I pulled up the rumpled tan cloth, smoothing it out the best I could. In front of me was a partially stuffed monkey. Half stuffy, half blankey, it was the only thing my eldest son had held onto since infancy. It was both well-loved and well-protected. It is also the most sacred thing he owns.
I had been dreading this project for a year. I can handle a needle, but fixing this was a seamstress-level job, and I knew it. He didn’t though, and looked at me with his earnest, pre-teen eyes. “I know you can fix it, Mom. Please.”
I pulled out my sharpest scissors and went to work trimming all the ragged pieces of fabric. I could feel tears as I remembered his little chubby baby hands clinging to each scrap. But with every tear came a bead of sweat. He was counting on me to be his hero.
As my kids get older, I realize the day is coming (if it already hasn’t) that they realize I can’t fix everything. I am going to disappoint them, even let them down. I will eventually hit the impossible. I will fail. Although I am sad that day is coming, I am secretly overjoyed that I won’t have that pressure anymore. It will be a loss but will be a big relief.
I think often, for women, there is an immense amount of expectation for us to be and have it all. Whether we work out of the home or inside the home, married or not. Managing kids, parents, pets, or whomever makes our days long. It isn’t enough, to just be enough. We must do it all and do it perfectly. We are Wonder Woman. We are incredible. Superheroes.
This may not be your story, but it’s a lot of our stories. And much like the heroes on the big screen, it requires us to wear masks, always moving, always alert, always fighting. Even when it’s rewarding at the end, it is exhausting in the middle. What would it look like for us to lay down our masks, boots, and capes and accept a new way of being? A new invitation?
Jesus calls to us wonder women, “Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28). Imagine! The next two verses speak to the very nature of Jesus – he is humble, his heart is gentle. He wants to teach us a new way of being that reflects his heart. He offers a yoke and burden that are easy to bear, light in weight.
There are two ways for us to lay down our superhero capes and experience rest: get close to Jesus and get close to each other.
The writer of Hebrews reminds us that Jesus knows what it’s like to be in our shoes. He understands our hurt; he gets our disappointment. He faced all the same testing we have faced (Hebrews 4:15). That is why we are encouraged to “come boldly before the throne of our gracious God” where we find mercy and grace (v. 16). Coming close to the humble heart of one who understands means we can leave our masks at the door. Through prayer we come close to Jesus and experience rest in his presence.
The first five chapters of the Acts of the Apostles give a compelling testimony of the power of being together. Luke reminds us that the believers were “together in one place, all meeting together, united in prayer.” Isn’t that incredible?
Something happens when we partner together that cannot happen alone! 1 Corinthians 12:7 reminds us that we are each given gifts so we can help each other. Ecclesiastes says that “Two people are better off than one, for they can help each other succeed” (Ecclesiastes 4:9).
God has gifted someone else with just what I need! I don’t have to bear the heavy burden of being a solitary hero when I can be here for her and she is here for me. The invitation of partnership is the beauty of not having to go it alone.
I finished the monkey, hand stitching with cramped fingers. When my son got home, I handed it to him nervously, watching the dodgy edges where I had to improvise. There was a lot on the line, and I was anxious for a response.
“You did it! Thanks, Mom. It’s doesn’t have to be perfect.”
Same, Son. Same.