An Accidental Mama

I'm an accidental mama, I had no plans of motherhood. Content in my skin, loving marriage, figuring out life; I was surprised by motherhood.

Not My Call

I don't live for my kids. I made room for them. But they don't define me. I don't relate to mothers who declare they were born to be have babies, that it's all they ever wanted. I can't taste it, don't trust it.

I worry about mothers who say their children are their lives. From my own experience I know the gaping wound that's left behind when a child grows up, claims their life for their own and leaves you. The bitter taste on the tongue of the heartbroken mama and the frustrated young adult. When I left home, I watched the slow bleed in my own mother's heart until Jesus healed it and gave her a new and right passion, himself. 

Some days I look at my children and wonder how I got here, covered in peanut butter and washing mounds of laundry. How did I become the mommy, where did my youth go? I don't resent it, most days. But I marvel at the fast moving pace of time and it's slippery march onward.

I don't live for my kids. I live for Jesus. But I do love them. I wasn't born to be their mother, they were born to make me one. And I'm thankful, because nothing has shaped this selfish heart with compassion, like motherhood has.

I'm amazed to see their little personalities and opinions emerging; unique, wonderful. I see God so clearly calling, drawing, loving. It makes me fall in love with him all over again, the way he loves my babies even more than I do.

My Calling

I don't understand motherhood as a calling. Perhaps it is and I just missed the memo. But I do know it's a privilege, and my responsibility, to usher these little lives into their own faith, their own place in God's family.

No, waking up to referee fights, cook another meal, read another book, make another bed doesn't set my heart racing with purpose and passion. Being a voice for the broken, mentoring women, praying bold prayers of faith, taking a risk for the gospel, pounding out words that bleed grace; that makes me whoop and holler!

I know who I was made to be, a voice, an advocate for truth. Being a mama is a tool God is using in my life to refine me, to remind me he knows what we need better than we do, to put a magnifying glass on the way of grace. I'm not at the place in my life where I can say motherhood is a calling. It's a refining, a breaking, a rebirthing.

The beauty is that if you see motherhood as your calling, a divine purpose for your life, or if  like me you don't, God still has grace for us all. Our end goal can be the same, children rooted in the love of Jesus, growing in faith. Our source of strength and help is the same, Jesus' mercy and power for this day. This moment. Mercy for now, mercy for each other.

Is motherhood your calling? Or are you more like me, pursuing your calling in the midst of motherhood?

Holding My Child For The First Time

Newborn Maggie

I'm linking up with Ellen for her writing prompt; Holding My Child For The First Time. How many of you parents remember holding your child for the first time? I have no doubt most of you moms have a flood of memories, emotions, and images immediately. That first moment, when a child and motherhood are birthed entwined, is a pivotal one. I remember details of that moment from eight and then four years ago that defy explanation; sounds, smells, colors, sensations, numbers, emotions, conversations. Some of you remember those details from decades ago, it's amazing.

I remember the pouring out being more like falling in love than giving up. Relief and wonder flooded my heart as I held my son for the first time, rising as if from the depths of my soul. I remember thinking in amazement, "is this really how God feels about me?" There was humor as we noticed that he looked like a miniature version of his father! And so much thankfulness. The birth of our little pink girl was different. The labor was different, the hospital was different, adding a girl to our family brought a new dimension of delight. Yet so many of the emotions were the same; wonder, joy, gratitude.

As I prepare to travel to Serbia I wonder what it will feel like to hold someone else's child in my arms for the first time. A child that isn't used to being held by a mommy. What did their mommies feel when they held their child for the first time? Were they afraid? Where they sad and filled with longing? Did they feel love? I wonder if some of the children's mommies got to hold their babies at all before they went to live in a long row of cribs with other broken babies.

I think often of the children I will see in Dom Veternik's rooms. But I also wonder about the parents who said goodbye, parents whose hearts still bear the scars. Many of the mother's must have been surprised by their child's disability or illness. The moments leading up to that revelation surely were similar to my own. Picking out baby clothes and a name, the pain of labor and relief of delivery, the joy of becoming a mother. Do they still remember each smell and sound, each sensation and emotion, strange details and every conversation?

I doubt they have forgotten the nightmare of learning that their child was not perfect, the pain of being told it would be better with other's of it's kind and not at home with her. I imagine each will remember that moment until the end of her life, but I pray it won't haunt her. As much as I pray that their disabled children are set free from their captivity of pain and healed by love, I pray that each mother's heart is set free from it's own captivity of remorse and healed by forgiveness.

Won't you pray with me for the healing of the disabled children of Dom Veternik as well as for the healing of their parents hearts?

A Mother's Day Prayer

A journey into the heart of motherhood is not what I had anticipated years ago. But it's the journey of every woman whether she expects it or not. We women all need nurture and to be nurturers in some way. Society, families, and individuals are better when we confidently embrace our ability to care instead of shy away from a potentially vulnerable role.

I am reminded once again that I have been unspeakably blessed by the mothers who have poured into my life and the lives of those I love. It's a beautiful thing to be caught up in the generational dance of motherhood and find yourself linked arm in arm with past, present, future. To the mothers in my life, biological and emotional, I thank you. 

As I give thanks to you, and to the One who has so richly favored my life, I cannot forget that with high privilege comes high expectation. As I take from you, and raise the next mother in the generational chain, I know that my love has the capacity to stretch farther than my household's walls in an attempt to honor a gift of love I did not deserve. 

My Mother's Day prayer is one of thanksgiving and of longing. As one blessed I seek to bless and pray tonight that God would not forget the motherless and fatherless in our midst.

"Sing to God, sing in praise of his name, extol him who rides on the clouds; rejoice before him—his name is the Lord. A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in his holy dwelling. God sets the lonely in families, he leads out the prisoners with singing; but the rebellious live in a sun-scorched land." Psalm 68:4-6

As usual my heart turns to the weak and vulnerable locked away from sight in Serbia. I long to gather skinny bodies in my arms and smooth tired brows. I ask and trust that God will remember to be a father, a defender, a provider to these helpless ones. Whether a lonely person within our reach or an orphan far away let's use our influence as nurturers to ease the pain of a human heart. 

To all of you who love faithfully Happy Mother's Day!

Five Minute Friday: Growing

I so enjoy linking up with Lisa-Jo for Five Minute Friday's. Her writing prompts make me think and the freedom of free flowing words is a joy. Why don' you hop over and give it a try. Today's prompt: Growing.

Go:

Little toes squeeze into snug little shoes. Ankles poke beneath jeans too short. Baby giggles replaced by young boy whoops. And little girl grins exchanged for big girl twirls. They're growing up, racing to be like me.

And yet as I watch innocent faith, breathed in a prayer, I wonder. Hearts stirred by wide eyed hope, grasping truth I still question. I'm moved at Maggie's confident proclamation, finger pointing, "Jesus right here in my heart!" How does a three year old know that?

A little boy so tender it squeezes my heart, I want a pair of eyes like his, superhuman to see things unseen. They are growing up, lightning fast, becoming like me.

Yet I find I am growing on the inside to become more like them. Childlike wonder, innocent faith, trust in a Parent I know but can't see. As they grow up to be like me, oh how I want to grow to be more like them. 

But Jesus said, “Let the children come to me. Don’t stop them! For the Kingdom of Heaven belongs to those who are like these children.” Matthew 19:14

Max's first view of the ocean, unbridled wonder!

Stop 

How about you? Is your faith of the childlike variety? Full of confident trust, gape mouthed awe, full throttle hope, arms wide worship? I find wisdom of my own making and a stiff put on maturity too often is my enemy. Oh but I'm longing to be cured!

The delight of being small

Oh wow, upon first seeing the ocean.

"You're big, I'm little," my toddler's luminous eyes swell in solemn wonder over this observation. Maggie compares her hand resting on mine, her height to her Daddy's, the size of our clothes, each time bubbling delightedly, "you're big, I'm little." I smile at her pronouncements, expressed in her adorable baby lisp. She's learning about her world and her place in it, my mother's heart rejoices in watching the process. I remember too her older brother's similar delight in discovering the grandeur of nature when he was her age.

As I watch her take in the wonder of a world that is larger than herself, the whisper sweeps across my heart. "Take note of your smallness, delight in My bigness." There's a lesson to be learned in my daughters understanding of her size. Intrinsic to her small stature is a need to be protected and sheltered, she knows that. She also recognizes her parents ability to care for her. Perhaps that is part of what Jesus meant when he challenged his followers to become childlike.

I'm reminded of the psalmist's exclamation in Psalm 8 "LORD, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth! You have set your glory in the heavens. When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars, which you have set in place, what is mankind that you are mindful of them, human beings that you care for them?" Appropriate littleness, magnifying ultimate Bigness.

Of course my daughter is confident in our love for her but she is respectful of our difference is stature. We delight in caring for her, but we do not take advice from her or expect her to function as our peer. There is freedom and safety in our relationship as she acknowledges her smallness in relation to our bigness and as we fulfill our responsibility to her need.

Are there areas in your life where you need to embrace your small stature before God, depending upon his big heart to meet your need? If so a response of worship can restore that balance. Let's join our hearts with the seraphim in declaring, “Holy, holy, holy is the LORD Almighty; the whole earth is full of his glory!” Isaiah 6:3

Mother's Day

Toledo Museum of Art

My Mother's Day gift, a crisp, new NLT Bible

Breakfast in bed, cinnamon chip pancakes and golden french toast coffee

One adorable, proud little boy, he's my super hero!

I had such a nice Mother's Day this year. On Saturday we went to the Toledo Museum of Art, which I thoroughly enjoyed. I was surprised how much my kids seemed to like visiting the museum as well. I definitely plan to return as soon as I can. Sunday I was treated to a delicious breakfast in bed, made by Max and Daddy. We enjoyed worshiping together and then a wonderful lunch at Olive Garden. I've been wanting a new Bible, my old one is a bit tattered and small print. My sweet husband surprised me with a new one, it was the perfect Mother's Day gift. After a nice afternoon nap we went out for ice cream, it was a sweet ending to a lovely day.

Birth

I don't believe my birthday is all about me, any more than anything else in my life is about me. The very act of my birth is a testimony to God's graciousness and, just like everything else in creation, is for his glory. It's also not just about me because I believe everything in life involves relationship. While my birthday was the beginning of my journey it was also the continuation of someone elses. Now that I am a mom I understand the power of finding yourself connected, as a link, to previous and future generations. I understand the transformation a woman goes through emotionally, spiritually and physically as she gives birth to her own motherhood with the birth of her child. I don't remember my birth, but someone else remembers every moment of it. I may not remember the hour of my birth but I do remember who greeted me as I took my first breath in that hour. The sound of her voice is a sound I cherish hearing above almost any other. And while June 28 holds significance for me as the day I was born, I know the day stands out in the mind of another as one of the most important of her life. Thank you for being there from the beginning Mamma!

Psalm 31:29-31
"Many women do noble things,
but you surpass them all."
Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting;
but a woman who fears the LORD is to be praised.
Give her the reward she has earned,
and let her works bring her praise at the city gate.