Sometimes I think the art of Motherhood tends to get lost in the shuffle in our culture.
As women reach with their might for their “dreams”…they gradually let fade one dream they were given right from the start.
A free gift.
The opportunity to become “Mother."
I'm not talking about becoming a mother through the act of giving birth to a child. That is another topic all together...one that some women, despite their very most valiant efforts do not get the opportunity to take part in.
I'm talking about once we have those children in our care, despite how we get them, the art of being "Mother." Motherhood as a career...one that is hallowed and beautiful and real and whole.
Running a company has become much more important in the world.
We want the rush of accomplishment.
Or making a name for ourselves.
A name to be hallowed to people we don’t even know.
While our children sit at home wishing for our arms to stretch around them.
I think it is human nature to seek for recognition. We want our efforts not to slip quietly away, unnoticed. And motherhood doesn’t naturally lend itself to Pulitzer prizes or red carpets.
No.
Initially motherhood tends to travel more down the dark-circles-under-your-eyes-for-want-of-sleep, and adornment with smears from sticky fingers sort of road. Then, in some cases, it leads to the disrespectful teenager stage, and then the glorious stage of being the dumb parent who messed up their kids while trying to raise them right.
Yes, it can be a thankless job.
But we Mothers tend to forget, amidst the chaos, that we have our own “Pulitzer Prizes” right in front of us. Little spirits in which we can sometimes catch a faint reflection of ourselves, for better or for worse.
And all that stuff that doesn't lend itself to the recognition our human nature leads us to crave? The endless laundry, the scrubbing, the same books read over and over and over again...the teaching kids tough lessons and the heart break that comes with letting them make their own decisions?
Well, those things are the scaffolding of the beautiful cathedrals we are building.
If we can only remember that each mundane thing we do as mothers contributes, if even in a seemingly minuscule part, to something so beautiful and holy: helping one of God's own children blossom and bloom into what they are to one day become.
And in the process we, ourselves, blossom and bloom...each day becoming a little closer to what God wants us to be.
Labels: mothering