When Jesus went away

Confession: I feel lost.

I think I get it. I get why Jesus often went away by himself to pray. He just needed some space. You see, in addition to being a rabbi and friend, his ministry was basically living the stay-at-home-parent life. He dealt with needs and wants and conflict nonstop. It only stopped if he took a break from it. When he would go away by himself. He needed a time out because someone always:

• Needed something from him 
• Wanted something from him
• Complained of hunger 
• Complained of being tired
• Wanted his presence 
• Asked hard questions 
• Asked annoying questions
• Followed him
• Shouted at him
• Got mad at him
• Said he wasn’t making sense
• Disobeyed him
• Thought they knew better than him
• Argued with him
• Asked him to determine who was right and who was wrong
• Asked him to explain something
• Asked him to teach them something

And at this point I’m 100 miles past triggered as a stay-at-home parent. 

No wonder he often went away by himself to pray. It was his only time alone. His only time to think. His only time to worship without someone needing bothering him. I think it is ok to say bothered. I think Jesus got annoyed and frustrated just like the rest of us. 

That is how I feel right now. Like I need a time out from all the noise and chaos of responding to the demands from little humans. I’m sitting in a library study room on a Sunday afternoon which I mentally planned out while listening to the pastor preach at church earlier today. That’s honestly what I got out of the message. Even sitting in church was overwhelming my senses. I wanted to be with Jesus but was drowning in overstimulation. 

I needed to just get out—get away—be alone to hear myself think. Not just think, but to truly be alone where there is no chance of someone needing or interrupting me. Just a couple of hours to talk to Jesus with no interruptions. Just a couple of hours of quiet so I could listen for his voice in the stillness of my heart and mind. 

And guess who is in the study room next to me? Someone who is blasting the song “The Purple People Eater.” Seriously. I’m not kidding. This lady crazy human being is blasting it so loud I had no idea our phones could even go that loud. I just had to do the awkward rude yet polite knock on the glass door to see if she can turn it down. I thought maybe she didn’t realize the rooms aren’t sound proof. She said she knew they weren’t sound proof she just didn’t realize anyone was in the study room next to her and didn’t think it would bother anyone. My jaw hit the floor. Seriously?! You think everyone in the library wanted to hear that song?? It’s a library for crying out loud! (Which, at that point, I nearly was crying out loud). I can’t even experience a quiet space in a library study room. Story of my current life. 

Speaking of quiet and alone time, I often cross paths with people who think the toddler or baby’s nap time is my alone time. Um, no. I am not alone—I’m in the house with a baby/toddler who could wake at any moment and my energy is spent doing everything I can to not wake that tiny cute-as-a-button-dragon-Godzilla-Orc. It might be my not-being-touched-or-have-food-smeared-on-me time, but it is definitely not alone time—it is occupied time. In fact, I almost want to argue that the baby/toddler nap time is more stressful than the non nap time! At least when they are awake you know you have to attend to every demand. But when they are asleep you never know precisely at which most inconvenient minute they will wake up from a) having a blowout in their diaper, b) a loud truck drives by, or c) they sensed you tried to eat something without them. So you are holding your breath the whole time (and definitely never eating). It’s just a very different hostage type of situation.

For years I have felt guilty for even wanting time by myself. I spent most days fiercely protecting evenings and my idea of what “family time” would look like: husband, wife, children all together sharing in an activity where we talked to one another and deeply connected through conversation or laughter. It could look like watching a movie or playing a game, going on a walk or driving somewhere new. The activity didn’t matter (well actually it did—I hate crafts) as much as the wanting to be together. 

But lately it doesn’t feel like we all want to be together. Someone is listening to a podcast or kids only want to do crafts or people are too tired to ask questions or even more tired to answer them. Why was I choosing to stay home every night for this? Where was the connection? What was the point? It began to feel routine and stale and awfully quiet (not literally, there’s never actual quiet). Why was I trying so hard to keep our evenings free so the five of us could spend time together if that time wasn’t being spent together? I wasn’t even sure any of us liked each other anymore. 

So I went away. I withdrew. I needed and still need to sort out some thoughts and work through some feelings without dumping on my husband. He isn’t my gal pal and he isn’t my therapist. He’s just another tired dude who is trying his best to be a good human and husband and father. 

I used to believe it was selfish of me to leave or do my own thing once he got home from work. That is certainly how I viewed it when he would do his own thing like finish his bachelor’s and master’s degrees, do martial arts or a bible study or watch YouTube videos on how to code. It all seemed so selfish and I thought he was living like a married bachelor. Didn’t he see that I wasn’t getting a break? Didn’t he care that I was drowning and just wanted to be taken out on a date that I didn’t have to solely initiate AND coordinate AND plan? Didn’t he realize that most of my day is filled with little people complaining to me instead of complimenting me? I don’t even get to eat my meals in peace. The toddler throws a tantrum if she doesn’t get to sit in my lap and eat my food from my plate. Oh, and if I try to eat her food off her plate because I’m hungry? She grabs it and throws it on the floor. So team morale is suffering greatly.

I know it won’t be forever. At some point the kids leave the home and the active parenting looks rather different when the kids become more independent. But it isn’t just about the toddler eating my food or my older kids “needing” to ask me deep philosophical questions fifteen minutes after their bedtime. every. night.

It isn’t that I hate my life. I don’t hate it. I’m just lost in it. Not in the, “I don’t know where I’m going” kind of way. But the actual invisibility of being lost. Julie is no longer here. The only things here are the mom and the wifely duties. Just the functional parts, the parts that serve and give and help others get their needs and wants met. But the real Julie, the unique, one and only me in the whole world Julie—isn’t here. We lost her somewhere back there.

Parenting is a large part of our life but it is not our only life. We are still individuals. We are still people in need of friendship and encouragement. People in need of being poured into. People who need breaks. I don’t need my spouse to understand or experience my life for 24 hours in order for me to not feel guilty about taking time for myself. He doesn’t have to “get it.” It took me 9 years to realize that. Before I am anything else, I am human, and I am allowed to have time to take care of myself.

Children, when they are young, don’t intentionally plan out how to pour into a parent, they are the takers in the relationship. Parents are the givers. This dynamic can be draining when you have multiple people seeking you to be the remedy to whatever they perceive as the problem or when they need a solution to something. This dynamic means you can never have a need or desire, there simply is no room for it. So what is a parent to do? You have to interrupt that dynamic. 

It’s sort of like this: if you work a job where the tasks keep piling up and no matter how many hours you stay past your 5pm shift end, you will never get ahead or be completely done, then why stay past 5pm? Go home, get rest, eat well, deeply connect with your spouse, and show up the next day ready to work. Don’t work defeated. That is the pathway to burnout. Work well fueled with gratitude and joy and wellness in mind. That is the pathway toward purpose. 

Cheers to interrupting.