CHAPTER 2

WHEN MOTHERHOOD BECOMES YOU

Before you were conceived I wanted you. Before you were born I loved you. Before you were a minute old I would have died for you. This is the miracle of life.

MAUREEN HAWKINS

WHEN I WAS TWELVE years old, my parents took my siblings and me to have family pictures taken at the Sears Portrait Studio. It was a big deal because treats like this were rare. I wore a mauve sweater with tiny embroidered bears and my best blue jeans; clearly, I had it going on.

A few years ago, my mom gave me a box of old photographs, and I found that family portrait toward the bottom of the pile. Two things stood out in the photo and made my kids laugh hysterically when they saw it: one, I had enormous permed hair (my mom sort of had a gift for home hair care), and two, I was holding a lifelike baby doll on my lap. Awkward.

I remember that as I was getting ready that day, my mom said we could bring a favorite toy with us for the portraits. My sister brought her Cabbage Patch doll, and I’m pretty sure my older brother just rolled his eyes. I still played with dolls. Obviously. The 1980s doll I was pictured with was one of the first battery-powered, lifelike babies that sucked a pacifier. I used to pretend she was real and that someone had dropped her off on our back porch in a basket. I had discovered her there and decided to raise her as my own.

But something happened between my twelfth and thirteenth years. I stopped playing with my baby doll and started playing sports. I replaced doll clothes and imagination with a basketball and my first crush on a boy. I suddenly longed to burn that family picture hanging on the living room wall with me hanging on to my doll. Most girls my age had started babysitting and working in the church nursery. I didn’t. I don’t really know why. I must have exhausted all my nurturing on dolls.

Kristen and her doll

See? Had it. Going on.

I never really thought about motherhood or babies again until I was nearly married. Terrell and I visited his family for the holidays, and his two infant nephews were there. I was slightly uncomfortable around them and silently hoped nobody needed a diaper change on my watch. Terrell was the exact opposite. I remember watching in awe as the man I was going to marry handled babies like a pro. He was a natural, and it made me feel better knowing that if we ever had kids, he’d know what to do.

Years later, when I was a children’s pastor and a wife, my life centered around kids. I loved the way they saw God, and I loved teaching them about Him. I spent my days preparing for vacation Bible schools and leading kids’ services, and somewhere between nieces and nephews and church work, I started wanting a child of my own.

Now that I was pregnant, I absorbed every book on the subject. Terrell and I sat through birthing classes, and he followed me as I waddled my way down the baby aisle, registering for items I would never use. Our first baby was ten days overdue, and after years of infertility, I was more than ready to be a mother.

But the minute Madison (our “miracle,” which is also one of the meanings of her name) came screaming defiantly into the world, I knew I wasn’t really ready to be a mother at all. My mother marveled at my tiny one’s strong will as she raised her head off the table just minutes after being born and looked around the room, yelling to announce herself. I believe that’s what you call foreshadowing.

I fell deeply in love with my baby girl and instantly entered the world of mothers, where talking about breast milk and constipation was not only accepted, it was appreciated. But Madison cried a lot, rarely slept, and seemed content only when I was holding her. Terrell had to return to work soon after she was born so we were both glad my parents were visiting to help me adjust. One day, as my mom changed her granddaughter’s tiny socks, Madison screamed like she was dying. My mom snuggled her close and said, “She’s a demanding little thing.”

I bristled. My perfect baby was demanding? My mom didn’t mean anything negative by her comment; she knew how challenging babies could be. It didn’t take long for me to find out just what she was talking about. It’s the simple concept of supply and demand: from birth on, children are created to be needy. And from mother’s milk to a mother’s heart, we meet their needs. It’s a partnership like no other, created by the hand of God. It’s breathtaking, and some days, it takes your breath away trying to keep up.

Three months into motherhood, I sat terrified across from a tiny human who had become the boss of me. My energy supply was running a bit low and her demand was high. My husband worked long hours and my parents lived far away. It was just the two of us. Madison and I fell into a new routine, but I felt alone. I lost my identity, my freedom, and ultimately, control.

Some women embrace motherhood. Others are embraced by motherhood. But either way, it changes all of us in ways we never expected.

I smelled like spit-up and struggled with self-image. I went from being a working woman to a working mother, with heavy emphasis on working. My neat little house suddenly wasn’t, laundry took on a life of its own (what is it with baby bodily fluids and soft cotton?), my body became a food source, and worry became my middle name. What does that cry mean? What if she reacts to her vaccines? What if I am a horrible mother? My entire life came down to one insistent little girl who wanted most of my time and energy.

I wasn’t ready to be lost to motherhood, for it to become me. But it did, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about being lost on a journey of my own choosing. Madison grew older, and although I continued on a part-time basis at the church, working mostly from home, I tried to understand my new identity. With each passing day, I fell deeper into mothering, lost a little more of myself, and watched my dream of changing the world fade.

Losing myself to motherhood was good in many ways. From the moment of conception and the onset of nausea and vomiting, mothering taught me to be selfless. It became natural to put my child’s needs in front of my own. Even in bewildering exhaustion, I stumbled through midnight feedings and all the ups and downs of motherhood because it’s what we do.

But even in selflessness, we find the root word, self. As I intuitively sacrificed for my child, the need to take care of myself magnified. I saw how much my helpless baby depended on me, and it intensified my desire to be present and become someone she would want to emulate. Easier said than done.

In my first few years of adjusting to my new role, I made a lot of mistakes. (And I’m not referring to buying a “colic machine” that vibrated my crying baby’s crib. Scam. I got a refund.) I worried a lot and second-guessed myself. Why is she crying? Is she hungry? Why won’t she sleep? I struggled with trying to control this new little human. Some days I spent hours trying to get my baby to sleep, and other days I would go to great lengths to wake my sleeping baby so I could feed her. I think one of my biggest mistakes was not taking enough time for myself. I probably would have blamed it on being financially strapped, but it was also simple neglect.

Baby Madison and Kristen

Baby Madison and me

My glaring inadequacies were more noticeable, and I began to understand for the first time as a new parent how God feels about me, His child. Parenting is God’s mirror: it shows us a reflection of ourselves as we really are. I see myself in my children —good traits and bad —the way God sees me. If you’ve ever had a two-year-old have a complete meltdown, kicking and screaming included, in a quiet library filled with serious book readers, you know what I mean. I’ll never forget marching my child back in the next day so we could apologize, hoping the librarians wouldn’t recognize us from the noisy scene the day before. They knew exactly who we were. I don’t think I went back to the library for a year after that episode.

I am stubborn too. I want freedom and choices. I want things my way. God is always there, a constant. He never stops loving me. He is patient. He waits. I can see it now: the reflection. The gentle way He parents me. His discipline comes from abiding love. “Yes, I’m beginning to understand, God.” Thankfully, God isn’t repelled by our neediness.

Mothering is a journey. We don’t ever truly arrive. As our children grow, their needs change. Problems come and go, but they will always be our kids. I still call my mom when I need her, and she still comes. I don’t want to wish away today, thinking tomorrow will be easier with my children. I want to live today the best I can and learn from it. Mothering is more about me growing up than my children. I used to think becoming a parent meant I knew something, but the longer I’m a mom, the more I realize how much I don’t know.

One day I was talking on the phone to Betty, my sweet mother-in-law. My kids had just returned from a week at their grandparents’ farm, and I was getting the details of their visit. I asked Betty if Jon-Avery (eleven years old at the time) had gotten along with his sisters while we were away. He is a natural peacemaker —his naturally bossy big and little sisters have been telling me what to do for years.

“Oh, he was fine,” Betty said. “He was a big help around the farm, and they got along pretty well. But, oh, is that boy noisy!” I started laughing because I had noticed he had started a phase where he was constantly making noises and sounds with his mouth or tapping and drumming on things with his fingers.

And then Betty enlightened me. “Oh, Kristen, I hate to tell you, but this phase lasts for years.” Well, I did not know that. Just when we get through one stage, another begins.

Parenting is physical when our kids are little. Babies and toddlers command exhausting, hands-on help. Parenting becomes less physical and more emotional as our children grow up. People who love each other sometimes hurt each other. Words are blurted out that shouldn’t have been said, and suddenly we find out if our lessons about forgiveness really stuck. In just a matter of time, we go from trying to get our babies to say our name to hiding in the bathroom when they won’t quit saying it over and over.

My youngest child told me the other day that she wanted to be president of the United States.

“Really?” I asked. “Because you want to change the world?”

“No,” she answered. “I just really want to be the boss of you.”

Mothering is the hardest thing I’ve ever done and also the best. It’s the most demanding, challenging area in my life. At the same time, growing these little people is the most fulfilling, meaningful work I’ve ever done. It’s full of ups and downs. But I’m determined to love them well. God uses my kids to teach me about myself every day. Ultimately, He shows me that I can’t be the mom I long to be on my own. I need His help.

By the time I felt like I was finally adjusting to becoming a mother, I found out I was pregnant with my second child. Surprise! I was cautiously excited (which is another way of saying I cried because my hands were already full with an on-the-go eighteen-month-old). At the same time, I honestly wondered whether I would ever do anything “big” for God.

“Smashing bananas and wiping chins, googling homemade diaper rash remedies, and childproofing cabinets don’t feel like changing the world, God.” I knew these things were necessary, but they all felt small and unimportant. Many days my life seemed mundane and messy. I’ll admit that when your baby has a fever and you are feverish for something more, it’s hard to find God under the laundry pile. And then a still, small voice says, “When you serve the least of these, you are serving Me.” Okay, You got me.

The Kingdom of God is revealed in sacrifice and service in the small places, especially to our children. It probably won’t make the evening news or maybe even be noticed by our spouses unless we tell them, but in a quiet, obscure place, we are changing the world. Because here’s the truth we must believe: we might not be able to change the whole world, but as moms we can change one person’s world. And there is power in one.

I saw a glimpse of this a few months ago in the park. I was chatting with a lady I didn’t know as I watched my youngest and her child play on the swings.

We were barely getting acquainted when she asked, “Do you know what kids really want from their moms?”

“Cell phones,” I said, laughing and thinking of my oldest, who was now a teen.

The other mother smiled, but her eyes were tearing up. “We spend a lot of time trying to figure out what our kids want and need in this life.” How true. I often try to figure out what’s really wrong with my kids. When they were babies, I spent countless hours and gobs of energy trying to discern hunger from exhaustion. Now that they are older, there is a new set of endless questions: How do I help them choose the best friends? She is hurting; what can I do? How do I help instill confidence in him?

“It’s pretty simple,” the woman said. “Your kids want you.”

Boom.

“When they say, ‘Mom, watch me,’ they just want you. When they pull you away from whatever you are doing, it’s because they want you.” And then she got up and left.

I sat there, both convicted and freed by her words. They jolted my heart awake. My kids don’t need me to fix their problems. They don’t need me to provide more stuff or help them try to keep up with everyone else. I thought back to the times when I was asked to “take a look at this,” and I was too busy to stop what I was doing. I vowed from that day forward to be present in the moment as much as I possibly could.

“God, I realize they need me, but even more, they need You. I need You because this mothering thing is awesome and hard. When I look back, I won’t remember the days. I will remember the moments. And I’m thankful for that because, believe me, there are days I don’t want to remember!”

I do want to remember the drive on the way to school this morning. The way my daughter laughed. The moment she opened up and shared her thoughts. The way our hearts connected. Those treasured moments make up for the rest of the day with the exaggerated eye rolls and exasperated sighs. It’s all part of this job.

Instead of asking myself, Is her room clean? Did he ace that test? I’m asking, Did I connect with them in a way that I will remember twenty years from now? Did I listen when she called my name four times? Did our hearts meet for a brief moment? Did he know that even when I couldn’t fix the problem, I was there for him?

At my house, rooms are still messy, floors are still sticky, and laundry still piles up. After all these years as a mother, I’ve accepted the fact that there will be good and bad days. I lose my cool, pick my battles, and say a lot of I’m sorrys. But in a few years, when my house is quiet and my children are gone, I will be able to recall the precious minutes when I stopped everything and just loved them because that’s what God wants me to do.

Looking at my life, some people would say I have gotten to do some big things for God. But the most significant thing I’ve done for Jesus is to love and serve my family. Motherhood becomes me, and God uses it daily to refine me and draw me closer to Him.

UNPINNED FAITH

If you’re a mom (or hope to be one someday), you most likely struggle with a bit of mom guilt every now and then. It creeps in when we don’t live up to the image of the mom we think we should be. It’s always been a struggle for me, and I learned a long time ago that I am one of my own worst enemies. God has been teaching me to change my focus. Instead of viewing life through a giant lens and giving myself an overall grade for the day, month, or year (we tend to be harder on ourselves than on anyone else), I focus on one goal: to connect with my children every day in some small way. Because let’s face it, kids won’t remember half the things we tell them are important, but they will remember when we shared a cup of hot chocolate together or painted each other’s fingernails. Love is never wasted. “Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends” (1 Corinthians 13:7-8, ESV).

That doesn’t mean you should neglect yourself. Wherever you are in your mothering journey, you have to add yourself to the priority list. What have you done for yourself lately? With the demands of mothering, it’s easy to fall into the trap of meeting everyone else’s needs and ignoring your own. Make a list of some things you’d like to do for yourself. Here are some ideas: