On treadmills and mothering...

I have a love/hate relationship with my treadmill. I dread it every day until the time is over, and yet I am still so thankful that I can exercise in spite of the weather and without leaving my children. When I'm on my treadmill, I read. I think about a lot of things. And sometimes I don't think at all.

Some days there are so many thoughts swirling around my mind that I end up with a frothy mess that I can't make any sense of. I am confused, and I begin to doubt myself.

Am I normal?
What is normal anyway?
And do I really want to be normal -- if there is a normal?

Sometimes I feel alone in my failures.
Motherhood can be hard.

When I tie my sneakers and step on that treadmill, I hesitate a second before I press the green button. Am I ready for this? Do I really want to do this?
Do you ever wake up in the morning and wonder how you will get through the day?

As I'm warming up, my body protests. The first few minutes seem to be the hardest until my muscles loosen up and I pick up the rhythm.
Breakfast, chores, dealing with those who are not naturally a morning person, setting the mood through my own attitude. Some days don't begin as smoothly as others.

Five minutes into my routine, I speed it up and break into a one-minute run. By the time I slow to a walk again, my heart rate is up and my mind is beginning to clear. My large-print Bible is set up on the rack in front of me and I begin to read. Sometimes I can get through 20 chapters in my allotted time; at others, I read only two. A truth jumps out at me and I take time to meditate and pray for understanding.
Some days my mental energy is high and the ideas flow. A lot of planning and problem-solving is accomplished; on other days, I just move from one thing to another and it's only the daily routine that gets me through.

Depending on how much sleep I've had, how well I've eaten, and just my overall well-being that day, I can force myself through each step or I can move rapidly with a sense of freedom. Sometimes I run out of steam early on and sometimes I feel like I could go on and on. I can remember being eight months pregnant and thankful that I could get as high as 2.7 mph; today I was walking comfortably at 4.0.
Pregnancy, a newborn, a nursing baby, a sick child, a late night... so many things determine my fluctuating energy levels. Some days I can conquer the world (or the house), some days I'm ready to take on a trip to the park with all the kids, and some days, I need the wisdom to be content with just laying low - and resisting the guilt that always threatens to accompany that decision.

As I pressed the button today to speed up the treadmill and once again felt the fear of falling flow through me (I think that's the result of spending so many years off-balance with a big baby belly), my eyes lit on this verse and I saw the humor in the analogy: "Thou hast enlarged my steps under me, that my feet did not slip." (Ps. 18:36)
The verse right before that says, "...thy gentleness hath made me great." So often I am referred to as "Supermom" when people hear that I have eleven children, but there are many days when I feel the furthest thing from super. I am so thankful for God's gentleness with me as I learn to be more selfless every day. It is only His strength that has kept me from "slipping."

I can look to the right and see my reflection in the closet mirror as I walk. It's not pretty. I am reminded to pull my shoulders back and tuck my tummy back in. And yet I can see some improvements as a result of my efforts. I am encouraged to walk faster. To keep on...
As I look into my children's faces, I am encouraged to keep on investing in their lives each day. It's not pretty to see my failures reflected in my children, or to watch them choose the easy way over the right way at times. And yet, I see improvements. I see growth and love and joy and it spurs me on...

What makes me keep at it? Why do I dread it every day until it's over and then I'm glad I did it? Because I know it's good for me, but more than that, it's good for those I love. I am pleasing my husband, I am keeping myself in better health for my family, I am taking care of the body that God gave me so that I can serve Him better with it. And I have a vision of myself when I get back in shape again.
Vision. The vision of my children grown into adulthood, loving God, serving people, being happily married to the one God created for them, raising their own children to succeed. That is motivation enough alone, but then there are the daily gifts that God, in His graciousness, allows me to enjoy. The hugs and kisses and "I love you, Mommy," the laughter and kindnesses shown, the simple pleasures shared...

The cooling breezes waft through the open door beside me, taking my mind off the tedium of lifting one foot in front of the other and bringing relief to my sweaty brow.
The simple pleasures are the cooling breezes that make every effort required by a mother so worthwhile.

And then as I reach the end of my goal for the day, and I've taken the last few minutes to slow down a bit and begin to catch my breath again, I hit the red button and I am filled with a sense of satisfaction. I finished. My mind is settled. I feel good.
Every night around 8:30, and especially on those nights when Daddy isn't home yet, I am worn out. I can't wait for 9:00 to come so the children can go to bed. I have given my all and I am tired. And then they are all tucked in with a kiss and an "I love you" for each, and another day is done. I am satisfied. The doubts disappear with the demands of the day, and I feel good.

I love being a mother.

"Let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which doth so easily beset us, and let us run with patience the race that is set before us, looking unto Jesus the author and finisher of our faith..." (Hebrews 12:1,2)