Tindell Baldwin »

I see the magazines as I wait in line for the bathroom, I’m 28 weeks pregnant so it seems I’m always waiting in line for the bathroom. To my right is a wall lined with the latest month’s editions of fashion, celebrity gossip, home décor, more fashion, and naked woman. One cover shows a woman (she’s incredibly famous so I should know her name but I’m not cool so to me she is woman) in only a skirt arm pressed against her chest to hide the one part of her body that would label the cover as “too provocative”. Another cover shows another famous woman (again you would know who she is because you’re cool but I’m not so she is again woman) and the headline reads “….. finds love and bares all” or something to that effect. She is in stockings nothing else again hand covering the one “private part” (that’s the technical term) that would make the cover have to be behind one of those fuzzy screens.

And I couldn’t help but wonder when the world will stop telling woman that baring it all and dancing with the line of exposure is what makes you intriguing? When will the line stop being pushed and men stop being lured into lust by just standing in line to the bathroom?

The message seems to be yelling, “you are only as beautiful as what you you can bare.” Our bodies seem to be the vessel to which our value is placed. Great body, great hair, great skin, etc then great value. So for girls who don’t fall into the category life can be brutal, unbearable, and confusing. Because while we hear from infancy that God thinks we are beautiful it would be nice if he sent a flesh and blood man to marry us and tell us the same thing.

Claire has this little book where an asparagus is going to a princess party and she is all dressed up but along the way a pea needs help and is stuck in the mud. She helps dislodge him (without any hands which I think is the most impressive part) but gets her beautiful dress all muddy and has to go to the party like that. The end of the book sings this song about how God thinks she’s beautiful and Claire likes to press the button and make me listen to it about 100x which is why that book has suddenly gone missing (so weird how that happens). Here’s the thing though, the asparagus is skinny, tall, has perfect hair, and lips so the mud on the dress really isn’t a big deal. If they really wanted to get the point across they should have used a gourd… just sayin.

My struggle was never to believe I was pretty it was more to believe I had anything else to offer the world. Being labeled as attractive was an addiction I fed nightly in my high school years to the point where I believed everything rode on how I looked. I figured any success or failure I achieved in life was because of this one trait that meant everything to me. I would trade my values, innocence, and reputation for any guy that told me I was beautiful. Here’s the thing though as much as I knew guys that didn’t care about me thought was pretty I was confident God didn’t think the same thing about me. I was trading real beauty for the temporary high of stares, dates, and pick up lines. On the inside I knew the truth though the outside only masked the real ugliness within.

When I came to know Jesus I realized how ugly the inside of me was. How much hate, bitterness, and jealousy had destroyed my heart. I could dress the outside up but the inside was a dead shell, I was a corpse in designer clothing, and I didn’t need a better stylist I needed a savior. As much value as the world had placed on my shell it had told me nothing of my soul, the wellspring of life. So I caked on the ugly inside and bought the perfect lipstick so my mouth would be pretty when the words were not.

Fast forward to now and I have a basketball lodged under my shirt with my second child and the stares I get are more because you can’t miss me more than anything else. I know I will never be able to convince the world to stop telling woman that their worth can be displayed on a magazine cover or that how you look in a very tight dress taking selfies in a candy shop is what really counts (true story) I can reiterate that you won’t find life or love there. That what you are searching for is not for likes or comments but for a beautiful soul. If that sounds cheesy it’s because it is but it’s also true. The world can offer you outward value but Jesus is offering you an inward transformation. He’s telling you that you can be clothed and still be loved. He’s telling you that you are worth so much more.

Her little eyes dart to mine as she lifts the plastic bead to her mouth….

“Claire harper” I snap, she knows. Its our little battle, the one where she exerts her pint sized will and I remind her of the choking hazard of beads for the 700^th time in a voice that sends a message. I thought I had managed to find all the pieces of tiny plastic determined to be lodged in my daughters esophagus but I’m starting to think she has stock piled them for just such occasion. We fight these little battles on most days, but they are little.

Then I sit across from a mom at Starbucks and I hear about the battle she is fighting. With tear filled eyes she says to me, “I just want to keep my daughter alive.” I gasp because the thought never occurred to me that after the little years I might have to circle back to the fight of just keeping them alive but this time it won’t be stairs and crossing the street but boys and drugs.

And so we fight.

We fight the little battles for their little hearts to understand and then later we fight the all-out wars. The big battles that end in counselor’s offices and in prayers lifted more as cries than prayers. We fight the battles of not eating the tiny choking hazards then we graduate to the more advanced combat for our children’s souls.

I left coffee with tears streaming down my face, for this mom, for her daughter, and for the hold Satan has managed to wrap around this young girl. For the first time in a long time I remembered the darkness. The battle is being fought and while I sat in disbelief to hear a young girls story so unlike mine yet so the same I realized what was inspiring me as I listened, the mom knew the battle had already been won.

There had been a cross for her and her daughter, there was a fighter who had already claimed victory, and she had not a shadow of a doubt that God wasn’t going to let her daughter go. I sat shocked because her faith was staggering. I can write words on pages but if my own flesh and blood lived the same path I wrote so boldly about would I have the same faith? Would I remember that the beautiful parts of our stories are only told by the mighty hand of God? Would I remember that addictions are never stronger than the power of Jesus? Would I claim as boldly as I had written that only God numbers our days?

I pray I would. I pray I would fight valiantly like this mother has, knowing at the end of the day I cannot save my daughters soul. I can save her life but soul saving… that is not up to me. I can show her, I can live it out, and I can pray with earnest but I cannot pin her down and force Jesus down her throat. Nor do I want to. So I’ll fight the small battles and I’ll prepare for war that may or may not come and along the way ill remind myself that there is always hope.

Ephesians 6:10-13

10 A final word: Be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. 11 Put on all of God’s armor so that you will be able to stand firm against all strategies of the devil. 12 For we[c] are not fighting against flesh-and-blood enemies, but against evil rulers and authorities of the unseen world, against mighty powers in this dark world, and against evil spirits in the heavenly places. 13 Therefore, put on every piece of God’s armor so you will be able to resist the enemy in the time of evil. Then after the battle you will still be standing firm.

Since I embarked on this great journey of motherhood I have sought to be understood. Sought to have someone tell me I’m doing a good job, not just a good job, but a worthy job. I want someone to tell me that the countless hours I spend singing (not on a stage but in a quiet nursery with a babe pressed against me), cleaning, and well… mothering has immense value in this world.

Because let’s be honest… whether you stay at home like me or work a 9-5 the term mother has been made less than what it is. So maybe it’s just me or you too, but I’ve spent the year and a half since that beautiful moment in the delivery room trying to prove to the world that the life I lead is worthy of recognition. Sure there’s a day devoted to us (but dogs also get one), sure my husband comes home and asks me how I managed it all, and I’ve heard a few “I could never do that.” What I have wanted though is for my job, my role, as a mom, to be a valuable one. To be one that is revered right up there with CEO’s, Managers, and big wig company chairs. When I tell people I am a “stay at home mom” I want them to ooh and ahh in wonder as if I have just told them I wrangle tigers. (it’s almost the same) They don’t though, in fact, a few times men have asked me, “what else do you do.” (I complied a detail minute by minute schedule and sent it to them via email with a bible verse…jk)

But why does it matter?

Because I need it? Because its true? Because it makes what I do more important?

I think the reason we drown ourselves in diapers and loose ourselves in all exciting parenting novels and do poop cheers when they poop and it’s been three days. I think what makes every late night lullaby and sleep deprived 3 cup of coffee type of morning worth it will never come in the form of praise from others. It wouldn’t matter if the government started paying me for my 14+ hour days or if men stood in awe when I described in detail the glorious wonder that is my day. It wouldn’t matter if I got to wear clothes that weren’t covered in goldfish residue or enjoy a cup of coffee without having to watch curious George.

Because what I really know is this… Sacrifice doesn’t always mean suffering and while the human in me craves a shred of significance in this tattered world the Jesus inside of me praises God I have the opportunity to raise little hands and feet to sing his praises. The Jesus in me knows that in ten minutes little whimpers followed by the sweetest sound of “ma-ma” will interrupt my world again and I will have to surrender what I am doing to answer the cry of one of the greatest gifts I’ve ever received. The Jesus in me knows that I have experienced more of his love in the past 17 months that I ever knew existed, the love that compels me to keep moving, keep loving, keep smiling, and keep enjoying even when the world looks on and wonders “what I really do all day.”

I will do what my mother did and her mother before that and raise little lives. Little lives that will affect many people. Little lives that will turn into big ones, where they will face this big bad world head on and I will spend hours on my knees praying I taught them well. I will take joy in their triumphs and cry in their pain and for as long as they let me I will be an ear to listen and a voice of wisdom (or so I pray). Because if two year olds didn’t turn into adults then my job would be pointless but this is just the start and I only have 18 years before I send them off so there is lots of work to do.

Happy Mothers Day to all, no matter what that looks like, traditional or in a way you never expected, I pray God shows you the immense value of your calling.

Last night my husband and I sat on the back porch in our rocking chairs like something you’d see on leave it to beaver and talked. My brother and sister in law affectionately call this “porching it” and swear it’s the key to a good marriage. So we sat outside, rocked while we looked at our backyard and talked about what most people in their late twenties talk about with a toddler and one more on the way, money. What would be just the right amount? When will we get to the pinnacle illusion amount of “security”, that place where you skip off to work feeling confident that if you lost your job, total your car, or some other tragedy strikes you can feel at peace because there’s “enough” in the bank. The fantasy world where future college tuitions, weddings, proms, and house repairs are no longer the sweat on your brow but a welcomed new adventure because you are “secure”.

I grew up wanting. Not in the sense of basic needs but in the sense that I always wanted more. I wanted a bigger house, I dreamed of my own bathroom that was not filled with three boys and questionable hair findings. I dreamed of Birkenstocks and an off white north face jacket that would keep me warm in Atlanta’s extreme temperatures (sarcasm intended). I dreamed of having things that would give me happiness I thought waited on the other side.

However, there were four kids and my dad was starting his own company and my mom had decided the best place she could be was at home with us so going to the movies as a family was a stretch. In all my “wanting” though my childhood was one of the happiest I can imagine because while our memories weren’t made at 5 star resorts or fancy country clubs we had plenty of good memories. The atmosphere in our home was one of life and joy and dare I be cheesy and say Jesus. Our house was full of life, it was packed to the brim with it, teenage boys running in and out of the house to the latest experiment that would most likely land us in the ER. Our memories were made of rolling a tire down the hill, making bike ramps, and a large front yard swing that would later be called the “so sorry your kid broke his arm at our house” swing. And laughing. We laughed a lot and at night when we were all in our teens we’d pile into our parents room as we came home and catch up. (of course I didn’t realize how great any of this was back then)

No I didn’t have my own bathroom (can you tell this was a big point of angst for me) and I worked through high school to pay for the extras that I so desperately needed… like skirts that should have been banned in all 50 states. What I learned though was that money didn’t create atmosphere, it wasn’t necessary to create memories, and we didn’t need to have the best vacations in our borrowed 2 bedroom condo in Hilton head. We had joy because we were thankful, we had love, we knew where life came from, and we had each other.

I say all this because now as a grown up (well almost) the trap is to believe that the destination of security will somehow create this mecca of joy. Yet why is it that the richest people in America seem to be the unhappiest? Why is it that the biggest smiles I’ve ever seen were on the faces of some of the poorest in Africa? And why is it that you probably haven’t heard a lot of people say “we have just the right amount of money?”

Because God beckons us to joy not through things, trips, and big numbers but through a redeemed life. He beckons us to joy in trusting in the midst of plenty and little. He beckons us to real joy when we choose to look at a messy house as a house full of life, as shared bathrooms as one more opportunity to be close knit, and as “wanting” to be something that teaches us how to be gracious no matter the circumstance. I never went without growing up, I know that now, but I looked around me and everyone seemed to have fancier things and something inside me craved it. Whenever I’d get one thing though the stakes got higher, the things got more expensive, and the let downs greater. The joy I was searching for couldn’t be purchased.

This morning on Good Morning America they talked about an article that said that we shouldn’t let our kids want for things because it creates “bad self-esteem” and I had to laugh because I am thankful every day I didn’t get just want I wanted (pretty sure my husband is too). I even manage to have a fine self-esteem. Who would have thought!

Colossians 2:7

⁷ Let your roots grow down into him, and let your lives be built on him. Then your faith will grow strong in the truth you were taught, and you will overflow with thankfulness.

If you’re like me and grew up in a Christian home then this weekend comes with a certain sentiment. Easter baskets filled with candy and potentially a very large bunny stuffed animal, you’ve sang “he is risen’ on Sunday with your big pink bow, and took family portraits that always ended up with someone crying from the sugar crash that was occurring. We knew it was important, we knew it mattered, and we knew we were supposed to look our best and try not to get chocolate on our white dress (why they combined a holiday of chocolate eating with the tradition of wearing white is beyond me). It was sweet, it was a family weekend, but it never shook my world.

Its Good Friday today and as I read the verse I’ve read 100 times I pray it hits me in a new way. I pray I don’t roll by this weekend with a sense of familiarity like I have 100x before. I pray I don’t get caught up in the baking, egg hunting, and family pictures, only to forget that the death sentence that had been placed on my life was lifted. The debt I could never erase by my own striving was wiped clean.

“He was pierced for our rebellion, crushed for our sins, he was beaten so we could be made whole” (Isiah 53:5)

And yet I forget to remember. I forget to be awed because I’ve heard it before. I’ve been breathless and weepy and asked, how could you do this for me? But somehow the farther I get removed from that moment the farther I get from remembering how much I need today. It will never stop being true, I will never need less of Jesus than he gave on the cross. So why should I be moved any less? I don’t become less of a sinner any more than I become less of a human.

So let’s live in our need, live in our dependence for today and that cross and the sinless man that died on our behalf. I pray the story never becomes old or boring. I pray our memories of Good Friday won’t be like a child’s book but like a living breathing man being beaten, wounded, and killed on our behalf. We search for ways to dumb it down for our kids so they can take part in the story but what I want to tell my daughter is the utter suffering that happened on that cross represents a love like no other. I want her to get the pain because our story isn’t nearly as meaningful unless cost was really that high. Let’s not forget the gravity of today, the pain of today, and the love laced in it all. Let’s not breeze by the weekend and forget that under the candy, bunnies, and dresses is the greatest love story we will ever know.

I used to think I wanted life to be easy. I pictured my perfectly behaved kids in my pottery barn house with no problems and eating brownies a la mode in bed over a good movie (ok I did that last night). I remember thinking to myself oh wont that be magical.

Sometimes I look back at our life before kids, before chaos, before schedules and sound machines, and I think man that was easy. Or I think about college, where I never scheduled an 8AM class cause that would require a bedtime before 3AM and I liked to stay up watching friends and hanging out with my roommates (I was a real over achiever back then). I think back on those times and I say man that was so easy. Yet, I was so ready to graduate and get married and get out of college, my best friend and I have joked that if we could go back to the college version of ourselves we’d scream “slow down… you have the rest of your life to be a grown up”. Somehow though I thought marriage and babies would be like Johnson and Johnson commercials… it isn’t, it’s more like The Walking Dead. I joke… some days it really is magical and some Saturdays I smile and look at my life and wonder how on earth I got so lucky. The lie is this though in every season… the next stage will be easier.

In high school I thought it was college. In college it was college for a brief moment then it felt like marriage. In marriage I thought it was babies. In babies I think to myself that it will happen at graduation… of my last child. Life never starts being easy, we get moments of reprieve, lots of joy (if we choose it), but I don’t think this life was meant to be easy. I think it was meant to make us different, shape us more into our maker, teach us how to serve, learn to love the ordinary, and love in the greatest trails. I think God isn’t so much concerned with our ease but with our endurance and for some reason character comes in the hard times, in the tough choices, in the everyday battles. Character is built one lesson at a time.

My husband and I have been in a tough season, his work is extremely busy right now, I am pregnant and hormonal (enough said), our toddler has become…well… a toddler, and life has just been a little upside down. I am working hard to serve my family in the ways only I can which means I run my house well, put dinner on the table, and make our house the least stressful environment for my husband to walk into.  That might not sound like the picture I had in my early twenties and some days it’s not easy but its teaching me to run the race God has set before me, and to run it well, when its not glamorous and there’s no round of applause at the end. Because isn’t that the real test of our heart, how we handle life when no ones is watching or praising us.  It’s teaching me that easy isn’t what’s important. This won’t always be our life, I know a day will come when I would kill to have hungry mouths to feed and a little more chaos. For now though it is… and I can choose to rise to the occasion (generally I play eye of the tiger every day around 5pm for that extra burst of endurance (auburn fans will get it)) or I can complain. I choose to be thankful because I know I wont walk out of this season the same way I walked in.

The Christian life is a constant changing of seasons, the ebb and flow of dreams and desires, and the reality that our greatest joys in life typically come when we are serving others.  I have let go of easy because I know that’s not the goal and what a boring life it would be. Joy comes in all different ways, in all different forms, and I can’t help but wonder what would have happened if Jesus had said, “sorry God the cross is too hard… I want easy.”

Hebrews 12:1-3

And let us run with endurance the race God has set before us. 2 We do this by keeping our eyes on Jesus, the champion who initiates and perfects our faith.[a] Because of the joy[b] awaiting him, he endured the cross, disregarding its shame. Now he is seated in the place of honor beside God’s throne. 3 Think of all the hostility he endured from sinful people;[c] then you won’t become weary and give up.

We have a toddler on the cusp of talking… or so I tell myself… mostly she points at stuff she wants and says “peazzz” which I’m pretending translates to please. Or she stands next to me, mostly when I’m cooking,and says “up” no matter what she is asking the urgency is clear because if I don’t respond, ask her to wait, or say no we are in the throes of a meltdown. It’s a really fun age (sarcasm intended).  What I repeat over and over though on any given day is, “claire be patient.” Whether I’m cooking her dinner because oh yea its 6 and she does require three meals a day or she needs water or wants to swing on the swing I am constantly saying “be patient”. Now before you call CPS I love my child and we honestly have great days but as any mom can attest you can’t do a million things at once so patience is key but since she’s the first born and most people jump when she says so 😉 she hasn’t quite grasped this.

But have I? Some days I throw up my hands and wonder why she can’t understand I’m going to take care of her. Dinner will be ready (I mean it doesn’t take long to heat up a hot dog…I kid she eats better than that… most days), she will most likely get to play outside, and I will take care of whatever other needs she has. I won’t give in to her every wants because I’m her mom and I love her more than that but she will always be clothed, fed, and loved.

I won’t lie becoming a parent has revealed a lot more about myself than I’d care to admit on paper and as I impatiently tell my child to be patient I wonder if I’m being asked the same thing. Be patient in trials, hardship, struggling, questioning, and sometimes just downright pain because the God who loves me will always take care of me. I’ve never been great at the patient thing… in fact someone I worked with when I was publishing said “there’s no dreaming with Tindell there is only doing”. My motto tends to be why wait when you can do it now…. Like right now. However sometimes we are simply called to wait, wait in the unknown and trust that we will be taken care of.

I got to talk to a young girl who recently became a believer… she’s in a hard time. Walking away from a life into the plans God has for you isn’t always easy, in fact its hard and it takes well… patience. I told her it was going to suck (yes I said suck in church) because it did for me but I said what God has for her is worth waiting on and he shows up in our waiting. He shows up in our patience and provides just what we need when we need it. Sometimes we are waiting on friends, a spouse, a job, or just life to get better and the best thing I have learned to do it trust that in the waiting we have his company and its always worth it.

2 Corinthians 4:8-9

8 We are pressed on every side by troubles, but we are not crushed. We are perplexed, but not driven to despair. ⁹ We are hunted down, but never abandoned by God. We get knocked down, but we are not destroyed.

I’m what my husband affectionately or maybe not so much depending on the day, calls a “sharer”. Not in “you can have half of my pizza” kind of way but in the sense that if I find a book I love, a recipe that I thought was just amazing and yet easy, or even a shampoo that made my hair extra soft at a reasonable price you’re going to know about it. I almost feel bad for my close girlfriends, because while my husband loves me, he’s had to remind me that it’s frowned upon in important business meetings when your phone keeps buzzing with a second by second synopsis of your spouse’s day. This leaves my friends to hear about the amazing adventures of my crazy stay at home mom life that sounds something like “oh my gosh did you know cheerios are buy one get one free at Kroger and 2T pjs are on sale for 2$ at target (insert pic of pjs here)”. It’s a wild ride.

In all seriousness though this quality has served me well in SOME areas of my life, if I believe in something it makes me come alive even if to others it might seem mundane I can get as passionate about a great sale as I can about a sermon that changed the way I looked at life. As my husband will tell you there’s no distinguishing between passions, it’s just a oh my gosh kind of all caps experience. However heaven help the people left in the wake of an argument with me about something that I really believe in. It can be bad. I’m talking apology flowers to follow the outpouring of words that should not have come out of my mouth.

Luckily I’ve grown… because I’ve been married for almost five years, said words to family members I wish I could take back, spent a solid year in Christian counseling, and have a toddler that is currently a sponge and soaking up everything I say. I have adapted quite a bit and come to realize that while I have opinions that I hold so close to my heart about life, especially my faith and Jesus, what I also hold close to my heart is people. I believed God when he told me to love others so that means I must hold back and fight through the urge to speak even though as I told ben the other night “keeping in my opinions to myself makes me want to vomit” (did I mention I am also a tad over dramatic).

We live in a world of opinions but a world very devoid of unconditional love and what others need to see in me is not another set of opinions but a God who looks at them and says “Come to me I love you just as you are”.  I have learned that what I value over my opinions is my relationships and while my opinions can shut down others in a moment my love for them opens up doors to have discussions we might have never had before. Love does cover a multitude of sins, you know why? Because it looks at another person and says, it’s not about what you believe, what you’ve done, or where you stand on political issues, it’s about a God who sent his son to die for YOU and ME.