Motherhood-The Hard Fought Battle
In this season of life, I'm learning to appreciate some things. Like my fellow warriors, who though bone tired with battle as I am, take the time to look directly into my blood shot eyes and speak encouragement and life. Others like paparazzi seek to find the "scoop" as it were and desire to rehash the gory details of war, or still some want to offer advice on how I could have fought harder, better, longer. So much to say, but very little perspective or experience to draw from.
A few weeks ago I was honored to be in the delivery room with my oldest daughter as she gave birth to our first grandchild. It was a very surreal moment for me as I watched the intense pangs of child birth wash over my own daughter and being immersed myself in memories of my own birthing experiences. She asked for me to be there and I am still so in awe of being a part. She had a long delivery and a few complications and scary moments here and there, but all the while she held a peace close to her heart. She was anchored by her man: her chosen partner for life, her momma: someone who had walked this road and lived to tell about it, and her God: who she knows is always there.
Childbearing is a battle. It doesn't stop when you push that little bundle of joy out into this world, and it doesn't stop when you push them grown and married, or single and dreaming of all that life has for them out into the "real" world, either. I will be a mother to these children for the rest of my life, and in that I carry the responsibility to fight on their behalf. When they make decisions I wouldn't make or have to pay the consequences of mistakes, when their hearts break over lost love, or missed opportunities, my job is to pray.
The battle is difficult, it can be unrelenting. My brain can ache, my heart can bleed, I can collapse at the feet of my Father petitioning Him with the same requests hoping that its almost at an end. And even in my weary soul, I can hold close to me the tether of peace that passes all understanding.
God sends women into my life that have most certainly loved my kids at least as well as I do. They see good things in them when I can't bear to look anymore. From the early years through to adulthood, these are the encouragers, the "they're gonna turn out great" declarers, the captains of many because they've been there, done that in raising up children.
A godly mother learns to stand her ground feet planted firmly on the Word of God, standing when that's all that's left to do, resting in His promises, leaning on His understanding, not our own.
A few weeks ago I was honored to be in the delivery room with my oldest daughter as she gave birth to our first grandchild. It was a very surreal moment for me as I watched the intense pangs of child birth wash over my own daughter and being immersed myself in memories of my own birthing experiences. She asked for me to be there and I am still so in awe of being a part. She had a long delivery and a few complications and scary moments here and there, but all the while she held a peace close to her heart. She was anchored by her man: her chosen partner for life, her momma: someone who had walked this road and lived to tell about it, and her God: who she knows is always there.
Childbearing is a battle. It doesn't stop when you push that little bundle of joy out into this world, and it doesn't stop when you push them grown and married, or single and dreaming of all that life has for them out into the "real" world, either. I will be a mother to these children for the rest of my life, and in that I carry the responsibility to fight on their behalf. When they make decisions I wouldn't make or have to pay the consequences of mistakes, when their hearts break over lost love, or missed opportunities, my job is to pray.
The battle is difficult, it can be unrelenting. My brain can ache, my heart can bleed, I can collapse at the feet of my Father petitioning Him with the same requests hoping that its almost at an end. And even in my weary soul, I can hold close to me the tether of peace that passes all understanding.
God sends women into my life that have most certainly loved my kids at least as well as I do. They see good things in them when I can't bear to look anymore. From the early years through to adulthood, these are the encouragers, the "they're gonna turn out great" declarers, the captains of many because they've been there, done that in raising up children.
A godly mother learns to stand her ground feet planted firmly on the Word of God, standing when that's all that's left to do, resting in His promises, leaning on His understanding, not our own.
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