Sometimes I get so tired and so caught up in the little things that need to get done in order for a day to pass well that I function more mechanically than holistically and by the end of the day I am a bundle of unacknowledged emotion and physical needs (when did I last use the restroom?  have I brushed my teeth today?  and did I ever make it into the shower?).  My mama sent me a message this week about making sure I am not only creating a space that is clean and warm and personal out of my house but also making sure my body is clean and warm and, well, welcoming for my family.  I have a sneaking suspicion this was spurred by my recent download of a video messaging app and her messages from me in my bare faced, messy hair glory.  She says no, but I sure wouldn't blame her.

So yesterday, on the road to yet another appointment (baby girl and I are so high maintenance lately), I gave myself and the Holy Spirit space to start sorting through the last five months of intense shifting and adjusting that we have all had to do.  I'm sure the other drivers could see the crazy in my face because two minutes into the space my eyes were running, my white knuckled grip on my coffee cup shaking, and my shoulders were up to my ears.  I need to apologize to that little boy and I need to talk to that man, say sorry for the way I've been faking my way through this season.  I started praying out hopes and fears and unrealized sins and that peace I am so desperate for fell hard on my tight, gasping heart.

Always, I have been too wrapped up in performance.  My fears and my pride both live there, roar there.  It is too easy for me to believe that if I do something well, perfectly even, then what I want will follow.  If I shoulder the work of a medically tricky newborn, if I tell everyone she is dreamy instead of kind of scary and if I call that boy sweet even on the days he is defiant, if I don't complain or if I let us both use the excuse of just tired for the way my brain is sloppy and my tone is snappy then I mask bigger, different things instead of inviting him into my heart space and that is on me.

It is a slippery tension living here.  I desperately want lots of children.  My heart is fierce for the next generation and for the work that happens in the home of raising that generation up.  I follow amazing mamas on social media who have eight and seven and six children.  I chat daily with my best friend about baby names and the posse we each want and how doable this all is, how enjoyable even.  I read books written by wise and godly women.  I, I, I.

But my husband comes home and the words he hears most I'm tired have him ready to move into the next season.  The sweet man misses me.  I miss me.  We both miss me on a bike.  Oh, my bike.  And here's where the perfectionist motivated by rewards comes out: I'll just push harder.  I'll still those words in my mouth.  I'll put on more concealer, drink more coffee, work out more because, endorphins.  I'll get up earlier, read the Proverbs with more fervor.  Instead of saying, I'm tired but a good tired.  I'm tired like I've run miles and miles and still have miles to go.  That kind of tired.  Tired from doing good and holy work.  Tired from battling my sin.  Tired from late night prayers and from facing my short comings.  Tired from the way my body is tightening crippling, my hormones are ruling.  I'm tired and I'm impatient and I am desperately trying to give myself grace, desperately craving your grace and your strength.  I'm tired for good reasons and bad reasons and please, enter into this with me.  Because there is so much joy and victory here, too.  

Perfectionism and people pleasing are nasty masters.  They'll burn you out in months and leave a wreck where your spirit used to be.  Honesty and humility, though, they haven't let me down yet.  Is there a way to be tired and still warm and welcoming?  I hope so.  I really, really hope so.  Because that baby girl is already almost six months old and I'd do the whole tired thing a million times over, I'd die to myself again and again because is there any greater joy than loving and praying little ones towards Christ?

Resolution: Use the words I'm tired as an invitation instead of a dismissal, change that stifling, small narrative.