Attack Retreat Surrender

Four kids does not feel like a lot of kids most of the time.

However, there are exceptions.

Like the park. Trying to watch four kids as they constantly disappear around corners, up climbing walls, and down slides can be a stressful too fast paced hide-and-seek of terror.

Grocery shopping. Four kids in the cereal aisle feels like a lot of kids. Four unique perspectives each passionately pleading their case for a different box. Maneuvering a Costco cart heavy laden with two gallons of milk, five dozen eggs, six loaves of bread, four pounds of lunch meat, ten pounds of frozen chicken, four pounds of baby spinach, etc. And four kids: two in the THANK THE LORD double wide front seat and two hanging off the sides of the cart. Four kids can feel like a lot when the basket has become to heavy to turn & you just hope your fellow shoppers are alert enough to get out of your way as you practically run the final straight stretch to the checkout.

Summer vacation. Four kids sure do feel like a whole lot of kids when they’re home all day. And they’re HOT. And they’re HUNGRY. And they’re BORED. And they want to go to the park. And you need to go to Costco (again).

Actually, summer may be at the root of feeling like four kids sure is a lot of kids.

I have historically dealt with summer in one of two ways: attack or retreat.

In attack-mode, I wake up with the sun and plan to seize the day. I will not be shaken from my to-do list. We will accomplish our tasks and we will complete all the work and we will have all the fun. TODAY. We are Team Marsden and we are up cleaning and getting dressed and getting out of the house before lunch. We are doing all the things today, so you better bring your A-game children. I’ve got some great shots planned to document this moment on social media. I am going to win today.

As an introvert, though, with limited energy stores for this kind of life, attack-mode is not sustainable. By the time we get back home I am wiped out. Doing everything and constantly counting to four the entire time:

one? check. two? is over there with her. three? doing her own thing. four? where is kid four? how did I lose him he was just right here? where is he? child trafficking is a real thing. where is he?! what if I never see his sweet, lopsided, mischevious grin again?! oh, there he is. top of the tallest thing here. ok good. one?…

I make it home frazzled with all four kids who are STARVING, and barely crawl my way through dinner and tell my husband sorry, I’ve got nothing left. And I veg-out reading or on social media and bedtime is basically me telling kids one through four that I love them and SO HELP ME IF YOU DON’T STAY IN BED I WILL DO IT. Whatever it we all know I have no intention of actually doing.

Attack is exhausting. My more natural bent it toward retreat. Mickey Mouse and Mine Craft provide sufficient childcare in the morning. I’m out of bed just long enough to make coffee and get back in bed. I hang out on social media, checking and rechecking: Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, TimeHop, Twitter, Instagram, Facebook. Then it’s suddenly noon and they’re all STARVING, again. The lunch feeding frenzy is draining, so I slink back off to my room to read a few pages and Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Facebook. I read my Bible and consider the purposelessness and ennui of my life. I feel anxious that I haven’t gotten anything done, but equally unmotivated to act.

I observe my life pass.

My husband gets home and I am moody, anxious, and needy. My kids go to bed in the same pajamas they’ve worn since the night before. I stay in my pajamas.

I make big plans and promises to myself to do all the things tomorrow.

Then there are those magical days when life just works.

I’m up with the sun to study and read and write. The kids hang out with Mine Craft and Mickey long enough for me to caffeinate and we all get dressed and head to the gym. After the gym we swing by Costco and eat PRAISE THE LORD dollar-fifty hot dogs for lunch. Once home I put away groceries, set out dinner, rotate laundry, and climb in bed with a book. I check Twitter, Facebook, Instagram. I take the kids outside and chat with a neighbor. We go inside and I fall asleep for a twenty minute power nap. Then I’m back up and listening to a podcast while tackling the housework, then talking with the kids as I fold laundry and start on dinner.

Mike gets home and we have physical and mental space to connect. I tuck the kids in and sing Hosannah over their precious, sleepy, getting big too fast heads.

I thank the Lord for the day, grateful for my people, and figure out how I can make it happen again tomorrow. What if I wrote a rule of life to live by? Maybe if I make a list of everything I got done and I’m really diligent to stick to it we can repeat today. Yes, I’ll just look at the calendar and plan all the things…

Attack. Retreat.

But grace is found in surrender.

When I surrender to the rhythm of my life, taking turns for work and rest, interaction and solitude, frenzy and quiet, then I am awash with a peace that stubbornly refuses to be manufactured. Life is more easily lived in extremes, though significantly less pleasant. It is easier to launch myself into an attack or to laze around in retreat than it is to make small, faithful choices with my time all day. It is more difficult to stop myself, to center and pray and breathe, and ask God for what is next. What hard, humble mom-ish thing needs doing? Here I am, Lord. It is harder to surrender my attack and retreat for being present to whatever divine interruptions the day will hold.

But grace is found in surrender; in receiving.

The only way to get to do the work you want to do is through commitment to receive the humble work in front of you. There is no way around it.

Stay the course, friends, and find your summer rhythm. We will find grace in surrender.