Posted by: ginki0 | June 13, 2012

Faith

I may be biased, but I think motherhood is one of the scariest things people can go through. I don’t just mean the act of becoming a mother, when you are worried about whether or not you really can endure all that pain or if you are actually going to split open like it feels you will, and you’re worried about the baby’s health and safety at the same time. I’m also talking about everything that comes after. I’ve only been at this for three years, and I’m the one who gave the female mentors in my life heart attacks when at sixteen I mentioned that I couldn’t wait to have kids (I didn’t mean that I wanted kids right then- I just knew I really wanted kids, but I also knew that I wanted them to have a stable home life and a mother who was ready and the right dad, who was also ready). I’d been dreaming and planning and preparing myself for years before I met my husband, and it was years more before I knew he was the one, and years more before we actually had Bugs and I held him in my arms. That’s a lot of pent up years of love to pour out. Even so, with all the preparing and hoping and loving, parenting is scary. There is so much at stake, and so very many ways to screw up.

Being a mother is harder than anything I have ever done. And it never quits. You don’t get sick days from being a mom. There are such strong, sometimes conflicting emotions inside of me as a mother. Every night I tuck my kids into bed and kiss them goodnight and tell them I love them. Every night before I go to sleep I check on them to make sure they are still breathing and still comfy and not too close to the edge of the bed. Every night I think about how lucky I am to have them and how very much I love them- so much that sometimes I feel like my heart will just burst with uncontainable love. But it also hurts, because I worry about them.

I worry about all sorts of things concerning my kids. I never considered myself a worrier, but in the last three years I have definitely become one, despite my best intentions. I worry about little things and big things, about likely things and unlikely things. I worry about wild animal attacks and dog or cat bites, about cancer and other illnesses, about autism and ADD and mental disorders, about their emotional lives and social lives and physical well being. I worry about not keeping the house clean enough, or keeping it too clean and neglecting them, or using the wrong cleaners and either introducing carcinogens or whatnot, or bankrupting the family by buying cleaners that are crazy expensive. I worry about the boys drowning or suffocating or breaking bones or getting concussions or falling or getting electrocuted. I worry about what will happen to them if something happens to my husband, myself, or both of us. I worry about car accidents and home invasions and freak accidents and guns and assaults and all sorts of horrible things. And with my imagination, I can torture myself with every vivid, made up detail.

But I also worry about protecting them too much. I don’t want them to be wrapped in bubbles and paralyzed by fear. I want them to dare to try new things. I want them to eat dirt and get bruises and scrapes and be exposed to germs to have healthy immune systems. I want them to explore the world and get into the nitty gritty of things. I do not want fear to rule their lives- not their fear, and not mine either.

It’s a careful balance. I do my best to protect them from the really dangerous, likely scenarios and let the less dangerous, less likely scenarios go. After all, how likely am I really to be able to fend off a hungry or rabid cougar if my boys and I are attacked while hiking in the woods? Ego aside and desperate, adrenaline-ized mother aside, not very likely. However, it would be a shame if I were to let that super-unlikely scenario keep me from teaching the boys about the joys and delicacies of nature by immersing them in it. And that is a far more likely danger than getting eaten by a cougar.

I joke, although it’s true, that I asked for more patience once and God gave me kids. I think I may have asked God for more faith, too, because this is something I have been working on these past months. Faith that despite my own shortcomings, the boys will turn out fine. Faith that I can have bad days and not ruin them forever. Faith that some days it’s okay to go light on the house work in favor of the boys, and other days to go light on the homeschooling in favor of keeping the house up. Faith that God has led us here and even though I can’t see the path ahead, it is there and it will be wonderful. Faith that i have a safety net of a wonderful, supportive, capable husband, and amazing family and friends to pick up any slack. And faith that for all my doubt, someone way more capable than I has a plan, a vision, and says “You can do it.”

That message isn’t just for me. Is there something that you are doing or know is right for you but are worried it’s too hard? If I, mess that I am, will be okay, so will you. So hear me when I echo, “You can do it.”


Responses

  1. Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path. Psalm 119:105

    One step at a time…that is all you can see when you hold the light in front of you on a path. Keep going to God for the light and He will light up each step in front of you. From all I have seen of you and have read on here…you are doing an AMAZING job! You will probably be your own worst critic. I know I am. 🙂 Parenting is DEFINITELY a faith builder!

  2. Beautiful words, and very encouraging… I truly needed this so much. Thank you!


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