I started today with a meltdown and am finish it feeling
refreshed and hopeful. It’s nice when that happens.
Liam has been showing signs of toilet training readiness
since before James was born, but I didn’t want to tackle the project until
after the baby came. I decided a little while ago that we would try the three-day
method, and waited for a weekend (plus a Monday) that weren’t already
completely booked with activities. The three-day method requires that you stay
home for the whole three days and focus only on potty training. Once the three
days have elapsed, the child will be trained. Or so the book says. The calendar
was clear this past weekend, so we started on Saturday. And today, Liam was
back in a diaper. It’s not that it went terribly. He actually made some
progress. It’s just that Mommy is really really tired! After two big accidents
this morning, I called Brendan for some moral support. We decided that is was
better for everyone’s sanity to just put the diaper on and leave the house. I’m
glad I did – we all needed to get out!
For the past couple months, I’ve been going to a mom’s group
at St. Mary’s on Wednesdays, so I headed there this morning. We meet in the church basement and the
kids play while we visit and read Scripture together or listen to a guest
speaker. When we do lectio divina, it’s always using the Gospel for the
following Sunday. Today, our Scripture reading was the story of the widow’s
mite. In our conversation following the reading, we talked about how difficult
it can be to set aside time for prayer, but that the Lord is pleased even with
our humble offerings. Caring for infants and toddlers, we will very rarely get
the uninterrupted hour of daily prayer we would like – but we can offer what we
have.
This idea of giving what we have resonated with me, not only
in terms of prayer, but in every facet of my life as a mother. In the midst of
my frustration over potty training, I was feeling the depth of my weakness: my
fatigue, my impatience, my selfish desire for comfort. I wanted to do better,
but I felt I couldn’t give anything more. And then here was this story of the
poor widow, who out of her poverty, gave all she had. I was reminded of the
beauty of an offering made out of poverty. I’m not perfect, I don’t have
endless patience, I yell at my precious wide-eyed toddler and then feel badly
about it… but I can still try to do better tomorrow. I can still give all I
have, even if I am poor. I know this doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t look after
myself – I need time to re-energize and recharge – but more often than
not, I will be called to give out of my poverty. There’s a certain comfort in
that, when I really stop to think about it. God is pleased with my efforts but
he knows they are not enough on their own – so he steps in to make up the
difference. He gives me grace to get through the day, friends to give me
support and advice, and a husband who comes home early on the days he knows I
need it most. So perhaps my poverty isn’t all that poor after all. Or maybe
that’s just part of God’s contradictory way: in our weakness, we find
strength.
A few photos of my sweet boys (who make it all worthwhile!):
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| In their matching jammies from Nana |
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| All Saints party at the Baker's (Liam is a monkey but refused to put the hood part on) |
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| Story time with Liam & James! (Yes, that's the monkey costume again - he found it in a bag and asked to put it on!) |
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