I have been working out for a consistent 3 months now. I know that might not seem like much for many of you, but I have had to really push myself to get out of the door and to the gym. Working out doesn’t come naturally to me. I’m not strong. My knees are terrible. My shoulders are held in their socket by worn-down cartilage (No, I’m not joking. You can check out my x-rays from Duke), and thanks to my newly discovered thyroid issue, I have the metabolism of a 189 year-old.
I’m tired. Like all the time. But mamas…. I have been really trying to work-out. I’ve been working my butt off to lose the last 10 lbs from the sweet babes I had two years ago. I’ll be honest, most of the time I feel like I am going to poop myself throughout the workout but my trusty thighs warmly and happily cheer me on as they clap together every step of my runs. “You can do it! Almost there! Don’t poop! Don’t poop! Turn down the speed and squeeze your butt cheeks together! There you go!”
So when I was admiring my handsome son and kissing his face off, per usual, I wasn’t too excited about him reaching into my shirt and mistaking my top belly roll for my boob. “Oh! Mommy’s booby!” He so excitedly exclaimed. “No… no son. I know it is soft and saggy just like mommy’s boobies but sadly, that is mommy’s belly.”
I instantly felt ashamed. I was crushed. I was discouraged. I so badly want to be one of those moms on Instagram. You know exactly the ones I am talking about don’t you? The ones who have their shit together. The ones that rock confidence. The ones that have zero flab. The ones that work. The ones that travel. The ones whose home is always put together. The ones that workout. The ones that so flawlessly wear crop tops and two-piece bathing suits. The ones that shower everyday and know how to high-light and contour their makeup. You know, the ones who are perfect.
I want to be the perfect mama. I want to do it all. I want to BE it all. I want to be the perfect wife for my husband. The perfect mama for my kids. I want to be the perfect daughter for my parents and the perfect sister. I want to be the perfect daughter to our Jesus. And if I were to be honest with you and myself, I want to be perfect for this harsh, cruel and ungodly world that we live in too. But of course, I fail in many areas of perfection. The laundry is always stacked. Dust bunnies line our baseboards. Money is often strapped. My face is bare showing my bags. The Book isn’t opened nearly enough. Youtube and movies play everyday. Sugar is consumed and my top belly roll and boobies are of the same consistency.
Perfection. How stupid it is to strive for. So unattainable.
It took me my whole life and two hard years of motherhood to realize the truth about perfection that Jesus so badly wanted me to hear.
Mamas, God never called us to be perfect. He never called us to be the mamas that can do it all or be it all. We were made to be the women and mamas that need Jesus. Period. We aren’t perfect and we will never be perfect. If we were perfect, we wouldn’t need Him.
I’m not sure if you really soaked that in so let me tell you again…
LADIES! GOD DID NOT MAKE US TO BE PERFECT! WE WERE NOT MADE TO BE PERFECT! WE WERE MADE TO RELY ON JESUS!
For the first time, I am so thankful that perfection is something that I can never achieve. For the first time, I love my belly rolls, piled up laundry and dust bunnies. For the first time, I love all my imperfections because mamas, I need my Jesus. Jesus is and will always be enough for me and my babies. He is my perfection.
“Why am I discouraged? Why is my heart so sad? I will put my hope in God. I will praise him again—my Savior and God.”- Psalm 42:11
