrible job of parenting, it’s that my ideal version of motherhood doesn’t exist.

Motherhood is messy. And most days, it’s like hacking through the jungle, bravely pioneering the unknown territories of your own fearfully, wonderfully and uniquely made children. And somedays, it’s going to feel like groping through the dark without a flashlight. It’s going to be rough. You are going to make mistakes and missteps. And really it’s the Grace of God that sees us through.

What I said yesterday has really stuck with me: God is a beautiful-tapestry weaver. And He takes it all, stretches the messes and the triumphs across the loom and weaves His Grace through it all. And He makes beautiful things. He’s got your family. He’s got your kids. He’s got you. And HE is making beautiful things out of it all.

And God doesn’t need you to get it perfect.

So perfect. I am giving up on you.

I am going to {learn to} be okay with failure. I am lowering the standards I place on myself. Instead of getting it right, I am going to take it all to the One who makes all things right.

The single most important thing I can do as a mom is lead my children to You, God. So I am taking it all to You. The path to the foot of the cross is going to be a well-worn path in this family. My kids will know the way because they will have watched their momma go there so many times.

Okay, so I gotta know: is there anyone else that has been chasing perfect? That’s afraid of failure? That feels like they are currently failing at this thing called motherhood? Sister, I am standing here with you.

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers

On Messes {And Motherhood}

Right now, I am lying in bed with my ankle up (more on that in a minute) contemplating the messiness that is motherhood.

These last two weeks have included the following:

• I found the shreds of an opened box underneath my daughter’s bed and a toy well played with… belonging to a present we had bought for her friend's birthday.
• Shampoo was spilled onto my carpet… and not because I wanted to “shampoo the carpets.”
• My son smurf-ified his head by smothering my favorite baby-blue colored lotion all through his hair and topping it off with a few squirts of my very blue mud mask. (On a more positive note, we may have discovered how to tame his frizzy hair.)
• A full juice box was left on the carpet and later stepped on.
• A brand new box of cheerios was dumped on the floor.
• A box containing tiny beads was spilled on the floor.
• A glass cup was shattered and a ceramic bowl broken.
• My daughter played beauty parlor with my make-up… on herself and her brother.
• My son opened a brand new, 260-pack of Ziploc sandwich bags and spread them on the floor. As soon as I picked up the last one, he did it all over again.
• I brought in 2 laundry baskets full of items that have ended up in the back seat of my car… things like 6 pairs of shoes, socks, jackets, pants, toys, and of course a few random gold fish. I can’t believe how fast it gets so bad.

Each time I find a mess, this little part of me feels like a failure. Like I am constantly behind. Like the moment I have one room clean, an even bigger mess has erupted in another room.

Sometimes I feel like a really bad mom.

I think of how my house is always messy, how boxes are still sitting in my bedroom and office after moving one month ago. How long does it really take to get settled into a home? I think of how bedtime still takes over an hour and is still a battle after one month of moving Jed into his sister’s room. Why can’t you figure this one out? I think of how if I hadn’t stepped out of the room or how if I could just multi-task a little better, my kids wouldn’t be able to make such big messes. You are not enough. You are failing.

And then last night… I turned on the bath water. I thought of how much my son would love a bubble bath. I sat his bare bottom on his potty chair for practice and went running for the other bathroom to locate the bubble bath. And as I bounded into my room, I stepped wrong on my foot, and my body and foot went one direction and my ankle went another direction.

I screamed out for my husband. And the first words out of my mouth were something like “Oh! It hurts! I think I broke my ankle.” But my second words weren’t for my husband to help me, they were: “Jed is on the potty and the water is running. Get him.”

I was a mother laying on the floor in pain lifting up her son. My ankle may have gotten it wrong, but my heart got it right.

Motherhood is a messy business. It doesn’t look like perfection. It doesn’t look like Pinterest. Children push you to your very limit of patience. They bring out your short-comings.

And I am sure that one day, I will look back with much laughter on the day that I sprained my ankle while running for bubble bath solution. And in some weird way, it was the reminder I needed that I really am a good mom. I go out of my way to give my kids good things. I love them with my whole being. I love them when it’s easy, and I love them when it hurts.

Even in my spill, I see the way I am more than the sum of my messes.

I am Mom. Boo-boo kisser. Storybook animator. Teacher of things like why snails leave behind a trail and what private parts are and why farting at the dinner table isn't polite. I am a talent-finder. An encourager. An exhorter. An evangelist and disciple-maker. I am a mess-cleaner. A schedule-maker and an occasional mind-reader. I am a perfect mac-and-cheese creator. I am a life-enthusiast and a passion-instiller.

And God… God is a beautiful-tapestry weaver. And He takes it all, stretches the messes and the triumphs across the loom and weaves His Grace through it all. 

And He makes beautiful things.

What is your messiest moment from the week?Share it with us in the comments here or on my facebook page.

I will be back tomorrow with a second part to this post, some raw truth on failure and motherhood. See you soon. Xo

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers 



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How to Overcome (Part 2)

Where two or three are gathered together in My name, there I am in the midst of them.

And there are six of us gathered in one office. I am in the middle, Two on my right, two on my left, one in front. I tell them how I haven’t been sleeping and how I feel so beat up by the enemy. I share the depression, the confusion, the fear. I ask them to pray.

Sometimes the battle rages fierce, and you need people to fight with you. You need to know you’re not alone. You need people to pray with you.

I imagine Moses on the battlefield. An army of Amalekites thrashing swords against the Israelites. One man discovering that the only way to win the battle was to raise hands high in a posture of praise. The livelihood of an entire nation depending on the resolve of Moses to keep his arms up.

And I have my own small nation made up of an Addy and a Jed and one crime-fighting, studmuffin of a husband. And they depend on me. And my children might be an eternal source of joy, but it is my job to raise them up in the way they should go. My husband might be the head of our house, but I am the neck that holds him up. The proper posture of a woman is to always lift up—lift up prayer, lift up children, lift up husbands, lift up friends. We are the mighty, and our families win battles when we keep our perspective heavenward.  

Praise wins the battle.

I imagine Moses standing there, arms up—the way his arms must have felt heavy, then cramped, then numb—the way he must have heard his arms begging, screaming at him to put them down for just one minute. Surely there would be no casualties in just one minute, Moses. Surely one minute wouldn't be enough to lose. You can always put them back up later.

And doesn't the enemy do the same to us, beg us to give into the fear, the frustration, the pain? Just once. Just for a little bit. It won’t cost too much. The Devil will work you a lifetime just to flip you once. He wants us to put our hands down, to focus on our problems, to gossip about the people that bother us, to worry about the lack of finances, to feel utterly helpless and alone.

And the best part of the story: When Moses was at his weariest, ready to give in, to give up, Aaron and Hur looked and saw their brother in need. For Moses’ tired legs, they brought a large rock for him to sit upon. For his tired arms, they gave him their own strength and held his arms up for him.

Moses kept his hands lifted, and the army of Israelites overwhelmed the Amalekites.

Yes. There will be battles. Yes. They will rage beyond what you are able to handle. Yes. You will fight with your praise, with your hands outstretched, surrendered to the One who is able. Yes. You will want to give up.

But, sister, you are not alone.

For when two or three are gathered in My name, there I am in the midst of them.

This is church. This is community. This is the body of Christ.

This is for what we gather: to lift high the name of Jesus.

For when we hold up our sister’s or our brother’s arms, we lift up Jesus.

When our brother or sister is tired of standing, we take them the Rock—the very Word of God, our foundation. When our brother or sister is wavering, weary, ready to give up, we give our own strength to keep their hands held high. And we pray.

We need each other.

Because sometimes you find your mouth full of frazzled-momma yells over silly things like cheerios all over the floor, sometimes you feel so overwhelmed and set back by the changes in your life, sometimes confusion clamors so loudly so can’t make a clear decision, sometimes you just feel utterly defeated and completely alone. We need each other. We need our own Aaron and Hur. And sometimes we need to be an Aaron or a Hur to a brother or sister. This what church is for. And not some building that you attend once a week. Church. The body of Christ. A community of believers, an army of kingdom soldiers.

Bear one another’s burdens.

Now, tell us, dear brother or sister, is there anything we can lift up in prayer for you?

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers

By the Way: Should you want to read the story of Moses and the Amalekites, it’s found in Exodus 17:8-16.

Scriptures quoted: Matthew 18:20 and Galatians 6:2

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How to Overcome (Part 1)

“The praise of God shall be on my lips and with my praise shall I overcome.”

I said it last week in My Proclamation.

And somehow I just know that’s exactly how I fight the depression, the fear, the confusion that I have been facing.

Praise is that upside-down, it-doesn’t-make-human-sense action, but for some reason the God whose ways are far above our own chooses to use it.

Praise demolished the walls of Jericho. The praise of 200 men defeated the army of Midian. The praise of Paul and Silas brought down the jail house. The praise of King Jehoshaphat and the people of Jerusalem destroyed the armies of Moab and Ammon.

I want to focus a little on Jehoshaphat. I’ve been thinking on this story for the past week.

Jehoshaphat hears the reports of a vast and quickly approaching army with the power to crush his small and unprepared military. He immediately calls for a fast and gathers the people of Jerusalem together. Then he cries out to God.

“If calamity comes upon us, whether the sword of judgment, or plague or famine, we will stand in your presence before this temple that bears your Name and will cry out to you in our distress, and you will hear us and save us.” 2 Chronicles 20:9

God answers through Jahaziel that they would go out and face the enemy, but they would not have to fight. After that word, Jehoshaphat falls on his face and worships God and the whole congregation with him.

The next morning, Jehoshaphat sets the instruments and the worshipers in front of the army. They offer up their praises with a loud voice. As they praise, the armies of Moab and Ammon become confused and fight each other… until every single foe is dead.

Judah won the battle by their praise.

                                                                                                                                                           

They cried out. They worshiped. And then they marched out to battle. Rather than keeping the reality of their enemy’s greatness in front of them, they placed their praises in front of them. They placed the words of God's greatness before them. They trusted God’s outcome. They surrendered their try-hard fight to the welling up of something deep inside of them… something deeper than their fears: hope in a mighty God.

I think of the old cartoon version of the movie, The Grinch Who Stole Christmas. How at the moment the Grinch thought he had won, thought he had stolen Christmas, thought he had smothered joy, he begins to hear the sound of a Who-chorus. They were singing even though a thief had come to steal their Christmas spirit. And it totally confuses the Grinch. And it totally shatters the shell of his cold, hard heart.

“The thief comes only to steal, kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full” (John 10:10).  Praise takes back what the enemy steals. Praise reminds the enemy of what he cannot have.

Some days life can strip you bare. Some days the enemy seems to win. But he cannot keep you from praising.

Whether you feel like a teetering Jenga tower with strong-willed children who seem to take turns pulling out your blocks till you feel like your grace and love are about to crumble…

Whether a life-changing circumstance has placed you in a dry land where the springs of peace seem to elude you…

Whether depression seems to be a weight around your neck that pulls you down into an abyss no matter how you fight…

Praise.

Praise.

PRAISE.

Praise confuses the enemy who seeks to devour. Praise makes the way for our Savior to swoop in and save the day. Praise denies what we see and fully relies on the One who can’t be seen.

Praise.

You are the Prince of Peace. The Mighty God. The Everlasting Father. You are worthy of praise. You are good. You are Holy. I love you. I long for You like a desert wanderer longs for water. Only You truly satisfy my soul. You are the God who loves me, adopted me, calls me your own. I praise You because I am fearfully and wonderfully made. You sent Your son to die for me, to conquer death and hell. I am bound by sin no longer. I am washed clean from the stain of guilt. Depression and fear have nothing on You. You give joy and peace. You give good gifts and I thank you for the good gifts You have given me.

Okay. So seriously. Go get your praise on. Maybe write some here so it can encourage all of us—one mighty band of brothers and sisters praising God in one place?? Sounds cool to me! :)

I will be back with part two of "How to Overcome" on Thursday. I’m kind of excited about it.

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers

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A Proclamation of a Conquering Housewife

After spending some months adjusting to the changes in my life and struggling through depression and fear, I felt like I needed to draw my line in the sand. So I wrote this proclamation.

My name is Amanda.

I am a child of the Most High God.

My adoption papers were drawn up and sealed in the very blood of Jesus Christ, Son of God. I didn’t choose God. He chose me. I am wanted, loved, and precious in the eyes of God.

Jesus died on the cross, rose again, and won the victory over death and sin. He gave me that victory. By the name of Jesus, I am MORE than a conquering housewife.

I draw my line in the sand. I rise up. And I say, “No More.”

No more depression. No more confusion. No more fear. 

You have been given your notice. You are not welcome.

I will not give in. I will not let up.

I will stand and fight.

I will do battle with you, depression, and, by the name of Jesus, I will be victorious.

When the battle rages and I grow weary, I will grab the hands of my brothers and sisters.

The praise of God shall be on my lips and with my praise shall I overcome.

For I put on the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness, and, heaviness, you shall not prevail.

I will trust in the promises of God; for what God said He would do, He will be faithful to carry out. I will believe in what I cannot see… for what I can see is temporal, and what I cannot see is eternal. 

I place my life in the hands of God. I will do life WITH the Christ whose name is GOD WITH US. I will do life WITH the body of Christ… His Church.

I will not hide.

I will trust that the promises of God are Yes and Amen, that God will be faithful to carry them out, and that the callings of God are without repentance. My life will not be defined by what looks impossible today. My life will be defined by the very God-breathed promises of God Himself and I will trust that the Word that spoke creation into being will bring them to pass. 

I will keep myself close to God.

And if I am close to God, how could I possibly miss His voice? 

I will rest.

I will count my relationship with God as most precious and my marriage and my children second to no other.

I will extend my parenting, my housework, my friendships, my writing grace because grace is a free gift I have been given. I receive it.

I will give up my ideals. I will give up on perfect. I will pick up my cross and follow Christ.

I will stop trying to mend my broken pieces and I will lay them at the feet of Jesus. 

I will stop judging my brothers and sisters for the ground at the foot of the cross is even for all.

I will do what I enjoy. I will feel comfortable in the clothes I wear, in the car I drive, with the words I speak. I will be me. 

I am Amanda, child of God, wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend. I am exquisite. I was made for love. And I am loved. I was made for living. I was made for conquering.

And especially emphatic this time, like if this wasn’t on the computer, it would be triple-quadruple underlined and then circled five times:

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers

When Following Christ Doesn't Make a Lick of Sense

I am a “big-picture” person. I try to take the little fragments of my life and relationships and try to fit them into a big picture. I want to know that it’s all going to work out in the end. I want to understand the purpose in everything.

I remember being eleven in a youth service and hearing the call of God to be a missionary. As I grew older, I found a passion for the inner city—for the poor, the hopeless, and the gangster. When I began a relationship with Michael, I remembering questioning God: This doesn’t make sense. His call is not the same. How are you going to work it all out?

I heard God tell me very clearly and simply, “Trust Me.” And I did. I took that leap of faith and fell madly in love with my husband. And I love him even more madly today (and I still like him too). But for the entirety of our relationship, I have tried to make sense of our differences. I have tried to figure out a way that God could work it so that we could both be walking in our calling and that somehow our callings would work together. And since he’s taken this job in law enforcement, it’s felt a little like dying. I can’t figure out how God could possibly work it together. I can’t see the end result. (Okay and please don’t mishear. I am super proud of my husband. I am writing through my struggle of learning to trust God.)

I know that I serve a God whose ways and thoughts are far above human reasoning. But I think I fail to realize this applies to me. Gods ways didn’t make sense to Abraham, Moses, Gideon, Ruth, Hannah, David, Esther, Zechariah, Mary, Peter, Paul… pretty much everyone who God used in the Bible. I am fairly certain, I am not exempt. I will not be able to fathom God’s plans. I won’t be able to see the end result.

I will have to trust.

I will not be able to control the outcome.

I will need that substance of things hoped for and evidence of things not seen.{faith} 

There’s this passage in John that I keep thinking on (John 6:26-71). The disciples of Jesus were so impressed by his miracle of feeding the 5000 that they began asking him how they could see more of this. They asked for signs, they wanted to see so that they might believe. Jesus tells them that He is the bread of life. And then he goes on to tell them something that disturbs them:

“Unless you eat my body and drink my blood you cannot be my disciples.”

The Christ-followers are dumb-founded. Eat his body?! Drink his blood?! Surely Jesus didn’t mean that, like that… right?!

They wanted the miracles. They wanted that glorious, you-are-special-chosen-and-called-disciple-of-Jesus-Christ! You eat manna, you see miracles, and it’s amazing! They didn’t want the gospel that is unfathomable. They didn’t want blind faith. They wanted to SEE. They wanted it to MAKE SENSE.

And their response to Jesus’ way? “This is a hard statement,” and they go their separate way. They couldn’t follow Christ any longer.

I think of communion. 

 

This word that can mean eating the symbolic bread-for-flesh and blood-for-wine. This word that also means a deep sense of being and relationship.

“Unless you eat my body and drink my blood you cannot be my disciples.”

“If any of you wants to be my disciple, you must take up your cross daily and follow me.”

“Those who love their life in this world will lose it. Those who care nothing for their life in this world will keep it for eternity.”

I think of my dreams. I think of the way I can mix up this desire for a holy purpose (a calling) with knowing the voice of the One Who calls. I think of the way I try to do all of the sense-making when I am following a God who delights in doing that which makes no human sense.

I think of the way I still try to control God.

I fail to walk in communion—to eat his flesh and drink his blood. I refuse to allow him to be the only thing that satisfies. I live feeding my pride—thinking that I need to know, see, understand—thinking God needs me to figure it out for Him. I refuse to die so that I might live.

And it’s a hard thing. Who can follow?

I have a choice. I can turn away from following because I don’t want to believe in what I cannot see and does not make sense. Or I can take up my cross, walk in communion with Christ, and follow—destination unknown.

I keep coming back to the words of Peter when Jesus asks the twelve disciples if they would leave Him also, “Where would we go Lord? Only You have the words that give life. We have believed and know that you are the Christ, the Son of God.”

Amen.

Sometimes I completely stink at this whole Jesus-follower thing. But where else would I go? Only Jesus has the words that give life. 

Only. Jesus.

Jesus, I am letting go of control.

I choose You.

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers