Jesus in the Nitty Gritty

I think parenthood, and perhaps motherhood in particular, will make an introvert of anyone.

I'm really not sure where I fall on the introvert-extrovert continuum. I'm not so introverted as my husband, who might not realize he was stranded alone on a desert island if he had a stack of books. Neither am I as extroverted as my daughter, whose ability to work a room is rivaled only by politicians and con-men.

What I do know is at the end of the day, I am worn out by the constant grasping of my little ones. I am exhausted by what one of my favorite writers, Tony Woodlief, has called "the imposing physicality of a child."

Don't get me wrong: I love a good snuggle. I love the gentle weight of a wee babe sleeping on my chest. I love when I get my children up from their naps and hug me tightly about the neck. I even love when one of them climbs into bed with me in the middle of the night. But me versus all four of them all day sometimes feels like a blitz without an offensive line.

A typical day finds them tackling, grasping, and demanding. Even the relative peace of story time quickly descends into a wrestling match as they each clamber for their own spot in my lap. My days are wrought with physicality and need.

It's exhausting to be needed. It drives me into myself. I retreat when I should engage. I get selfish with my time, and impatient with their neediness. I feel overwhelmed and anxious.

Scripture tells me that Jesus understands my fleshly struggles. Hebrews 4:15-16 assures me that "we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need." So Jesus gets it. He's been here.

Still I'm tempted to ask: what does Jesus know of being a mother?

But the more I think on it, the more I see that he knows what it is to be imposed upon. Looking at his ministry, I can understand why he needed to get away to pray. Remember the woman who reached out to touch the hem of his garment? The men that cut a hole in the roof to get their paralyzed friend to Jesus? The crowds that pushed in on him, demanding healing and food? He knows what it is to pour himself out, even unto death.

Still, Jesus had compassion on the people. They were like sheep without a shepherd. He didn't respond sinfully. He didn't get annoyed or anxious. He loved them. So I should do that, right?

To be sure, I should try to be a more patient and less anxious. I should love my kids sacrificially. But it struck me the other day: this verse doesn't say he's my example. He is, but it doesn't say that. It says he's my priest. A priest makes atonement for the people so they can come into God's presence. Because he was tempted in every way I am, yet was without sin, I can come to him and find mercy. His obedience when faced with temptation and his sacrifice on the cross bought me access to the throne of grace. It covers my impatience, my passiveness, my anxiousness. And it gives me confidence to ask for help. He promises meet me in my struggles to love my kids well and empower my obedience. He has walked among us needy souls. He knows.

Really, when it comes down to it, I am just a needy child lifting my arms to my Savior. He doesn't rebuke my neediness, but instead invites it. I can come, confident I will receive mercy for my failures and help when I ask. This is the gospel for the nitty gritty everyday.