“When you see your home as a missional outpost, your role as a mother becomes clearer: to prepare and release the people inside for a lifetime of participating in God’s mission to the world.”
-Helen Lee, The Missional Mom
It’s a grand idea, this belief that what I’m doing in the drudge of life with a baby and a toddler is part of a much bigger narrative, one I’m playing a role in and they’re playing a role in as well. It’s a story of the restoration of a broken world. And right now, in this season, my role is clearly defined. It consists of wiping bottoms, wiping spit-up, washing clothes, bouncing baby, rocking baby, tickling toddler, disciplining toddler, reading story after story after story, playing pretend, making sandwiches, making dinner, cleaning dishes, eating lunch standing up at 3 in the afternoon (after everyone is finally sleeping), and singing songs. And, sometimes, in the midst of those moments, seeing the people around us: the woman outside of Walgreens Wednesday who asked me for any food I could give her. (August helped me pick out a granola bar.)
This season is sweet and lovely. But it’s also completely consuming in a way motherhood never was before. I owe about a thousand phone calls/emails/facebook messages. Those were all things I once took care of during August’s naptime. Naptime is no longer a time I can accomplish tasks. It’s a time when I eat, nurse and rock a baby. As much as I’m trying to cling to the sweetness of these first months of Brooks’ life, I feel exhausted and I ache for some moment of respite in my day.
I also long for work outside of this work: ministry, creativity, adult conversations that aren’t interrupted every two minutes! I’ve asked here a million times if I’m doing enough in the world: Am I really giving my life away? Am I serving the broken or am I too consumed with my own little Hohorst world to see the reality around me? How do I stretch out of the moment and see the needs that exist? What can I really do? I feel like this time of motherhood is all consuming. (And I think it is.)
Of course, I’m not insisting that all I’m called to or gifted for is being a mother to my sons. But I can’t tell you what a relief it is to be reminded that all of this life is bigger than this season of my boys’ lives, than my own particular season of motherhood.
I’m a part of the same tapestry you’re in, friend. And we’re all weaving this story.
Some days I notice.