My Ian is his own best friend and can spend hours building lego pirate ships without even considering that he’s alone. If I’m sitting near him, his mouth rattles on the entire time, and mostly it’s nonsense story-telling, “Mama? What if a dragon and a opossum became friends and knocked on our door and asked for peanut butter and jelly? Wouldn’t that be funny? And we could cut their hairs and play hide and seek and …” It never stops, and to tune into his world helps me see how his brain spats about, how it bounces around while his hands work. I often respond, with a yeah here and there, but the truth is that I don’t listen to him very much at all.

He has always been so patient to ask again and again for a drink. He never loses his temper when I tune him out; in fact, he’s not ever bothered by much at all. Once he mentioned that his ear hurt, and then 45 minutes later, blood was draining from his ear! He’s tough, and I’ve come to believe that he could be covered in mud for days and not mind it at all.

A few nights ago I engaged myself in a tale spin until 2:30 AM. I lay as still as I could muster, trying to sleep, but I played through the list, how precious are Ian’s big brown eyes, and what a big man he’s going to be one day; how I want to stop and listen to him, just for once; how I should have have had the house clean when Seth got home from work; and how I’m so hard on my oldest, even though he’s so good and bright. Finally I called myself negligent, the mother/wife-guilt threatening to swallow me whole. If I come out of this study of chains, if I come out free, I’ll most certainly have a limp.

My girlfriends yesterday said that we were never told to serve anyone but Jesus, and that really was news to me. I second-guessed it for hours. Am I not to serve my husband and my children, my community and the poor? I divide my life into who I can give it to, thinking this is my service, what makes me look like Jesus, a good girl. Really the command is simpler than that.

She sent this verse to me in a text, and I read it again and again. Then Ian asks for a drink. Grab the cup in servitude to the One who abides in the deep room of my heart, and I fill the cup with water and gladness. I feel love swell toward my child in this way, and I mother forward and give instructions to clean off the table, but he doesn’t listen because he’s talking. I see the metaphor, how I need to listen more, how well I am loved.

I am not a prisoner of my children. They do not keep me in chains and bark at me for drinks as my masters. I am a prisoner of Christ. I am His alone. Knowing who I am, my Christ-Esteem, it opens my ears and my hands to love those around me. It pours me thick with joy. I can hear when I’m listening to that One voice.

Shirk the Mother Guilt. Take off that chain, oozing with such restless lies. Freedom is in serving Christ alone.

There’s a freedom I hear about that I just don’t always recognize in my life. I long to be free so much that maybe I’ve built a habit of feigning it. I would love it if you would like to join me in exploring this path to true freedom, A Study of Chains in 31 Days. You can follow along on Facebook or subscribe to these posts by email or in a reader. {Thank you so much, by the way, for walking with me.} Are you ready to shirk these chains?