He Is Enough

It would seem that the theme of motherhood for me has been the realization over and over again that
I am not enough.
And that’s a good thing.
I will never be everything my children need, or even want.
I cannot protect them from every hurt and disappointment.
I cannot and will not because of one simple reason.
I am not God.
That place of finding complete satisfaction, safety and fulfillment is reserved only for Him.
The most freeing feeling for me right now as a mother is knowing that He is enough not only for me, but for my children!

Written by Katie Millen, mama of three little beauties.

Embracing Dependence

It's daunting, being a mother. I think back to the first night in the hospital, after the frightening and traumatic birth; the moment I realized just how much he needed me.

I can't remember what hour of the night it was. I was mid-much-needed sleep and he was across from the foot of my bed in the little bassinet.  My husband was on the other side of the room, sound asleep on the couch.  The newborn screams woke me instantly and I panicked -- I couldn't get to him.

My body couldn't move; every ounce of willpower doesn't move abs that have been cut open.  I could start to wiggle my toes but my legs certainly weren't going anywhere.  The anesthesia had yet to wear off.  I called for Josh.  He didn't budge.  I called louder.  Still nothing.  I yelled -- no movement.  After a few minutes of me trying to yell [and throw pillows] at my husband in between screams from my newborn, I let the tears loose and frantically searched for the button on my bed to call a nurse.  A nurse came, rolled the bassinet next to me, and helped me get my boy.

I can't say I remember anything else about that night, only that panicked scene and coming to the realization that my baby was fully dependent on me.  No one else was going to satisfy him.  No one else could satisfy him.  It was all on me.

That realization still hits me hard some days.  There are things his daddy can do too, and he needs Josh just as much as he needs me.  Yet there are things Josh simply can't do.

Some nights as I sit in the dark rocking my little one I think of the dependence he has on me and how sweet and special it is, how God saw fit to design moms and babies this way.  The baby grows inside and is nourished and strengthened by the mom - everything Mom takes in goes to Baby too.  This provision is carried on longer than nine months; after Baby is born, Mom still provides the food.  Baby is still dependent.  It's a weight, a big burden to carry.  A stress if I let it be.  And really, terrifying.  But how precious at the same time; how incredible and what an honor.

(Please note, I understand not every mama-baby duo (or trio, etc.) functions this way - and that's okay.  This is simply an illustration. ;))

This dependency is so strong and intense.  It's a daunting honor to be entrusted with the life and well-being of a little human.  To have what my baby needs when he needs it.  I sit and watch him and wonder how the rest of his life will play out -- if only I could always meet his needs so simply.

If only his cries could be satisfied with food or sleep; his diaper changed and body bathed and he'd be happy.  If his problems consisted of things I could diagnose and fix.  But it won't always be this way.  There will be situations I can't intrude on and problems I can't fix.  There will be ups and downs and times of happiness and of sadness.  His dependence will not always be on me, nor on his dad.

Little by little he'll grow and mature, taking on responsibilities and becoming more and more independent.  It's a good thing; it's supposed to happen this way.  Josh and I get to lead him and train him and let him go out from under our authority and guardianship.  We'll always be his supporters, encouragers, and advice-givers -- but the roles will change.

So for now, I want to embrace the dependence.  Even when the nights are long and my body is sore and tired.  The times I cry and wish someone else could just please do it for me.  The countless diapers, the painful screams, the demands I wish could wait five more minutes.  I want to embrace it all.

I want to be thankful that I get to be his mama, thankful that God equipped me to care for him even when I'm concerned I can't.  To recognize the beauty in the simple things and not take them for granted.  Each day with my little boy is a gift I want to be grateful for.  God provides for both of us without fail.  He gave us each other, and He's always faithful to sustain us.

*  *  *

"The mother-child relationship is paradoxical and, in a sense, tragic.  It requires the most intense love on the mother's side, yet this very love must help the child grow away from the mother, and to become fully independent."

-Erich Fromm

Written by Amy Parsons.

The Strength of My Life

The little one woke up early, getting grumpy quickly.

A grocery run had to be made, which meant a car ride for a quick nap.

We zoomed around the store, dodging people and waiting for countless others who figured standing in the middle of isles was best.

He slipped and fell in the parking lot, scuffing knees and bringing tears.

Fought and fought to get back in the carseat, yelled and threw toys on the way home.

We found activities for the rest of the morning, me desperately trying to keep him busy and out of trouble.

Lunchtime came and I spun in circles trying to spread peanut butter and not step on him attached to my leg.  The messy lunch, messy cleanup, little one who just wanted to help...

Finally, naptime.

But it was a screamfest, so I spent an hour putting him down instead of getting ready for our guest that evening.

My to-do list was long and dinner needed to be prepped.  The house was a mess; Mondays are my cleaning days.

When he finally went down I snuck out and looked at the clock -- 1:00pm.  And he'd be up soon enough and then we'd have company at 4:00.  I held my head on the counter and prayed.  Somehow, Lord, please help me be efficient even though I'm spinning in circles.  Please, Lord, help me finish the things that are necessary and let go of whatever else.

I sat down to make the stuffed shells.  Well, actually not; I stood at the kitchen table and an hour later wished I'd sat.  What I thought would be an easy process ended up taking much, much longer than I'd anticipated.  It was frustrating and I was interrupted -- even with the little one asleep.

My legs, feet, back, everything hurt.  The business work and other tasks I'd planned to get done got moved to the next day on my calendar.

Quickly I scrubbed the toilet and cleaned the sink; dusted, shook out the rugs, swept the floor.

Levi got up, had a snack, Josh came home, and our guest arrived.  It was a nice visit with good conversation and plenty of baby kicks in my belly.  Sitting back on the couch felt lovely.

After dinner and a quick bath for Levi, Josh pushed me into the bedroom and said I wasn't to come out for 30 minutes.  I agreed, relieved.

I fell down on the bed and opened my Bible:

"The Lord is my light and my salvation;

Whom shall I fear?

The Lord is the strength of my life;

Of whom shall I be afraid?"

Psalm 27:1 (emphasis mine)

The Lord is the strength of my life.  How true that is, and how it took on a deeper meaning as I lay there exhausted.

I remembered my prayers earlier, tired and not sure if things were going to get done.  I thought of all my days of motherhood, the journey that depletes physically and mentally and emotionally.  But the Lord gives strength.

He gives strength when we can't go any further, when we're at our limit and don't see how we can take any more.

It's supernatural, it really is.  We ask and He gives; He gives abundantly, one step at a time, and we keep going.  He gives us rest, sometimes when we least expect it -- like Josh sending me to the bedroom for some alone time.  And He refreshes and restores even in the exhaustion.

He is good, friends!