Battle-Rich

Today I’m battle-rich.

Soaked to the skin, drenched to drowning with war and rumour of war.

My defences are down, my weaponry has failed me and I have no strength left to toss a grenade in and hope for the best.

And my problems are small. They are barely the breeze of a butterfly’s wings. But scale does not make the heart ache.

But a bullied son does.

And a sullen daughter.

And a wasted day.

And moments of indecision, sharp tongues, sleepless nights, feelings of insignificance, snatches of doubt and wishful thoughts…

Perspective seeps away, it is sucked and drained right out of us until we’re raging with the war and losing the fight.

And Jesus says “come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”

But I don’t go.

I am a problem solver. I am a fixer. I must find a solution because I am the mama.

And the day draws to a close and the boy is in tears and the girl is shooting daggers with her words. And this mama is caught, trapped, stifled between rocking away hurts and scolding away insolence.

Voices raise.

Tears flow.

Doors bang.

And there I am. Battle-rich.

Weary.

Burdened.

With no solutions.

Are you there, mama? Are you there today or likely to be there tomorrow? Desperate to lay down your arms but terrified that when you do the disorder will prevail? Battle-rich and in peace-poverty?

Jesus says: Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.

All you.

All you Mamas in battle.

All you Mamas in chaos.

All you at your wits end, at your lowest ebb, when your head is in a cupboard to stifle the screams. It’s all of you.

Because battle is weary and our artillery is weak. And most of the time, do we even want to fight anyway?

And the spoils of war? They are wet cheeks and sad frowns. They are heavy eyes and hot heads. What profit is this? What do we win when we ride into battle solo?

Come to me, says Jesus.

All of you.

Weary?

Burdened?

Yes, that’s you.

And I will give you rest.

Rest? Peace? What is that? How can I have peace in the storm? How can I possibly rest when I have to fight for my son and fight against my daughter?

Jesus, don’t you know I’m the mama?

But that’s the problem.

Don’t we know that Jesus is God?

And my problems are small. They are barely the breeze of a butterfly’s wings. But Jesus knows what makes my heart ache.

And he doesn’t say Sort it out then, mama, solve it! Fix it! Stop whining and complaining and just.get.on.with.it.

No.

Jesus who is God says this:

Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.

Stop fighting. Lay down your arms. Ceasefire.

Take the rest you’re promised. What a promise! I WILL give you rest.

When Pharaoh’s army comes, dressed in all its finery – sickness, sadness, depression, loneliness, despair, anger, bewilderment. Dressed in the fiery darts of a sharp tongue, or as the playground bully who won’t leave your child alone. Or in the cracking marriage or the weight of a wandering child who won’t find God…remember Moses’ words to the Israelites:

The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.

Mama, are you battle-rich like me? Are you in knots over missed decisions, wrong decisions and the weight of a heavy heart? Sleepless, tired, puffy-eyed from crying…or was it lack of sleep…or was it both?

Join me at the foot of Jesus. For rest. For stillness. For the amnesty of our arms.

To be still and know that we need the Lord to fight for us because we can’t do it by ourselves.

He’s speaking to us Mama, to you and me.

So I choose rest. Peace. Calm. To let the wars remain rumours and say:

The Lord will fight for me, I need only to be still.

Grace and Love

Helen x

exodus 14 14

 

Linked with Serving Joyfully, The Modest Mom, Woman to Woman Ministries

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