Yesterday was Mother’s Day. I started a post, deleted it, started a new one and deleted that one. You see, Mother’s Day is weird. It’s loaded with emotion and expectation and assumption. And I’ve always been praised for being a ‘tell it like it is’ kind of woman. So, when everything is presented like the world is full of rainbows and butterflies, I get a little annoyed. There are lots of posts, videos and even rants on the internet right now that talk about how much mothers should earn, how much we do and how much we are underappreciated. But for me, the only people who can really get what it’s truly like, are other mothers. Getting (and giving) cards that say, in perfect poetic prose how much you’ve given of yourself since the last Mother’s Day acknowledgement, doesn’t really seem to cover it.
Motherhood is the only occupation that is both your job and your life. Inextricably interconnected.
Motherhood is also the only occupation for which you are expected to have innate instincts. There is no set training period, there is no set tutorial that gives you ‘If..then’ scenarios for all that you will face. Oh, there are books. Mountains of books. But, grab any two of those books and they give you complete opposite advice, along with solid scientific proof and statistics. Then, you’re back to square one. Or worse, you’re now questioning whatever instincts you may, or may not, have had.
Motherhood is the only occupation from which you never retire. Graduation, marriage, miles, time, not even death can sever the ties that bind you to your children and to your role as a mother.
I came across this blog post that I started a couple weeks ago. It was really just a thought, a blurb, a little bit of typed catharsis that I figured I’d come back to when I could make sense of it.
Tomorrow will be better.
Or maybe I should say, tomorrow I’ll be better.
I’ll try to be, anyway.
This has been my nighttime promise to myself and hushed hallway vow to my children, time and time again over the years. There are those days that spiral out of control and emotions and hormones and schedules and expectations spiral right out of our grip along with the day. Words fly; regret along with restraint, somehow show up a little too late.
To me, it ‘tells it like it is’. I’m imperfect in every sense of the word. Some days are better than others, and I’m always striving to do what is best for my kids and for my family. But, I fail daily. Daily. But, by the grace of God, every day is new. Lamentations 3:22-23 says it perfectly -
“Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed,
for [his mercies] never fail.
23 They are new every morning…
great is [his] faithfulness.” NIV [NLT]
Mercy is defined as “compassion or forgiveness shown toward someone when it is within another’s power to punish or harm”. Because of God’s great, merciful, forgiving love, I am not consumed by the every day. Every morning is new. His forgiveness, his unmerited grace, his mercy never fails. Praise God!
Motherhood is wonderful. Indescribably wonderful. It is hard. Unbearably hard. It has a way of filling you up and sucking the life out of you all at the same time. It brings out things in you that you never knew existed. I am so very thankful that although sometimes I try to, I don’t have to do it all on my own. God is there with me in the day-to-day. He sees all that I do. All that I do. And He loves me anyway.