They Make Me a Mother

I'm headed off to our women's retreat this weekend, but I have been meaning to write lately, so I thought I would post something real quick before I leave.

I really have been enjoying my age lately...I keep thinking about how cool I thought Dara Torres was in the last summer Olympics.
She was 41 (and a half) and a mom and yet won 3 silver medals and was in the best shape ever. I was just entering my 30's, so I thought she was inspirational. I thought about her a lot when I went snowboarding with some friends on Good Friday--my mind would say, "I'm going to break something!" but then I would think about how strong I am since having kids and working harder to be healthier. I think it's awesome being a woman for this reason. (I also thought about my mom a lot that day because she went snow skiing for the second time in her life just a few years ago--and did really awesome! Her first time skiing was when she quit the ski class we were taking together despite the instructor telling her she wasn't allowed to.)

I am riding alone to the retreat tonight, and I realized in a moment of maturity that it would actually be fun to be in the car alone for an hour (well, not really alone because Annie will be with me, but after travelling with 3 children, one baby is a breeze. This is a well-established fact in the mothering community).

I have really been feeling like I need a break from the demands of my kids lately.
I've wished their grandmas lived closer.
I've rolled my eyes and acted exasperated.
I have demanded that they JUST BE QUIET at the table or in the car. I've looked forward to this upcoming retreat. But then a new motto came into my head..."These kids make me a mother." It is because of these 3 specific kids that I am a mother. And if I wasn't a mother, I would be wishing I was. It is really the thing I want to be doing in my life right now, and these kids make it possible!


I write the newsletter for our MOPS group, and in yesterday's edition, I included this excerpt from a book I just read called 90 Minutes in Heaven (by Don Piper). He was in a horrific car accident, was declared dead until he regained consciousness 90 minutes later, and lived in terrible pain and rehabilitation for the next 2 decades. Most of the book tells about his recovery and how it affected his relationships, his ministry (he was a pastor), and his view of himself.

My mother cheerfully agreed to...(stay with me while my wife was away for a week). The week of the church youth camp came, and Eva left me with Mom. Each day Mother prepared meals for me, and I was so glad to have her there. But I did dread one daily occurrence—my mother would be required to empty my urinals and bedpans. Now, I know she had diapered me when I was a baby, but a lot of time had passed between infant powderings and the present.

I remember the first time I had to go when she was caring for me and I asked for the bedpan. She acted as if it were the most natural thing ever. After I had finished, I agonized over having to tell her.

She saved me the embarrassment by asking if I was through. I just nodded. She took the bedpan into the bathroom, and then I heard one of the most remarkable sounds I have ever heard in my life. After she entered the bathroom and flushed the commode, I could hear my mother singing. In spite of the most lowly of tasks one human can perform for another, she sang as she washed out the bedpan. It was as if her whole motherhood was wrapped up in that moment. She was again doing something for her son that he could not do for himself, and she was happy and fulfilled. I will cherish that memory, for it defines the devotion that only a mother could have.

So, I am glad to be a 32 (and a half)-year-old mother, even if it means a lot of hard work. Faith, hope, and hard work, right? I just need to remember to sing while I am doing it!