Thoughts on Motherhood, Year Two

Last year I started a "Thoughts on Motherhood" series on our family blog {here}. This year, I wrote this post around Mother's Day after Andrew's first half marathon, but for whatever reason didn't post it. Today Andrew ran his second half marathon and I started to feel the same feelings of insignificance. I knew it wasn't a coincidence, so I needed to process and share.... I hope it helps some other moms (or dads), but I'm okay if it doesn't because it helped me to just write.

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I love being a mom. I feel like this year has been a whole different ballgame. Last year involved a lot of staring into Little Man's eyes and talking to him with no replies. Or even acknowledgements that I was pouring all of my energy into keeping him happy. It was hard.

This year...  do we have FUN together. Yes, there are a lot of moments when I want to throw up my hands and surrender to the tantrums (or just pretend like they aren't happening). But mostly, Wilson and I enjoy being together. I love watching him enjoy things. I love knowing that while I may not be creating memories just yet (Do you remember anything from when you're one?), I am helping to create a life that he feels safe in, where he knows that he is deeply loved.

Today Andrew finished his first 1/2 marathon. He did so well; We were so proud of him, Wilson and I. But something happened in my heart when he crossed the finish line. I couldn't pin it down at first... I knew it was some form of jealousy poking up its ugly head, but I wasn't really sure what I was jealous of. I don't want to run. Andrew has asked me several times if I'd like to train with him and there is really nothing in me that wants to run unless I'm running from something. (Nothing against you runners, but I just don't get it.) I thought, maybe I'm angry because Andrew has time to have a hobby and I don't.

Later at home, it hit me: I don't think what I'm really pining for is another hobby. When Andrew crossed the finish line there were scores of people applauding and cheering for him. He got a "medal" of sorts and got to see his finish time. He had people texting him to tell him congratulations. W and I were there to hug him and tell him we were proud.

That's what I want. Accomplishment. I'm one of those strange people who love taking tests because I study hard and love seeing that A staring back at me. A tangible thing to tell me I've done well. In teaching, I was evaluated often (another thing that I loved... I know, strange!) and had professionals telling me what a good job I was doing. I excelled in school and I think it was mostly because of how I hungered for affirmation.

And now... at the end of the day, in the darkness of Wilson's room, when I'm singing every song he requests and laying him down to bed... there is no applause at that finish line. Andrew is incredibly affirming to me (it's one of his gifts) and I know I'm not in this alone, but still... I think some days I long for someone to tell me, "You dealt with his tantrums well today. A+!" or, "I saw how hard it was for you to fix both of your lunches at the same time. You are doing incredible." I run a triathlon every day.

And then I remember these sweet words...
Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, ² fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.

I do have a finish line awaiting me. The Creator of the universe is the Creator of my race... one that He has marked out just for me. Mile one: Love on Andrew; serve him well. Mile two: Teach Wilson the good path; shower him with the gospel. Mile three: Listen to this sweet college girl's heart crying out for someone to hear her pain; Answer her with Jesus. Mile four: Take care of Home; Make it a place of peace... and miles and miles and miles to go.

My joy set before me is Jesus, His presence will give me the strength to endure and enjoy my race. And in these moments where I don't feel significant, I will choose to listen to my sweet husband's words: "You are God's child. You are significant. Wilson and I need you," because I know that is what Jesus is saying to me, too.