By Amelia Smith
“I need a nap,” I thought to myself. It was only 9 am and I was already exhausted, caring for a 6-year-old, a 2-year old and a 1-year old. I made myself another cup of coffee, got the kiddos busy with toys in the den next to me and got out my journal and my Bible.
Sometimes, we need encouragement as moms of young children, especially when their energy level far outweighs the amount of sleep you may be getting(or not getting). I was a member of a moms group at church, where we would get together, pray for one another, and allow ourselves to be “real” with one another. Our kiddos were well taken care of by the church nursery and we all looked forward to this precious time together. We had the week off this week for school holidays, so here I was at home loving my babies but also yearning for my sisters in Christ and our weekly time together. I felt sad, but more than just sad. I felt depleted. This morning I felt the burden of motherhood heavier than usual. As I glanced at the calendar, I realized probably why I felt that way. It was the first week of November. I loved the fall, the changing leaves, the crispness in the air, the promise of bursts of color from the leaves on the maples and oaks in my yard. But November also ushered in the anniversary of Mother’s death. It had been so many years since her passing, but some days it seemed like it had just happened.
As I watched my kiddos play happily on the floor, I missed my mother. She died before I married or had these sweet babies. She would’ve doted over them and offered unsolicited advice. But I wouldn’t have minded because she was here. Occasionally, I have dreams where my mother is in the dream and she’s a part of whatever is going on in the dream; it could be a tee ball game, a holiday or family vacation at the same beach we all went to in our childhood. But she’s there. I wake up from these dreams strangely comforted. I thank God for them because I think they are a gift for me to know God’s comfort.
“Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.” 2 Corinthians 1:3,4
God allows, by His gracious hand, trials and troubles into our lives as gifts of desperation. When we are comforted by God in those trials and afflictions, His purpose is for us to comfort others in their afflictions. But, many times, we are so hurting we wonder if we can offer any encouragement to anyone else. We may struggle with even wanting to do so. If you feel that way, I understand! I’ve felt that way, too. In those moments, I ask God to give me the “want to” to reach out to someone else who is hurting. God is so kind and faithful!
So, as I sat watching my kiddos I jotted down exactly how I felt about missing my mother. Here are my thoughts:
Those crisp October mornings when leaves struggled to turn those rich colors of autumn, I always managed another walk to the bus stop on my way to sit with Mother and her withering bones growing brittle as fallen leaves. I shared her world reduced from sometimes adventurous extravagance to living in a gown of antiseptic lace surrounded by white starched sheets and pungent purified floors. Yet, her resolve, her timed sense of humor, illuminated our darkness. And I sat, watching, working with time for another day to massage her fragile feet, sprinkle baby powder in her limp hair to lift it between shampoos or read to her from her Book of Common Prayer. I listened to her laughter, a song still in my head, and watched her brown eyes dance with mischief as she told her stories of childhood and how she and Daddy met. All this we shared while the malignant predator stole our future hours. And I could not consent to her slipping inch by inch into its malicious throat. Yet, there was a day when she leaned close and whispered, “I am ready,” and I silently screamed, “I AM NOT! You will not be here on the day I walk down the aisle, give birth to my first child, or struggle in newlywed years.” So, I sat with her transparent, eggshell skin covering her hands that once cupped my face with strength, assuring and giving me hope. A strength lost in her hands, but kept in her invincible spirit, making me solid. And in those mundane, routine, yet sacred hours of sitting with Mother, a woman appeared whom I’d never known before. And now, after all the years since, I’ve walked down the aisle, struggled through newlywed years, given life to three children and still, I’m sitting with Mother.
After I wrote these thoughts down, I realized something profound. Watching my own children play, mess up the den, wipe jelly from their mouths to their sleeves to the arm of the sofa, that my comfort from God is a gift I can offer other women. I saw hope in that moment that God could continue to heal my broken heart for Mother and not only heal it but I could offer my hope to others. The reality of grief is so deep that it is a mystery for those who’ve not experienced it. In watching the innocence of my children, I thanked God for the gift of this life. My heart began to well up with praise and thanksgiving and not as much grief and sadness. I began to see a purpose in my pain.
And you, dear friend, can have this hope too. See, God doesn’t just give us hope. He gives us Jesus, who IS our hope. The pain and suffering Jesus knew by choosing the way of the cross, taking on our sin, satisfying God’s wrath for our sin, rising from the dead-all this is what it means to tether our hope to the gospel.
Whether your children are very young or grown, God offers us daily doses of His grace and mercy to be poured out on us, then, in overflow to our families and those around us. He is enough, dear friend, His grace is sufficient for whatever is weighing you down or holding you back from enjoying Him. He loves you deeply and offers you abundant life, and that life is in His Son, Jesus. Grace to you, my dear friend. We are in this journey together!
