I had mastered the art of getting pins, tri-folds and rubber pants to stay on a baby's bottom, I could walk the dog and still keep a baby contented on my back, I could grocery shop with the baby on the cart (yes, that's true!), I could do the laundry, rock the baby to bed while I read, make dinner for ten and even cure jaundice with sunbaths. This was my life and I loved it and I felt so ready to really be a mom.
Fifteen years later, 1400 miles away from the place of my childhood, I sit down and I feel our little one somersaulting on the inside, and laugh that there was ever a point in my life where I felt like I had figured out how to parent a child. More than any other change that life has brought my way - learning to drive, flying across the country to attend college, getting my first apartment, teaching in my own classroom, getting married, moving to Kansas - anticipating motherhood is by far the most intimidating responsibility and change.
There are so many pieces of intimidation.
One of them is realizing that my example of lived life, far and above any words I will ever say to this little child, will influence her the most. Already this prompts me to look at my ingratitude, my selfishness and my desire for comfort in a different light. Motherhood is forcing me, in a different way than ever before, to recognize that the world does not revolve around me. That's intimidating.
Additionally, I am already overwhelmed by my mother-bear tendency to want to protect, to shelter and to isolate my child from being hurt. But I am challenged, even now, to work and to labor in my mothering, not for isolation from the world, but for missional engagement with it.
So I think, as much as I realize my need to surrender to the call of self-sacrifice of motherhood, I don't want to turn that inward to only create an isolated cozy and happy world for my baby and me, but somehow to also turn that outward and embrace my neighbors and my city and all the brokenness and hurt that comes along with it.
I want to live and work in such a way that my children can see that the good news of the Kingdom of God isn't just for those who are well, but it is powerful healing and blessing for those who really hurt.
And somehow this part seems way harder than changing diapers and curing jaundice.
God places the lonely in families; he sets the prisoners free and gives them joy. - Psalm 68:6
