I’ve mistakenly convinced myself that my worth as a human being can be found in the cleanliness of my house, the flattery of my figure,  and the total of my material possessions.  Instead of exhausting myself in spiritual and relational growth, I’ve become self-absorbed and shallow.   I’m not sure why I’m trying to live up to standards that I hold no one else accountable to but myself.

Perhaps I strive for these tangible things because of my human condition to control.  A budget is much easier to manipulate than insufficient funds in friendships.  And a loss of time is easier to accept than loss of relationship with God and others.  I keep hoping the recurring realization of these facts would instigate me to change.

The Bible says in Philippians 4:6-9, “Do not be anxious about anything.  For in everything by petition and prayer, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.  And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.”

Why must I worry so much about how I will make it through this life? Has God not always taken care of me?  He does not care how many things get crossed off my list, or how thin I am.  He will not judge the toys and clothes stacked in piles around the house.  He looks only at the condition of my heart.  He sees my thoughts, my fears, my worries and ultimately He is the only one who can ease these burdens for me.

He does not want me to spend my life trying to be a mathematician who struggles to find the right formulas.  He accepts me for the poet I want to be who can always find the right words to express my heart to Him and to those in my life that I so desperately need.  And that, that is a wonderful thing because when it comes right down to it…I hate math.

He however, like every other night, is resigned to change the drooping poopy diaper, fill empty sippy cups and feed our ever hungry six-week old. Needles to say, the man is miraculous. He is my lover, my best-friend and lots of times the only sliver of sanity I have left in the world. In the moments when I demand to much and give too little, his patience is a true reflection of love.

Like I always have been, our daughters are down-right smitten with their Daddido. The way their eyes light up when he’s around makes my heart melt. He is the fun one. To be honest I always knew that he would be a great father, but I expected to have to teach him a thing or two about the tricks of the toddler trade. Apparently he read the directions before I had a chance. Like any parental pro he’s caught onto skipping a few pages here and there during bedtime stories. And if you truly want to get out of cleaning up kid vomit, you just gag while rushing forward to help so that your wife yells “Stay back. Just please don’t throw up too.” Yes he is a crafty man that fills our lives with humor. Just the other night he turned his version of “Who Let the Dogs Out” into a whole-family event where we sang about all our favorite farm animals. Who let the cows out? MOO, MOO-MOO, MOO, MOO.

Not every moment is filled with laughter around here though. I leave him to be the firm hand who keeps these little monkeys in shape. There are times that he’s yelling at the kids as I sit high and mighty in my brevity of patience thinking, “Man he’s really losing it.” And ironically just ten short minutes later I’ve lost it with them myself. So here we are in this pig-sty called parenting just rummaging through the mud of uncertainty asking ourselves daily, “Are we raising these kids right?”

It is a rhetorical question of course because there is no immediate answer. We dare not be deceived by an occasional please or thank-you or in turn dis-obedient sprints through department store clothing racks. No, only time will tell.

But I am eternally grateful for a man who will someday help me survive three teenage daughters, and who today will come home to rescue me from pure insanity. Not only has he made my life worth living, but he’s made these three lives worth raising in hopes that their future will be as happy as our present.