When You Think Being the Perfect Mom Is About Trying Harder

But I’ve never been able to fix the chaos of motherhood.

Oh, there have been seasons (by that I mean an occasional two days in a row). The house is clean, I’m taking lots of deep breaths before opening my mouth, the kids are bursting forth with glorious attitudes and cuteness to boot. Dinner is on the table by six, the kids have been read to throughout the day, eaten fruit for snacks, gotten outside, and taken proper naps. I’ve had time to read a chapter of fiction, pray a bit, and send my husband an encouraging text.

And I rejoice in the systems. “See,” I tell myself. “If I just work hard enough, make enough lists, stay organized enough, always have a good attitude, never fail in any way, then I can do this. Perfection is possible.”

Of course I know this isn’t actually true and I’m willing to admit that I’ll occasionally fail or the system might get rattled a bit by a sickness. But all in all, I struggle not to believe that I and my systems can save us all.

And if there is weakness. If there is failure. Then it’s all mine and my system’s fault.

And I have fought this battle of me and my systems more than I ever care to admit. It started before motherhood began and it will likely last long past the stage of hidden, moldy, shriveled grapes. This battle of control. Of worth. Of trying to do it all on my own. Motherhood has just magnified it. Approximately 136,298 fold.

In her book Bittersweet, Niequist says a friend once told her that, “…God will keep sending that same kind of person or same kind of situation into your life over and over until you choose to do the work of understanding it and growing past it.”

Well, this is it folks. I like control and when it’s in my grasp I rejoice in myself and when it’s falling down all around me, I blame myself.

And I can devise plans and checklists and systems to root out this pride. Or I can lay it all down at the foot at the cross. Again and again and again until He has rooted it out of me.

And honestly, I don’t know that I ever will fully get it. This pride, this control, this fix-it-ness is ingrained deep, an addiction weaved into the fabric of my soul. I lay it down and and pick it up again. But with each surrender, I tend to pick up less. I let his kingdom take hold inside of me just a bit more. He transforms me. Slowly, painstakingly, exhaustingly, beautifully.

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This article originally appeared at StephFishr.com.