Today I am sharing a thought-provoking guest-blog by Rona Allen (mother of six)—one of my young-mom heroes.
I must hear it 80 times a day: “Mama.” “Hey, Mom.” “Mommy!”
What should we do today, Mom?
I’m thirsty, Mom.
Hey, Mom, I need help.
Mom, watch me do tricks on the trampoline.
Can we have pizza for dinner, Mom?
Mama, the baby’s crying.
I want to sleep in your bed, Mommy.
They freely come to me with needs, wants, demands, tears, and giggles. There are times, though, when I can’t handle one more request. They yell, “Mom!” but I hear, “Excuse me adult person who gave birth to me: I am going to suck the life out of you and have you serve me until you’re blue in the face and can’t breath anymore.” But they sum it up nicely with just one word: mom.
Then there are the times when I gladly say, “Yes!” to my three-year-old’s request to sleep with me, we giggle together in bed, and I hold her close to the womb where she lived within me for nine months. I try to imagine what it will be like when she is 18 and wonder if we will lay laughing with each other then. Her blue eyes will be the same, but those sweet chubby cheeks will be gone. There will come a day when the 80 times will dwindle to 50, then to 30, then 10, and then none at all. Our children will be grown up and out from these four walls, and, “Mom!” will be heard only in my memories.
Being a mom is hands-down the hardest thing I have ever done and will ever do. And yet, somehow, it is the most important thing I have ever done and will ever be. Did you catch that? There’s the doing and the being. I’m good at doing a lot of things and working hard around here, but often times my children don’t need me to work hard and do lots of things. Yes, they need clean underwear and a dinner to eat, but they also need me to be their mom. What does that mean?
One time our four-year-old was having a hard morning, getting frustrated at all the buttons on her clothing. Then she got hit accidentally in the head by her sister, which sent her into a greater downward spiral. I kept trying to get her to stop crying, but she just wanted to cry. Unfortunately, I didn’t want to hear it, so I told her to stop crying and get ready to leave the house with the rest of us. Sean gently said, “Why don’t you just hold her? I seem to know someone else in this room who usually feels better after a good cry.” I relented and held her. As her tears slowly ended, she pulled her face off my shoulder, looked quietly into my eyes, and said, “Thanks, mom.“
In thinking about the role of moms, God led me to the story of the crucifixion. I was surprised to see that some of Jesus’ final words were spent acknowledging His mom. Near the cross of Jesus stood his mother…When Jesus saw his mother there, and the disciple whom he loved standing nearby, he said to her, “Dear woman, here is your son,” and to the disciple, “Here is your mother.” From that time on, this disciple took her into his home (John 19:25-27). Jesus saw his mother—where? There! She was there. Mary came to support Him and be near Him—actively participating in the moment at hand through her very presence. It was as though He looked down at her and said, “Thank you for always being there for me just as you are right now. I see you, mother. I see that you are there. This has meant the world to me.” The whole world was sharing in this moment between them. He could have had this conversation behind closed doors since He was well aware of His timely death. Yet He wanted their relationship to be displayed and to make known that her presence was important to Him.
It’s noticeable to God that you are there with your children. He sees you there—even when no one else does. An older father of eight children (Lisa’s husband) encouraged me with a life-changing one-liner: “Even on your worst day, Rona, at least you are there.”
You are there in the kitchen handing out drinks. You are at the changing table throwing away dirty diapers and kissing belly buttons. You stand by the trampoline and cheer on the masses. You listen to the cries of a discouraged heart. You bandage up the bleeding and drive the broken to the hospital. You feed the mouths that hunger for more. You are there in the night to calm the nerves from bad dreams. You find the missing toy for it’s teary-eyed owner. And you hold their faces close as they lay in your bed.
Being there makes a difference. “When he saw his mother there…” Let that be said of us.
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May you be encouraged!
PS: Here is the link to Rona’s site if you want to read this blog in its entirety: http://lilygirl.com/they-call-me-mom/#sthash.KUNZUyeE.dpbs