Never a mom

Growing up, I never had the sense that I ever wanted to become a mother. I can remember joking around about having a big bunch of boys so that I could have half a football team, but that was just a joke. It was more about my deep love for football than children. I never got the "warm fuzzies" around babies, though I babysat for pragmatic purposes only. Once I could get a "real" job I never babysat again. The desire for an exciting career and fulfillment in financial independence was a driving force in my teens and twenties. I never thought about adding kids to the mix; a husband ~ yes, kids ~ no. And if it hadn't been for an old home movie, I don't think I ever would have reconsidered.

Christmas 2001 I was home visiting with my husband. I came across a collection of old home videos from my aunt. It was a compilation of years of home movies that my uncle had taken, no sound except for that of the soundtrack that it had been set to. I spent hours in the night, watching for a glimpse of my family. Sure enough, there was my mother, young, newlywed to my big lug of a dad, handsome, butch haircut, no gut. And they were smiling, it appeared to be a holiday gathering. And there was my Grandma Pearl, walking, eating - what a shocker since the only grandmother I had known was a woman riddled with Parkinson's. And Grandpa Frenchie, laughing, hamming for the camera. The next shot of my mom showed her with a huge belly, due any day... and the next time the camera caught my family I could hardly watch. There they were with my tiny newborn sister, Stephanie. She wasn't focusing on anything though her eyes were open, limp on mom's shoulder. And I saw this look on my mom's face, one of deep pain and fear. My father was trying to be jocular and gentle, but there was an underlying sadness there. My big sister was born 6 weeks early in 1968 with multiple handicaps, physical and mental. The extent was unknown. While watching the footage with my mom later that weekend she burst into tears, rocking back and forth, and cried, "I was so scared... so scared." And suddenly I understood why I never wanted to be a mom.

It was no one's fault, specifically not my mother's fault, that I absorbed and assimilated my family's experience like I did. There are many kids who have handicapped siblings that joyfully have families of their own. But I will say that the brokenness of the human condition, and the desire of the Evil One to keep God's children in bondage were two factors that allowed me to be stunted in this arena for 32 years. I walked around knowing that I had a limp in the motherhood department, but I was not willing to let God heal me and provide me with an opportunity to trust him once I saw the limp. Therein lies the difference. When I knew that God wanted to free me by actually having children of my own, I was mortified and a bit embarrassed. I had said a loud "never" for such a long time, priding myself in my own tenacity, my own ability to protect myself from such "pain."

We cannot protect ourselves from pain, but we can ensure that we are always a slave to the avoidance of pain, which is a dull ache that never goes away. To willingly refuse God's hand of healing leads to a madness that says "My God is not enough, He does not want the best for me."

I am so thankful that God did not forget me in my pain. I am grateful for the persistent love that pursued me into the desert of stubborn brokenness. I am made new, not because of my own effort, but because He truly knows what is best and has a good plan for me. May He receive great joy in my obedience and freedom.