What I Do And Don’t Know About Motherhood

When my husband and I were talking about becoming parents, man, were we clueless. Especially me, I was the clueless one.  Bryan has always been more of a practical realist; me–I’m more of a dreamer.  I tend to get lost in thought, stare out windows, go way deeper into conversations than people really wanted to.

I’ve learned so much since the quest of motherhood began–mostly that things are never going to go the way that I expect them to go.  That motherhood is full of profound, disgusting, heart-melting, terrifying, glorious, silly, unpredictable surprises.  Beginning with two miscarriages, then two healthy births of two beautiful girls on opposite sides of the country, to an overseas move, to expat life and pregnancy and yet another miscarriage in Europe, to the birth of my baby boy, to a visit to the American Embassy to get his citizenship requirements in the middle of a winter storm when he was ten days old, to another overseas move from hell with a four year old, three year old and ten month old, to staying in two AirBnBs before moving into a house, to beginning kindergarten and first grade….whew, it’s been a hectic eight years.  Eight years since our first attempts at becoming parents!

Somewhere during that pregnancy with Vivienne, our oldest, I decided that I was against pregnancy books–except for the baby development week to week.  The reason was because I was already recovering from fear and anxiety left over from losing two babies in a row before her, and all I found when I read these pregnancy books was more fear, more “what ifs,” and illogical, crippling reasons to suspect that something was wrong with my perfectly formed and developing baby girl.  I decided to trust God because that was the take-away lesson that He’d taught me through my miscarriages anyway.  There was nothing I could do to prevent them, nothing I could do to change what was happening to me, and worry and fear would do nothing but steal the joy I was experiencing during my pregnancy as I felt my baby grow and move inside me.

This aversion to asking for and giving advice as a mom has carried over into my years of mothering infants, toddlers, preschoolers and now elementary-aged children.  There are not many people that I will ask for advice.  Sometimes I ask my own mother because she knows me, she’s completed her journey of motherhood successfully and I know she doesn’t judge me.  Sometimes I ask my sister, and of course, I ask my husband what he thinks.

But mostly I pray, I ask God for help and watch for His answers, His way of leading.  I’m not saying that I’m always a great listener, but I try.  I try this tactic or that one and see which yields success.  You see, each of my children is different and the same approach does not always work for each one in every scenario.  Their moods, likes, dislikes, feelings and fears change around the clock, and if my OWN children are so diverse in their personalities, how in the world can I offer advice to other moms on what they should do when their child won’t eat this, has an allergy to that, doesn’t sleep through the night or has extreme separation anxiety?  Occasionally other women will ask me for advice, but I really do my best to frame my answer as, “this is what we tried” not as “you should do this.”  The word “should” is one I don’t think is good for most moms to hear–it usually brings a lot of guilt.

Another reason that I don’t give a lot of mothering advice is because there is so much I don’t know, and so much that just doesn’t interest me.  I do not care about eating organic food.  I do not craft.  I don’t know how to sew, although I “should.” I don’t garden.  I am not a huge fan of Disney-related stuff.  I don’t send my kids to preschool.  So basically, if you want to know about kale recipes, DIY Halloween costumes, how to grow fist-sized tomatoes, where to get the best Disney passes (I don’t even know if that’s the right way to say that), which preschools in the area are the highest rated, I am not your girl.  I’m aware of the areas where I lack knowledge or skill.

What I do know as a mom is that these years go by so quickly.  I do know that it’s okay to tell your children that you don’t have all the answers to their questions.  I do know that it’s okay to cry and be real in front of them.  It’s okay if you yell and lose your patience, as long as you’re willing and ready to say that you were wrong, ask for their forgiveness and follow it up with a big hug and a heart-felt “I love you,” and try, really try, to do better next time.  I do know that your kids think you are so much more wonderful than you believe or imagine.  I do know that they think you are wicked smart.  I do know that it’s okay to lock your self in your room and cry out to God.  I do know that it’s okay to tell them “no” or “not right now.”  I do know that going for a walk with them, playing “doggies” with them as my kids love to do, or eating popsicles with them on the front porch will make just as big of an impression on their little hearts as a day at Disney World.  I do know that they love the sound of your voice and the feel of your arms.  I know they think that you are an incredible artist.  I know they think you’re pretty.  I know they love to dance with you.  I do know that you’re tired and your brain feels short-circuited, but if you take the time to answer their questions honestly, you have a chance to impact their lives forever.

I know motherhood is probably not exactly what you had in mind.  I know that there are moments that you wish that you could stay in bed, or go on vacation, or be able to finish a mediocre blog-post without a pint-sized person crawling into your lap.  (I know that if you are afforded the opportunity to do any of these things, you actually really miss your kids after a while and just want to go home.)  And when you start to feel guilty about having these escape fantasies, don’t buy into the lie that a “better” mom wouldn’t want to get away.  Instead, recognize that you love your kids enough to care!  That hesitation/elation that you have over an opportunity to go somewhere without your kids (the supermarket, a hotel, the dentist!) is a sign of a devoted and caring mother who is working hard and doing her best.  Accept the things that you DO know about being a mother, the things that have served you and your family well.  Capitalize on your strengths and the knowledge that you have that works.  (Preaching to a one-woman choir here ladies.  Sometimes we ALL need a talk.)

And never forget that there’s One who knows YOU.  When other advice fails, when you’re on your fourth round of trial-and-error, remember that He has limitless patience and all the right answers.  Sometimes we just have to ask the right person.  And put on some make-up–that always makes me feel better. 😉

 

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Godliness Over Girl-Power: Setting Priorities of Identity

Last night I went to see Wonder Woman with a girl-friend.  To be honest, I’m not really into superhero movies, and especially not ones with a female lead because they are usually even more far-fetched than superhero films with male leads.  But I must admit I was pleasantly surprised by this film.  Yes, Wonder Woman was strong, and fast, and GORGEOUS–deflecting bullets with her wrist-guards, leaping hundreds of feet in the air and flattening villains with her supernatural power.  But there were things she was NOT, which are worth mentioning.  She was not selfish.  She was not vengeful.  She was not easily discouraged or offended.  She was not a man-hater.  She was not prideful.

It was intentional for the story of Diana Prince (a.k.a. Wonder Woman) to be set during the 1920s when the War was amping up and women’s suffrage was a controversial issue. To see Diana in her tiny uniform barely hidden by her cloak, taking advice from corseted secretaries in their prim-and-proper dresses with buttons to their throats was quite ironic and comical.  But as I watched the interaction between the two primary female characters: one a dowdy receptionist and one a beautiful, warrior goddess, I found myself becoming grateful.  I’m grateful to be able to celebrate the freedom as a Western woman who benefits from the battles won for women throughout the 20th century.  But I’m most grateful that my worth as a woman does not come from what I can earn.

I know that I can celebrate my femininity because God gave it to me.  In some way, I am able to image Him.  This gives me meaning as a woman, and the fact that His son rescued me from sin and gave me new life gives me freedom.  It’s an ultimate freedom that has already been won and need not be proven by marches, by protests, by wearing my female-ness as a prideful badge.

Everywhere I look, there’s a groundswell of women on a mission to prove themselves. There’s an idolatry of gender that offends more often than it helps, alienates more often than it unifies, and embarrasses more often than it encourages.  And for Christian women, this is especially dangerous because the risk is that we begin to hold our cause higher than the cause of Christ.  Do we want to be seen first as women or as children of God?  If our goal is to have equal treatment, then we would be best served by remembering these words:

Galations 3:28, There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.

I’m not saying that we shouldn’t fight for women who are marginalized or oppressed. There are women all over the world who are raped, enslaved, mutilated, ignored, abused, and mistreated in a number of ways.  These are real problems.  This is true inequality.  What I am saying is that as a Western, Christian woman, my goal is to be grateful for what I already have and to look for opportunities to glorify God in this body and in the feminine way that celebrates His goodness, not to complain that my life is different from a man’s.

The cause of Jesus Christ is my banner, my march.

Wonder Woman showed some Christlike characteristics: grace, generosity, a recognition of who she was, not what she didn’t have, perseverance, hope, LOVE.  In these ways, she is certainly a superhero that my daughters and I can admire.  But she is also fictional. There are real women who have made a mark on history, on the world, women who were heroic in their faith and strength–Hannah, Ruth, Mary, Priscilla, Elizabeth, Esther.

Theirs were voices of peace.  Theirs were hearts of love.  Theirs were hands of strength. Theirs were spiritual battles of heaven and earth, which they won without picking up a megaphone or a sword.

May we be women of faith, strength and gratitude.

 

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Help Me Hear You: Listening for the Sound That Matters

My days are filled with sound.  The sound of birds chirping, as melodic as they are, starts far too early in the morning these days, rousing my three children under seven from their sleep.  The sound of their footfalls on the stairs as they try to sneak out of their rooms before their toddler clocks flash green disturbs my morning quiet date with my Bible and hot coffee.  The sound of my name, no not Adrienne, that other name, Mommy, plays on repeat all day.  The serious sound of my husband’s voice on conference calls makes me grateful for his dedication and provision, while the sound of his silliness with our children makes me proud that he’s my partner in this parenting adventure.  Then there’s the hum of the washing machine, the clicking of water through pipes, the chiming of my Apple Watch reminding me that it’s time to breathe, traffic, other people’s conversations at the supermarket—it goes on and on.

What I don’t realize about all these sounds, sometimes until it’s too late, is that they draw my attention to the immediate and pull it away from the eternal.  Before long I’m starting to focus on the tasks that are directly under my control, simple goals that I can meet on my own that don’t seem to be a big deal.  However, there are so many days when I step back and look at the hill of small things in front of me that I’ve built single-handedly by listening to my own voice saying, “you can do this.”  At times, I become overwhelmed and frustrated because I’ve piled too many things atop one another and it’s very difficult to see the priorities, to sort through pile without it toppling over at my feet.

It’s in these moments that I must fall on my knees before this mountain of minutiae and surrender it.  I must acknowledge that I allowed the noise of my life to drown out the One voice that wants to direct me, to guide me, to fill me with peace and joy and empathy.  I must confess that all the noise has trained my ears to listen to a selfish voice instead of one that would speak love into and through me.

The word resonate means to produce or be filled with a deep, reverberating sound.  This speaks to me of my deep desire be filled of the Holy Spirit—to know His voice so well that it shouts louder than any other sound in my environment, as precious as those sounds may be.  I want THAT voice to reverberate in my mind so that I can accept or release challenges and tasks with confidence.  I want that filling to consume me so that I don’t listen to lies that tend to produce guilt because I should be doing this or that.  I want no distractions from what God’s voice is calling me to.

Jesus spoke of the Holy Spirit in John 14, calling Him Counselor and the Spirit of Truth.  Lies confuse us, they shackle us to expectations and standards that we were never designed to meet.  They create division.  Jesus said the truth would set us free.  So then as our Counselor, the voice of the Holy Spirit can fill us with truth and confidence in our mission as women called to love and represent Jesus in our communities and homes, not in a forced and tired way, but in a joyful and empowered way.

So, my prayer is, help me hear You, Lord.  Resonate amidst my busy noise.  Help me to recognize Your tones, Your words, Your truth.  From the eager sound of chirping birds to the rhythmic sound of my husband’s snoring at night, call me back to your side so that I can be restored and reminded of Your good plans for me.  Let my head be filled Your deep, reverberating sound.