On Motherhood and Being Pruned

Being a mom is hard.

It looked quite lovely really. Even easy. From the outside looking in. 

Or at least, that’s how they made it look.

They. The marketers. The ones that market motherhood as something made up of rose blossoms, beautiful soft white linens, and always enough gentle mommy-love for each day. Especially that.

But even more than the marketing – I think that They lived mostly in my mind, in my expectations, in that lurking feeling in the back of my mind that I know nothing and other moms simply don’t have that problem.

If I had to narrow the lessons of motherhood down into one, big, pin-pointed idea, it would be this:

LIFE IS A BEAUTIFUL MESS.  A mess indeed - but so beautiful.

A few months ago I went to a baby shower. The mom-to-be was the real deal. She had a strong opinion on everything from breastfeeding to homemade organic baby food, clothing texture to brands of pacifiers, footie pjs verses non-footie pjs, no caffeine while nursing, no fish while pregnant, NEVER co-sleeping because it is the root of all evil, only all-natural laundry detergent and eco-friendly washable diapers made only out of recycled grass and wood chips…

As I listened, I couldn’t help but think to myself….now this is DEFINTIELY not the kind of mom who will stick their kid’s pacifier back in his mouth after it falls on the floor in Meier….

And in that reflection I realized a whole lot of things about motherhood. Basically, that it’s NOTHING like what I thought it would be. It’s so much better, and so much worse.

Somewhere between my first son shooting violent diarrhea all over the new nursery the day we brought him home from the hospital, and my screaming for someone to knock me out with a two-by-four after 24+ hours of labor with my second son, I realized that this thing was perhaps not going to be what I thought it would be. This thing – this life – this family - this mommy job.

In early recovery we talked a lot about our hopes and dreams. As a girl coming out of a life of wretched brokenness, drunkenness, debauchery, and promiscuity, one of my hopes and dreams was that I would meet a good man and have a family. I am glad God put this in my heart. At the time it was something of a girlish fantasy left over from wherever I had fallen out of childhood. I had no idea the depth and breadth and blessings and wonder that would come along with such a path.

What motherhood has done for me, is that it has taken all of my far-reaching expectations, all of my delusions of control, all of my best intentions at being able to do a good job, in essence – all of ME. And it has smashed them, and me, entirely to pieces.

Not even smashed – more like torched. And slowly, they and I have burned away, melted, smoldered. The wind has come, and blown away the ashes. They have been swept away, through yards, down streets, and in back alleys. The rain has fallen, and dissolved what is left. Gone.

But if we learn by motherhood to die to ourselves, it is not a becoming of nothing. It is a death to what must go and a new birth into something infinitely better. And while God grows, and prunes, and waters, and tends this mommy, I am profoundly, unspeakably, beautifully, thankful for it. For the smashing and burning, the rain pouring down and the cleansing, the leveling and rebuilding. For new thing I am now, and for the pruning that goes on and on.

As for pruning, in this season the Lord is cultivating gentleness in me.

In smashing motherhood delusions, it was a real shock to me to discover that I don’t have enough love to give these sweet babies. Ever. Never on any day do I have enough love or kindness or nourishment or attention to give in my own strength.

 You see there is something about little boys that can make even the saintliest mother entirely void of patience and kindness within two hours of waking in the morning. They begin pounding each other with pillows around 6am. They are loud. They run everywhere. They spill everything. They stink. The whining is over the top. They throw things. They need me constantly. They kick and hit. They splash water all over the bathroom and leave toothpaste marks on the light switches. They eat like teenagers. Everything is always in extreme disarray, in a way that only other moms of boys can possibly understand.

Often, I feel I am DONE before we have even started. Often, my first instinct is to just get them to GO AWAY so I can HAVE A MINUTE.  So I YELL. I lose my temper. I freak out. I hoot and holler and send everyone to their rooms. And then I regret it. Every. Time.

It brings me to my knees, and so the Lord is pruning me.

Tonight I was working on the pile of never-ending dishes in the kitchen. It was after their bedtime, and they were still awake, infringing upon MY free grown-up time.

Little Theo came in. He leaned against the kitchen sink and looked up at me with his enormous brown eyes. He started talking my ear off and splashing annoyingly in the dirty sink water. I really, really wanted to tell him to go away. 

But something about the warm summer night and the smell of rain made me slow down and look at his long eye lashes.  Not something – but Someone- the good Lord softening me, teaching me gentleness in His gentle way.

So he stood in the kitchen with me for a while, talking about elephants, and sneaking pieces of watermelon off of the cutting board. He thought this was very funny. Then he told me he loved me and went back to his cartoon.

And you know what? It didn’t kill me. It never does. This version of me – it’s better. For all the times I have regretted losing my temper and choosing myself, I have not once regretted choosing THEM.

Choosing kindness, and gentleness, and attention, and slowness, and love. Choosing to be available. Choosing to not belong to myself. It’s always better than choosing my empty, needy, ME-ness. I think that in this way, there is hope that they can learn that this mommy is just like them, just a grown-up child, learning how to live and love. And they are my best teachers, truly truly.

Isaiah 40:11 -

He tends his flock like a shepherd: He gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart; he gently leads those that have young.

Read that again. He is tending us, mommies and children together. We are gathered, carried, and led, together in this thing. Thank you Jesus.

My sister says love ‘em, and give ‘em Jesus.

I would add love ‘em, and give ‘em Jesus, and give ‘em watermelon, too.