I wake up and trudge downstairs. He knows to envelop me at first sight. I fall into it…let him fill in my fatigue with all his strength. Morning. Another morning. I can’t help but joke, “I thought motherhood would be easy. I thought it meant sleeping in until 9:30.” We look at each other and just chuckle. When was the last time I slept in? My body doesn’t even know how to do that anymore. It was naïve maybe, but it’s true-I thought motherhood would be simple. Uncomplicated. How hard could it be to love little pieces of yourself unconditionally?
Fast forward about fifteen years or so. Motherhood…it’s messy. It’s the three dirty bums I’ve wiped before 8 am. It’s holding off going bathroom myself so I can make sure to kiss the kids goodbye. It’s finally making it to the bathroom just to pee with a baby on my lap as the two-year old stares up at me wondering when I’ll be done. It’s the annoyance I feel when they constantly interrupt my shower. It’s tripping over toys and going through laundry. It has been the late-night emergency visits and the worry over sick kids. It’s waking up with that baby in the middle of the night, thinking I’ll never be human again. It’s the time I yelled at my boy for pooping on the ground when he was old enough to make it to the toilet…that time the dog was shaking by the door because I lost it so deeply. That time I should have realized he was sick with diarrhea, but I decided to spew out the inconvenience on him instead. Motherhood was the time I time I shouted hard at my wild thing for intentionally spilling thousands of perler beads on the ground instead of bending down with her and asking God for grace. Doesn’t she know how hard it is to pick those things up?!?! It was the time I left the house after supper with no explanation and just drove around, wondering if the twists and turns would spin me in the right direction…because this thing called motherhood is a little more complicated than I thought. It’s all those times I punished when I needed to pray. Those times I cried out at my kids instead of crying out to God. It’s been the times I have said no when I should have said yes, and the times I caved when I should have stood firm. It’s the games I should have played, the books I skipped, and the devotions I needed to read. It’s the sifting through homework assignments, remembering (and forgetting) to go over their catechism. It’s been striving intensely to guard the marriage God has given me so that they see a reflection of something beautiful. Knowing that one the best things I can do for them is to prioritize their father…how many times have I failed there? It’s the times I refused to forgive like God would. It’s every time I cared more about me than them.
I ask them, those oldest three of mine-what does being a mom mean? Like maybe if I ask them, they will help me figure it out. My smaller ones tell me, “You clean up our messes. You make us food. You do LOTS of dishes. And you change loads of stinky diapers (insert giggles). And you drink coffee.” (of course the mention the coffee…am I just a mess of a mom who sits and drinks her coffee in a wanted silence?) I try and see myself through their eyes. I wonder if they catch sight of a frantic woman, constantly running in circles, steering a ship that is hardly staying afloat. If they see my short temper come loose when the house is a falling apart, when the supper isn’t being eaten, when the bickering begins yet again. I wonder if they see all the shortcomings Satan is repeatedly throwing in my face. Failure wraps me in tight embrace. And then her words shower down on one me, “You love us.” I halt. All my emotions, what ifs, remembrances, they are all plowed over with those three words. I breathe in, let it flow out, “I do love you guys. I don’t always do it right. Sometimes…a lot of the time… Mom does things wrong…but you are right, I DO love you.” And then she rains down more healing words, touching the hidden places of my heart, “But you always say sorry. You always pray…and I can’t wait to be a mom just like you.” I want to tell her to slow down. That it will come soon enough. That it wasn’t as easy as I thought. That “Mom” shifted from mostly exciting, to mostly terrifying in the blink of an eye. That the more children God adds, the further I seem to slip into the unknown. But I see it again-these little lambs look over the failures. Their eyes are open to something I am often blinded too. They glimpse pieces of grace where I only feel defeat collapsing down on me. They have just strewn before me a laying down of self in the meal making, the holding, the diaper changing, the listening, the leading. All those “things” that seem insignificant but make up the big picture. They are telling me that love is sacrifice. They are showing me that love is really love when we love the un-loveable. That forgiveness is when we don’t deserve it, but we bestow is anyways. How often don’t they do this for me? They are showing me Christ. How do they seem to know more of love and sacrifice than me? They are little, but they teach me so much.
They do that a lot, these kids of mine. They refine and reorientate me. And isn’t that what motherhood is all about? It’s not about me and all sacrifice I make. It’s not even about them and everything they do to make me “mom.” It’s about God…the Father who gathers us into His bosom. The One who gently leads those that are with young. It’s about the One who sacrificed His only Son. And what greater sacrifice is there? This Father so loved me-an outcast, a nothing, an orphan…that He freely gave me His real and only Son. His perfect Son. He wounded His Son to cover all my wounds. All my failures. All those shortcomings that ring in my ear when I see my defects as mother. He gave to make me His true blood bought child. What love is this?!?! What joy is mine. Every sacrifice I make is seemingly small in comparison to this love of His. And motherhood? He knew. He knew it would expose me. That it would give light to the shadowed places within me. That it would unmask pain and reveal my pride. He knew it would leave me feeling bare-just where I needed to feel in order to know I am made whole. He knew this calling of “being saved in child-bearing” was just what I needed to draw me close to Him. So motherhood? Ya, it’s messy. It’s humbling. It’s hard. I’ve seen that my sin has bred sin. I’m a wounded woman raising those who wound. But God is the Shepherd, holding my hand as I strive to tend to His little sheep. Teaching me that it’s not that I’m not going to get it wrong, but it’s what He works in me to do with it afterwards that matters. It’s about sharing our broken places and taking joy in those opportunities as we can see the depths of Christ’s love for us in His brokenness on the cross. It’s about learning and loving, leading and leaning, by His grace. It’s the raw experience of “I can’t do this,” and then seeing Him shape me into someone who by His grace, can. It’s the gospel every single day. And motherhood…I wouldn’t change the refining way with ruddy places for anything in the world. It’s only shown me more of Father.
I am ready to collapse my bone-tired body on bed of blankets. Hesitation circles me from behind. Tomorrow isn’t promised. See them now. I breathe quietly as to not wake their resting souls. I see her, first-born girl who made me "Mom." She came brown-eyed and beautiful, dependent on me who was all 19 years of child myself. She gave birth to a newness in me, and we have walked our first steps together. Limbs hang-gangly yet maturing. She’s older than I remember. But is anyone too old to be kissed in the wee hours of the night by mother? I press my lips to her forehead. Whisper my I love you to her heart. Maybe she will catch it in her dreams. She mutters in her sleep. I scurry away to next child of mine. Three and four-year-old girls are embedded with books. Pages cover their tiny frames. They fell asleep entrenched in stories of another world. They are at peace, strawberry blonde hair that matches mine delicately strewn over faces. One has shoes on. Another a head band. They are princesses of the night, and I wonder where their fantasies are taking them. Tomorrow I will find out. Baby slumbers deep. Stay that way my delightful one. Tomorrows joy will be draining. I make my way back downstairs to the boy. My boy. The one who carries our name. The one who is learning how to treat a woman by the way he reveres his mom. There was no room for him on my lap at supper. There were three smaller who moved in his place. But he’s only six. And he held my arm as I felt swallowed up with smallness. I wanted space, yet he moved closer still, resting his boyhood on my shoulder. And he said, “But I love you.” Come closer wee one. Today you are six and soon you won’t want me so near. I cover his bare chest with blanket. When did he realize sleeping like that, like his Dad, was the thing to do? When did he go from crying babe to missing tooth child? My boy who needs light when sleeping, who needs noise surrounding him to put him to rest. Because he just doesn’t like feeling alone. You are not alone, son. I brush my kiss upon his head. I try to catch it. All of this moment. All of this love overflowing. But it’s not staying. They are all growing older, moving away from me slowly but surely. Stay little, little ones. I whisper it…Thank You God for Motherhood. I am beat, but I am brimming. I fail, but You are helping me flourish. I am a sinner, but I am saved. I rest my head on pillow of prayers, hopeful with a new tomorrow. Maybe tonight, my strawberry ringlets will trace the curves of my face the way it does theirs. Maybe my expectations will rest on me delicately as He gathers me to rest in His fierce Fatherly love.
Dear fellow moms...It’s Mother’s Day. And I see you. It’s true-I didn’t know how it would go for all of us. But I’m glad I didn’t. It would have been too wonderful to comprehend. I see that it’s hard and unknown, and a little scary at times. It’s like for one split second, everything seemed safe when that sweet baby was caught by the doctor’s strong hands. Then they handed her to you wailing at the top of her lungs. And ever since it’s been a constant laboring and travailing. I know you’re tired and maybe you feel like you are in the trenches. Maybe you were naïve like I was. Maybe if you had known, you would have been tempted to say, “Not this way Lord. I’m staying away from this calling. It’s too demanding and revealing. I’m not enough for this path.” I see that it’s more real than what Facebook and Instagram paints it to be. It’s not just smiles and penny pony rides at Meijer. It’s more than park days and homemade cookies. It’s more than getting them through drivers training and college. It’s more than making sure they have the right friends so they turn out. I see that it’s a bit of falling apart as God fits it all together for His glory. I’m walking it with you. Thank you for mothering alongside me. And I pray for you. For you to know that His compassion is as great as His new morning mercies. I pray you know that as you are holding your babies, your teens, your grown children, that God is carrying you in the palm of His hand. And this way He is leading you? It’s a sacrificing way that shows you more of His sacrifice. Lean on Him…He already has you. Read it again…Father Has you dear mother. And He won’t let go of you, His child. Yes, doubtless He is your Father (Isaiah 63:16).
A Mother’s Prayer
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hoy74orJu10
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