The Eternal Weight of Motherhood

I know I always said I’d miss the pitter-patter of little feet someday, but I never knew how bitter sweet that was until I sipped that cup down just a little more. Those pudgy little hands that used to hold mine now milk cows and lift more feed bags than I dare and fly through the air while he talks to me about college. The last time that conversation came up it felt like looking into a future as bright as the sun while getting a punch directly in the gut. At least I made it to the piano with just the toddler in the room before the tears fell hard and steady.

There are conversations that even I, a notorious long-talker and question-asker, am surprised by. While I process how blessed it is to have conversations about God, their souls, the world around us, and more, little red headed girls climb into my lap and give me kisses and tell me they “wub me much”. The juxtaposition is blessedly staggering at best, heartbreaking if I look too close.

The I wub yous and hand-holding has turned into long conversations and dare I say even a friendship that somehow snuck up on me. When did my little guys turn into young men; my biggest red heads into young ladies?

It sometimes feels like no one understands the bitter of the bittersweet that is your babies growing up, and yet I know that every Mama must. It is letting go, but not too fast; walking alongside, but sometimes just a little ahead; praying for them and then praying with them. It’s let’s make sure we get high school right, but please can we talk about college tomorrow? It’s knowing how desperately you’ve failed time and time again and yet knowing how the Lord seems to have made those crooked paths straight, leaving you with the kind of gratitude that makes your soul ache.

How does anyone survive the immensity of motherhood without Christ?

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I often get asked if we’ll have more children. It is sometimes a loaded question; the implications of their own opinions coming out in the tone in which it is asked. Other times there is a sincere curiosity you see in their eyes. No matter where the question seems to come from, my answer is always the same: I don’t know. It’s the most honest, uncomplicated answer I can think of, and yet perhaps if they had ten minutes (or more), I’d say a bit more. I love children, and would gladly receive however many the Lord would give us, either from my own womb or through other routes, though I don’t know yet if any more precious souls will be added to our seven.

Over the years of being given the gift of homeschooling my own children and sharing with them the truths of Jesus Christ and His Gospel, I realized how selfish it would be if I only desired that for my own children. I pray that the young people of this nation, and every nation, would seek the Lord in their youth. To that end, I pray that those of us who are blessed enough to be called parents or family members or neighbors or church family or teacher or mentor or coach or even acquaintance to these young people would open up The Scriptures with a child old enough to listen (this is younger than we realize, I believe). Teach them about Christ, educate them in the things of God first, guard their hearts and minds from the wickedness of this world, show them the righteousness of God and their hearts before Him, beseech them (as Paul did) to be reconciled to God through the blood of Jesus Christ.

I have always had many big ideas, few of which are good, fewer still that come to fruition. Big gardens, big barnyards, big business concepts, grand ideas, most of which probably don’t even need to be considered. But if there were one idea, one dream you might say, worth pursuing, it would be this: A Christian school founded on Christ and  every child around is invited in. The Gospel would be preached daily. A faithful church would oversee the work. The teachers would know the Lord. The children would be educated thoroughly in every discipline, equipping them for the work of God. Every young person from the littlest to the nearly grown would learn The Scriptures, the love of God, the only Savior of Sinners and be ministered unto.

I’ve rarely spoken that dream, occasionally throwing it out there to Stewart but somewhat lightheartedly (because it couldn’t happen, right?). But after the last few years of watching my own little ones become nearly grown men while simultaneously seeing the insanity of the world around us, I often wonder what could be more needful than this?

Despite what our society tells us, children are a blessing and investing in young people is just about as valuable a job as you could imagine. Being a parent, therefore, is one of the weightiest jobs in the world. It will keep you up at night and get you out of bed in the morning. It will weigh down your heart and fill you with a fear of the consequences of the seemingly most mundane decisions.

It has eternal consequences, after all.

I do not say that we can save our children, but do we not have a grave responsibility to them before God? Is there not a cause?

If you’re wondering where all of this is going and how it all ties together (I know this has been a bit of an incoherent journey), it is simply this: This is what consumes me. My time, my heart, my prayers, my energy. Prayers, catechism, math, English, writing, spelling, algebra, chemistry, Bible, more prayers. These are my days as a homeschooling mother of seven. It is lovely, it is heavy, it is joyful, it is overwhelming, it is the most important thing I may ever do.

And so I ask again: How does anyone survive the immensity of motherhood without Christ? And what could possibly be more needful than to pour truth and love and mercy into young souls, whether your flesh and blood or not?