Ewww, why do they have to be just like me?

This one is for the mommas out there.

If you’re a daughter, close your eyes. If you peak, you might be offended.  Or maybe you’ll figure out that the woman you call mother is really just like you.

Okay moms.  It is time for me to be real.  It may be too much for some of you, so I apologize in advance.  But for that momma out there that needs to know she is not alone in her struggles, I write this for you.  I want you to know I struggle, too.

…

I hate the fact that what I see in my older daughters reminds me exactly of myself and there is nothing I can do about.  I’m not sure what I hate more.  The fact that their weaknesses are mirror images of mine at their age.  Or that I can’t do anything to fix their weaknesses.

My older daughter fights the insecurity plague.  False beliefs birthed in the Enemy’s lair invade her thinking and rip apart her sense of self.  One little truth, like the number on a scale, defines her worth with a little digital connect-the-dot mockery of her beauty.  Yet it doesn’t stop with the scale.  A website whispers obesity, not knowing about her off-the-growth-chart existence since birth.  A fair-weather-friend (another challenge altogether) jests about “the beauty list” penned by her peers.  She made it.  But not quite as high on the list as the one claiming the prize. 

My daughter seems up for the fight of finding her worth in Christ, confessing how hard it is to find the truth in Scripture and have it make sense within her own skin. 

Yet, she doesn’t realize how hard it will be for her to believe the truth when she is busy looking left and right for people to define her worth.

She is just like me.

Beauty defined by numbers has not affected my middle daughter, but her plight is equally painful.  She has a temper.  Wide.  Long.  High.  Deep.  And she wants to be in control, all the time. The thing is, she is this amazing young woman, oh so strong and determined.  She gets justice and wants to see it through. She can lead an army of friends, command a brood of siblings, run a household, and whip up the best cupcakes in town, while planning next week’s party and face timing with her friends.  But in her powerfulness, and productiveness (ahem, another challenge), she is sometimes simply powerless at controlling her will and surrendering it to her momma, and ultimately to the Lord.  It isn’t that she wants to be this way, for she hates ending up in a fit-filled consequence brewing scene, but this mess is part of  her natural wiring.   She needs to have the last word, which in my opinion, is the same attribute that makes her persevere through a challenge. 

As I say to her all the time, her strengths are amazing, when used for God’s glory, but they become a weakness when they are unbridled. 

She gets that, in theory, but doesn’t know how to change.  Really change.

She is just like me.

From an eternal perspective, I know these matters of beauty and temperament are not matters at all. They are simply middle school experiences of broken hopes and dashed-out identity. They are only ordinary personality pieces that have yet to mature.  But as a mom, my heart is crushed.  My adrenalin is pumped.  My anger is flamed wide.  I’m mad as all get out that my precious girls have to face these awful moments and struggle with the pressures of this world in the midst of their own weaknesses and personality tendencies.

I’m mad about that for me, too.

I want to help, which translates into heated lectures more often than not.  Sure, I know as a trained life coach that the best thing I can do for my daughters is simply listen.  But oh, that is so hard!  I like to have the last word, too!

I know I can’t change my kids.  I know that I can’t prevent challenges and trials.  I know that the best thing I can do for them is receive them with love, the same love God receives me with when I find myself in a mess. 

And that is where this irony kicks into overdrive.  My mess is sometimes worked up because of their mess as my wounds are pricked and poked and pushed around.  Seriously, the Enemy simply won’t quit, pushing at long ago memories and taunting me with shame.  It is a triple whammy attack:  He knocks me down with my own junk in the trunk, taints my response to the girls, and heaps on guilt when I fail to respond with God’s grace toward their circumstances.

Really, this has to stop.

I need to accept the mess.

I need to rebuke the guilt that no longer lays claim to my life because of repentance and redemption found in Christ.

The truth is that it is in the mess that God turns over the legacy soil to begin something new.

As I heed the Holy Spirit whispering, “Stop Lisa.  Just stop.”

And. I. Stop.

I stop.  Not as soon as I wished I had at times.  But I stop the lecture.  I shut down the evil one with word.  Jesus.

Jesus answers.

Jesus changes lives.

He changed my life.

Come to think of it, Jesus is the reason why my girls aren’t at all just like me.

While what the enemy would like me to see my girls reliving my pain, the truth of the matter is they are not.  They are living their own story, with their own struggles and trials and challenges.  My life was my story.  My pain was my wounds.  It isn’t theirs.  And it isn’t my fault they are struggling, too.  That’s actually between them and God.  Because the only thing that will change their story is the same thing that changed mine.  Jesus.  And they met Him long before I ever did.

He opened my eyes to see the Truth of my identity as a child of the Most High King, a woman of value and worth, who is loved and able to love.

Jesus changed my thinking, my perspective, my desires, and my purpose. He’ll change theirs, too, in His timing.

So I guess that means I need to get out of the way and let Jesus have more of them, without my mess mucking up their relationship.

Certainly, I need more of Him, too.

Philippians 1:6

And I am certain that God, who began the good work within you,
will continue his work until it is finally finished on the day when Christ Jesus returns.

So, do you need more of Jesus?

Do your children need more of Him, too?

{I think this counts for a Keeping It Real, From My Heart link up.  What do you think?}