This one, however, is quite important to me.
Sometimes God lets us in on His heart for something in a way we haven't understood it before. This is one of those moments for me.
It's about moms...more specifically, what occurs through the eyes of this single individual who isn't a mother, but who wants to understand things the way God sees them.
If that's your heart, too, read on!
If not, fine. Go make yourself a sandwich.
Let me set the stage for you...
It's a familiar scene. I sit down with a few dear friends...two gals are moms, one gal pregnant. After greeting each other happily and spending some time laughing and catching up on our lives, suddenly the pregnant friend asks the more seasoned mamas about a prenatal doctor's visit.
Thirty minutes later, they remember that I'm there and at least look at me sometimes while they talk to each other.
For a few years now I have had the privilege of seeing several friends go through pregnancy and early motherhood. Admittedly, I've experienced a small but real sense of resentment toward the gals in my life. Sometimes it's felt like they only want to talk to...other mamas. I understood that they were going through similar things that I hadn't experienced yet, but I felt like it was a club that I wasn't invited to be a member of. I felt a little outside the cool we-made-babies circle.
I've felt distant from these new-mom friends and just hated it. I've been tempted to resign myself to just believing that we are in different life stages and will inevitably grow apart, BUT (yay) the Lord opened my eyes to something during a visit with a new-mom friend yesterday.
So...this is for the single gals like me who haven't understood, for the fellas who won't experience it (but can be an outstanding support), and, most of all, for the wildly, deeply courageous humans who are called "mama."
I never before considered what a huge shift in identity this is. I mean, I've heard lots of friends talk about the dramatic role shift and life change, but I'd never really considered how drastic this really is in terms of how it occurs. It's probably more stark than any other role a human can play, regardless of gender.
There's this tremendous, jarring paradigm shift that occurs super abruptly that these people cannot hope to have practiced or adequately planned for.
They go from an employee, wife, lover, grocery shopper, house cleaner, meal preparer, party planner, book reader, traveler, work-outer, friend, daughter, woman with well-rehearsed roles to....this person whose body goes through this traumatic, life-altering pain.
AND THEN while their poor, raw bodies have been stretched and crushed and broken and ripped to shreds, "recoverer" isn't even a role they then get to play.
It's "caregiver."
Exhausted limbs must lift, heave, stretch, and support. Sleepless eyes must be vigilant for every lack, every discomfort and every danger. Fresh wounds are reopened so that her spent body can move to where the cries are coming from.
Then...having been pushed to the brink of physical human suffering, they limp wearily into this new role and are immediately demanded to stretch, move, and adapt without training or a chance to gain bearings...completely disoriented and often scared to tears.
There's a crippling realization that she has no idea what she's doing and that she may never know how to do anything right ever again. There's no standard measure telling her she's doing things well enough. There's no performance review. No breaks. No time off. Just an expectation that she'll give and give and give, and when there's nothing left, she'll give more.
Panic. Anxiety. Isolation. Loneliness. Defeat.
The profoundly amazing thing is...they aren't defeated.
They may whimper...but they whimper into an unknown world, plant their lost, broken feet, and roar with a tenacity that would make the most violent lion retreat into its den.
They join the ancient chorus of women who have limped forward only to roar humanity into perpetuity with their wild and relentless love.
They somehow find ways through the confusion, despair, and exhaustion to find joy in a little grin. Their rent hearts leap at every little hard-won victory. Quiet moments are used to restore sanity rather than contemplate the mysteries of life...the biggest mystery sometimes being how she'll survive another moment if the little life that needs her awakes from naptime early.
SO ROAR ON, MAMAS.
Your untamable hearts and unique stories of selfless, sacrificial toil deserve to be told and relished.
You deserve every stripe you have, and you have humbled this selfish heart.
May I learn to roar like you.
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