A few years ago I was reflecting on motherhood. Or more
accurately my own mothering. It was painful as I faced the reality of my
less-than-perfect attempts to raise three sons. I knew they carried the wounds
and scars of my humanity and I prayed they would navigate life in such a way to
find healing through the mercy and grace of God as I had. I promised myself
that if they ever were in town together on Mother’s Day, I would take THEM out
for dinner to celebrate the fact they survived my motherhood.
My three sons. My amazing, gifted, loving three sons. Now
they are all married to strong, gifted, incredible women and they are raising
their own children with the grace and mercy I wished I had displayed more often
as a young mother.
I am deeply grateful. I am humbled. I am awed by God’s gift
of my family.
But it was not always how I felt many years ago when I had
no clue what being a mother meant. As a young teen my babysitting career ended
after my first job. I had fallen asleep after the kids were in bed and the unreasonable
parents were furious with me. I never babysat again. Nor did I ever volunteer
in a church’s nursery or children’s department.
I never had dreams of being of a mother.
Until I woke up with three sons under the age of 3.
Literally woke up. Three C-sections in three years. Their arrivals were not
quite part of my overall plan. My plan was to build our home, pay off the
mortgage and then start a family.
Instead we moved into our unfinished house a couple of weeks
before our first son was born. The boys were teenagers before the last detail
of the house was completed. And they were out of the house and married before
we made our last mortgage payment.
Nothing worked out the way I had planned. Of course in
hindsight everything worked out much better. However it involved living what seemed
at times to be a bad dream.
The first five years of surviving babies are a blur in my
memory bank (I didn’t have a single full night’s sleep during those years). The
toddler-preschool stage was a nightmare because the boys were out of control,
or more accurately, I was out of control. Then God called me to homeschool them
through junior high. (Seriously God?!) It was really rough when they entered
high school.
Thankfully God gave me a husband who was one of 12 children.
He knew how to change diapers, loved playing and wrestling with the boys,
taught them how to drive and basically, stayed calm while I nearly went insane.
But then an amazing thing happened as each left home. I
began to have hope that indeed we would all survive my motherhood. And we did.
For all the potholes I describe above there were more often stretches
of laughter at funny antics, adventures on camping trips, evenings of family
devotions and Jon’s storytelling, celebrations of achievements and many other
moments of togetherness.
I look back in awe of God’s wisdom and mercy. The road
through motherhood was pretty rough for me but it shaped me in profound ways.
I have been transformed through motherhood, even “saved.” Being
a mother has taught me more about God than any other life experience and has
been the most powerful context for “working out my salvation” (Philippians
2:12).
I think I get a sense of what the Apostle Paul means in 1
Timothy 2:15, one of the most perplexing verses in the Bible for women.
But women will be saved through childbearing—if they continue in faith, love and holiness with propriety.
When my third son was born I was in a spiritual pit, not
sure whether I was still a Christian or if God existed. A motherhood crisis was
coinciding with a faith crisis. It turned out that as I struggled to respond to
the cries of my babies, God responded to the cries of my heart. And he saved
me. He met me in the pit and restored faith.
Since the years that followed my faith rebirth, I read my
own story into that verse and I see how childbearing has helped save me from
myself. My anger. My efforts to control my life and others. My selfishness. My
discontent. Childbearing helped me to find my heart and it led my heart straight
to Christ who mothered me through motherhood.
I know that Mother’s Day is a day for children to celebrate
their mothers. Some can do this more than others. Many have mothers who were
absent or inflicted great damage. Others have no children with whom to
celebrate. But we all have a perfect Father who is also a perfect Mother, One who
answers our cries, nourishes our souls and walks us through life. Where I have failed as a mother, God will be to my children.
Happy Mother’s Day, God.
Lovely, Harriet. I delight in the personal and very deep meaning you have infused into I Tim 2:15.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful! I saw your incredible mothering through homeschooling, and am so grateful for showing me how to do it, and letting our girls benefit from your wonderful science teaching. In my eyes, you were an example to follow!
ReplyDeleteI really loved reading this. I trully believe being a mother is the hardest job on earth and as I will soon become one it is a little scary. I think you are a loving and amazing mother.
ReplyDeleteIncisive observations.
ReplyDeleteBecause it took both male and female together to reflect the image of God, we know that the fullness of God's being FAR MORE THAN encompasses [what we tend to label as] "male" as well as [what we think of as] "female". He is neither male nor female, but both. So in a very real sense, He is our heavenly Mother as well as our heavenly Father. He is not limited merely to traits we tend to consider 'male'.
Hello, Harriet!
ReplyDeleteCame here after reading your post at Ed's blog. Not only are our stories similar (mine is scheduled for late July) -- I also have three boys. Particularly, I am happy to see another "mature" face. :-) Would welcome the opportunity to connect with you -- I live just across the river in Vancouver.
Be blessed, sister.
Yes, let's do connect! Email me at harrietcongdon@gmail.com. I'd love to meet you!
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