The Heart of a Mother

Motherhood will always hold a special place in my heart as the event that changed everything.  Somehow, I didn’t see it coming.  In my pre-children state of naivete, I assumed that motherhood would simply enrich my already rosy world.  Instead, it hit me like a train wreck.

Before I became a mother, I was completely blind to the tangled roots of pride, selfishness, impatience and complacency which crouched hidden in the depths of my heart—faults which were suddenly laid out, bare and ugly, in the sharp light of motherhood.

I’m quite convinced that these four children, whom I cherish so dearly, have changed me just as much as I’ve shaped them.  Perhaps, even more.  It’s through the entanglement of their lives with my own that I’ve learned, again and again, that love equals sacrifice.  Love demands that I die to myself and live for another.

It’s been a messy process (as it turns out, my Self doesn’t really intend to lay down and die without a fight), but it’s been so worth it.  God has used these children to make me more like Himself.  He’s also used them to teach me that I’m not anywhere near as in control of things as I’d like to be.

The more I lay myself down as a living sacrifice for these four children, the more tightly my heart becomes wrapped up in their stories.  Like every mother, I find myself desperate to know that they’re going to be OK; that they’ll grow up safe, whole, and madly in love with Jesus.

Ironically, the more doggedly I strive to achieve these goals for my children, the more I realize that they’re largely outside of my grasp.  It’s a disturbing realization, until I remember the strength of the grasp that God’s grace has had upon my own life.

I couldn’t have run away from God if I had tried.  I did try, in my own way.  It’s almost comical to me the lengths that God stretched to keep me tethered to Himself.  As wonderful as my parents were and still are, they couldn’t have guaranteed the outcome of my life.  They simply introduced me to the Savior, taught me His ways, and He took it from there.

These days, I find myself frequently lifting my children up with trembling hands, and placing them into Jesus’ steady hands of grace. I pray desperately for them every day with tears streaming down my cheeks.  I pray for safety from harm and for peace in the midst of sibling strife.  I pray for purity of body and spirit and for good scores on math tests.  I pray for hearts that love justice and mercy and for courage against playground bullies; I pray for truthfulness, holiness, future spouses, and the patience needed to make it through homework time.

These kids of mine, they’re on my heart all the time.  My prayers for them are frequent; my thoughts never leave them.  These little people are woven into the fabric of who I am, and that’s as it should be.  Every child should have a mother who is obsessed with them.

But some don’t.

Several of their faces adorn my refrigerator, actually.  They are precious children whom we sponsor—sending money across oceans to pay for their food, shelter and education; sending occasional notes or gifts to make them feel special; sending a quick prayer heavenward for them at bedtime.

I have no idea why it never struck me before, but they need so much more than that.  These particular children that we sponsor, they’re orphans.  And one day, several months ago as I prayed for my own kids, their sweet, brown faces floated across my mind.  My heart jumped in my chest as I suddenly wondered, who prays for these children?  I mean, really prays—not these quick prayers we throw heavenward at bedtime.  Who prays for them every single day, with burdened heart, fervent words, and tears on cheeks?  Who obsessively prays for them like a mother would?

Being a mother equals love.  Love equals sacrifice—the laying down of one life for the good of another.  Some beautiful families lay down their entire lives for orphaned children such as these through the incredible gift of adoption.  God hasn’t called our family there…yet.  But surely I can lay down more than just my checkbook for these lovely faces that wallpaper my fridge.  How much would it really cost me to pray for these children the way I pray for the four who came from my own body?  Nothing more than another little piece of my selfishness.

You know these children, too.  Their faces hang on your fridge.  Their feet walk the school halls alongside your own children.  Their hands play at the park down your street.  They may not be physical orphans, but many of them are spiritual orphans.  Who is praying for these children?  Who is hugging them?  Who is telling them that they're incredibly special?  Can our mothers' hearts make room for one more?

Tomorrow, our families will honor us as mothers.  But, really, the honor is all ours.  Motherhood is a gift.  It’s a chance to get over ourselves and get down to the business of really loving like Jesus.  And Jesus’ heart always has room for one or two more.  Why shouldn’t ours?

Happy Mother’s Day!