Four Unexpected Lessons I’m Learning From My Girls This Mother’s Day
This year marks a decade of Mother’s Days for me, and I’m unbelievably grateful for these years because there were so many that came before without arms aching from the weight of carrying my girls. Instead, my heart was aching from the loss of facing another Mother’s Day with empty arms. It’s hard to encapsulate what the years of infertility taught me about longing, grief, and holding out hope. It’s just as hard to encompass all the lessons life has for me in this season, too. I’m striving to be more faithful in journaling my reflections in hopes of letting my life speak and appreciating the ones God has given me. Emily P. Freeman says, “Reflection doesn’t always have to lead to greater productivity or setting a goal. Sometimes it’s just about settling down to listen to your own life and appreciate the humans who live their lives beside you.”
I had a few moments to sit quietly today, and my mind raced at the pace with which life seems to be moving in this season… never a dull or quiet moment, or so they say. Thanks to Danny, I did have a few quiet moments, and I pondered what these days of mothering are teaching me. Four things bubbled to the surface from a recent experience with each of my girls that I wanted to share—so I can remember and try to embrace the ways I long to grow. Really, much of this season of life isn’t about what I’m teaching my girls, but what the privilege of parenting them is teaching me. I am still a student in this season, and as a girl who loves to learn, it’s so inspiring.
On Having a Second Helping
I am all for staying healthy and strong and honoring my body in that way, but at some point, I think we’ve restricted ourselves from delighting in simple pleasures. I have a child who really, really enjoys food, and recently, instead of being thrilled that at least one of my children is complimentary of my cooking, I found myself being critical of how much she was enjoying it. We had the chance to pick blueberries from a local farm, and for Mother’s Day, I made a quick, easy, and delicious Blueberry Coffee Cake. For some reason, I found myself wanting to critique and, in some ways, limit her enjoyment of it. I mean, who really cares if she has seconds? She was grateful for my effort to make a special breakfast and wasn’t afraid to enjoy it. I found myself wishing I could allow myself a second helping as easily as she does. Delight doesn’t have to be so difficult to find. It can be found in something as simple as savoring a homemade treat. It’s really okay if we all have another helping.
On Letting Yourself Be Loved
I recently held a daughter at bedtime after a difficult evening and some deep disappointment from an unexpected change of plans throughout her fairly massive temper tantrum. She wanted to go to bed without hugging me or saying she loved me, and I wasn’t going to let the night end with strife. So I held her flailing body until she found herself falling asleep. She eventually curled up against me and slowly set her arm around my shoulder in the slightest hug. And in that struggle, I saw myself kicking, screaming, and pushing away—desperately trying not to allow the Lord to love me.
There are just a few things I’ve prayed for over a decade, and there is one thing I’ve been bringing to the Lord repeatedly for at least that long. Honestly, I’m disappointed in the Lord for the lack of provision in this area. I wasn’t fully aware of how this disappointment has been causing me to stiff-arm God in His pursuit of me. Sure, there’s an unanswered prayer I’m holding onto, but there are many other ways the Lord shows Himself faithful, kind, and generous in my everyday life. I’m learning to soften my heart a bit to those ways, even if the thing I desperately want most in this season hasn’t happened just yet.
On Showing Your Scars
We were at a farm with some family friends, and our youngest scraped her knee and leg on a big farm slide. Like she usually does, she made a beeline over to me to show me her scrape so I could tenderly care for her. Unfortunately, the best I had was a baby wipe, and there was no Band-Aid to be found at the moment. The bright blood, although it had stopped actively bleeding, was still visible on her leg, and she wasn’t having it. She circled back several times, begging for a Band-Aid to cover her boo-boo. It took more than a fair share of hugs and kisses and a compromise—finding a special napkin—before she was content with the level of comfort she had experienced and was ready to go back out to play.
I saw myself in how dedicated she was to finding a bandaid to cover a scrape because I go to the same lengths to hide my scars…I guess I think that the places where I’m wounded and tender will ultimately be too heavy for others to carry, or maybe there will be too much room for misunderstanding. But if Jesus Himself, in His resurrected body, finds His scars significant enough to show off in His story of redeeming the whole world, then I’m hopeful that when the tender and unhealed places in my own story are exposed, they can be used by God in my relationships with others, too.
On Living Into the Loud
It is loud. So very loud in my house. It’s even louder in my car. I expected that the decibel level in my home would increase with each child, but as an introvert, I just couldn’t anticipate this level of loud! I talk fast and low, so my husband more often than not asks me to repeat myself. We get into fights all the time because I’m not enunciating loudly enough. I usually do this because we have little ears all around that somehow seem to telepathically know what I am saying at all times, so maybe I’m whispering a little. This is beside the point, but feels important.
Back to living into the loud… My littlest happens to be the loudest. I am sure this is some sort of survival mechanism gifted to her—because, in the event that something is really wrong and she is in danger, she’s going to need to be incredibly loud to be heard above the ruckus that her sisters usually make at all hours of the day and night. I am also realizing that loud isn’t always something to be shushed. There are times when my children are being incredibly loud, and there isn’t an ounce of disobedience in them. However, I tend to have a knee-jerk reaction to shush them when the noise escalates just so they won’t draw attention to themselves. But, unlike what our grandparents used to say… sometimes it is okay to be seen and heard. Sometimes, the level of loudness is an indication of joy, and the world needs a lot more delight infused into our everyday lives. So I am learning to make peace with and live into the loud, because it’s here to stay for the foreseeable future.
P.S. Because I really try to be transparent, I have to admit that I initially titled this post “3 lessons I’m learning,” because I literally forgot in the mayhem of May that I have a fourth child. Hence, the reason I really do need to learn to savor slowness. May we all slow down enough to savor the sweetness that this summer season is offering us.