Finding a Voice

One of Jerry Seinfeld's greatest one-liners goes something like this: "The one thing people fear more than their own death is public speaking; which means that at a funeral, they would rather be in the casket than at the podium!" I was to give my testimony yesterday at our annual Tea and Treasures at MOPS. It was ten minutes of getting in front of seventy-five women and talking - okay, reading - what Jesus means to me and what He has done in my life since He became My Lord and Savior.

I could barely sleep the night before. Each time I woke up, I felt nerves and had trouble going back to sleep. It helped to know that everyone goes through this, even a "mentor mom" in our MOPS group I look up to and other women who had given their testimonies the year before. But I was still nervous and shaky. Each time I thought about getting up there to face the crowd, looking into their eyes while talking, I inwardly shuddered. No exaggeration.

On the day of Tea and Treasures, I remember the co-ordinator introducing me and me shuffling over to the front, taking my position in front of the microphone a bundle of nerves. My hands were shivering, I didn't trust my voice to carry me through ten minutes in front of a group. Ten minutes can be an excruciatingly long time when all eyes are on you. I would know. I had tried to give a real estate presentation before in front of a much smaller group and had fallen flat on my face. Metaphorically, of course, but still. Now, I tested the microphone, asked if it was too loud, took a long breath, even said something about my heart beating. Duh. Of course, my heart was beating - I was alive! What I meant was my heart was beating so fast! That should tell you something about my overall state.

I began to talk and that was when everything changed. Everything. An unearthly calm came over me. I paused - at the end of sentences as I had been advised to do, and looked at the audience. I was in no hurry to get done. I didn't need to even look down to read some sentences. I even - gasp!- enjoyed myself, sharing my love for The Lord, revealing things about my life that had previously been stowed away in the dark, hidden in corners of conversations only accessible to a few. I allowed the Lord access into them and He shined through. He shined through me.

I had read somewhere that He equips the called, but had never before experienced it in such a real and powerful way. He truly does. He is helping me find my voice. I can't wait to do it again!

Big Things Come in Small Packages...

...but let me tell you that is not a small package. I came home today with a packing box full of clothes and toys for my children. It was our second MOPSwap of the year. About seventy women cleaned out their closets this last weekend and brought baby clothes, toddler clothes, mom clothes (including pregnancy wear), toys, books, CDs, bouncers, high chairs, baby gates, even rocking chairs with them to Christ Community Church where we meet for MOPS every second and fourth Tuesday.

It was beautiful.

The outpouring of love and sharing was tangible. I think we had about a dozen tables lined up. And not a single mom left empty-handed although there were a few things left that will later go a fundraiser called the Just Between Friends Sale.

Did I mention it was free? Or, well, it was $5, which we charge for each MOPS meeting, but seriously, you couldn't get this much at a thrift store for the same amount. It simply was not about money today. It was about moms getting together and truly sharing common experiences through baby clothes and toys.

I came home a little wistful for the little clothes I didn't look through because my children were growing so fast. I came home with a box full of things for their growing bodies and minds. But mainly, I came home thanking God for MOPS and His overflowing abundance.

I came home with my heart singing not for the things the box contained, but for the things it never could.

MOPS is Not a Support Group

I always know when I am in the company of someone without little children. For one, they can begin and finish their sentences with the right inflections and appropriate decibel levels for adult conversation. Nothing like, "You know, I just think that for someone like you - NO! NO! PUT THAT DOWN NOW. NOW!!! ALL RIGHT, TIME OUT! For someone like you, NO! SIT STILL. For you... someone... what was I saying?" For another, they sit still for long periods of time and actually hold your gaze while talking to you.  I've realized that lately I get uncomfortable when I focus on one thing for too long, which has helped me break my television habit, but it does make people think I am uninterested, or worse, uninteresting.  

I just came back from a play date with three other MOPS - all Mothers Of Preschoolers. Exactly what did we do? Well, we had coffee, snacked on whatever we could remember to bring while packing our children into the car, we herded the children around, cheered at their little accomplishments of being able to walk a foot or two, or sharing their toys with each other or just being kind and creative. Quickly, we shared dinner ideas, gave advice about using a crock pot, encouraged each other to exercise, aired our grievances (mostly about ourselves), expressed joy at our children's small accomplishments and then left. No tears were shed, except by the children who were cranky and tired after playing so hard.

Yesterday, at the cash register of a grocery store, I told a woman who had a three year old to look up a MOPS group she might want to attend. What is it? she asked. I said it was a ministry. Then I said it was a support group. I ended by saying, "I have made some of my best friends there."

At this point, I really don't know how to describe what MOPS is and what it is we do there. And yet, it is my lifeline. I know what mothering was like without it and I never want to do that again. If you don't have family or friends living close to you, mothering is extremely lonely and difficult. But I hesitate to call MOPS a support group because we tend to think of women sitting around in a circle and crying. Yes, we do that sometimes. I am also loathe to call it a ministry because it sounds like we preach the gospel there. Yes, we do that, too. But I cannot call it a play group either, although, yes, our children do play there - as we do - and make deep, abiding friendships.

I tend to think of MOPS rather as the presence of the Living God Himself. It is so permeated by Him and so full of His very real, gritty love that I have to come to it, for sustenance, for support, for nourishment. And each time I come to it, I am reminded that there are other moms, just like me, who struggle with this calling of motherhood. These are not picture book moms with perfect families. They are real, living, breathing moms who feel the conviction of raising good children in a fallen world, moms who yell at their children when they don't mean to or want to but are pulled in too many directions, moms who would appreciate more time to read their Bibles but realize that diapers need changing and laundry must be done, moms who would readily throw themselves in front of cars to save their children. Moms, even in their brokenness, who strive to be like Jesus, whether they realize it or not.

So, no, MOPS is not a support group. And I will probably never be able to speak a sentence in the right tone for adult conversation for years to come. But what I have now in MOPS is a bigger blessing than hushed conversations.