“Mama,” my son whispered to me as we lay in his bed. We have a nightly routine, which he refuses to deviate from, but last night was different. Instead of the silly chatter or anxieties from the day, his six-year-old mind was on Heavenly things.
“I can’t wait to see my great-grandma in Heaven. Do you know I’ve never met her? There’s a lot of people I haven’t met yet. Even people I don’t know now, I’ll get to meet them in Heaven one day!” he exclaimed. My heart just about burst out of my chest. Normally conversations about eternity with him are met with anxiousness and worry, but for the first time he expressed true joy.
“Can I pray tonight instead of you?” he inquired. His request was not surprising. A while back, my husband wanted to make it a habit of joining our little family in prayer each evening. We alternate between the four of us, noting prayer requests and praying aloud together. It’s given our once hesitant son an abundance of confidence in prayer, as well as other areas in his life.
“Lord, thank you for the rain today. We prayed for it and really needed it. I pray for good sleep tonight. I pray that dada has a good week of work and that Ally’s garden grows. I pray that everyone in the world knows about Jesus and loves Jesus. I pray that camp goes well. Oh…hold on…mama…” He gently searched for and grabbed my hand. “God I pray that you heal mama’s wrist and make it not hurted anymore. In Jesus name, Amen.”
Even writing it now, it didn’t feel real. I felt such joyous bliss, as well as completely undeserving of being his mama. I laid there with tears welling up in my eyes, thinking of five years ago, being in the same room, crying silent tears. Only these tears were far from joyous.
I often felt on the verge of mental collapse, my faith on sand, not knowing that I wasn’t the only mother feeling like she was failing and sinking. Long nights breastfeeding felt isolating. The chronic insomnia that our child suffered (pre-autism diagnosis) had me weary. The news on TV made me feel hopeless. The things that were happening with my parents and grandparents had me petrified that I was looking into a glass ball, witnessing my own nightmarish future of mental illness and narcissism.
Life just felt consistently difficult, no breaks in suffering, understanding Job and his wife more than others. It felt like any joyful moments that should have been mine were snatched away by some sort of trial. I couldn’t interpret the difference at the time, that some of what I was facing was just hard work. I wish I could go back to the young girl who felt nothing but hopelessness and whisper to her that the fruits of her persistence, her faith, her labor….that she’d see them soon…that she would soon see how worth it these hard moments are.
How the Lord has rewarded me with these tender moments now, moments I don’t feel I deserve. I never felt there was a lot of fruit before, less joyous moments that I can recall from memory, though I’m not sure if that’s just because I had a different perspective then. All the same, I often ponder the understanding that I could never have done it myself - the Lord Himself knows I certainly tried it on my own. I tried to be the best mom out of my own willpower, I tried to rescue family members who were struggling with their own trials, I tried to be the best wife, best daughter-in-law, best sister, best Christian. I framed my own idea of goodness and found myself burnt-out, completely failing at being the best at anything when I was more-often bitter, confused, and alone.
I rejoiced in my autonomy, though I was only bound by my sins chains. It seems counterproductive, that in order to find this peaceful freedom, I had to be lost for a while. It certainly goes against the current grain of society, to stop looking up to myself and start to look to the One who knows me by name. I always had prided myself on being neutral, on finding the gray between this earthly life and my eternal life.
I felt a tugging in my heart to live wholeheartedly for the Lord instead of the world, but I was scared. I didn’t know what that really looked like, as many of the Christians I knew struggled with the same thing - attempting this balancing act between which way to live by. I made the conscious decision to follow Christ many years ago, my stubborn naivety slowed my sanctification process. It was an extremely lukewarm process in the earlier days, which left this young married mama afraid of being useless in the world. It was when I picked up two of Sally Clarkson’s books, Ministry of Motherhood and the Mission of Motherhood. Both propelled me into a divine revelation:
“My calling as a mother is the same as any other Christian’s: to fulfill God’s will for our lives and to glorify him. This means I am to follow the Lord’s design for my marriage—cleaving to my husband, supporting him, honoring him, loving him as my own flesh. I am to be a careful steward of the world in which I live. I am to seek opportunities to bring God’s message of redemption to others, to make full use of the gifts and talents he has placed in my life to bring him glory and further his kingdom. And I am to delight in him and worship him and praise him in whatever circumstance I find myself.” -Sally Clarkson, Mission of Motherhood
I think my son was a very young toddler when I first read these books, my heart exulted and deep inside I could finally breathe again. Of course, this was only the beginning of a longer transformation…many trialing events, good books, convicting sermons, and tearful prayers later…and I found myself laying on my son’s bed listening to his genuine prayers grateful for the path that got me to this moment.
A few have approached us, complimenting us on our son - his sweetness, sensitive, gentle, intelligent, humor, and quirkiness. I just cannot take the credit - not for how he’s turned out so far, not for my strong marriage, not for my relationship with my sister, not for anything about myself. I am an impatient, proud, and selfish person. My son lives with two imperfect parents and sees every single one of our flaws. He sees me at my angriest and most frustrated. What thankfully overrides these daily sins is our active choice to follow Jesus Christ. Our son sees the Light through us, woven in our daily life. There is no other explanation for the little boy who cradles my sore wrist and prays over it, who pauses to pray over his daddy’s aching back mid-conversation.
Sally said in these books better than I can explain, “The best way we can give the critical gift of faith to our children…is to exercise faith in our own lives – to accept the difficulties of life and choose to trust God in the midst of them. This means we will choose to be thankful, choose to be joyful, choose to be mature and strong, and try to be an example for our children. It also means we will talk to our children about why we’re choosing to respond in this way and share with them what God’s Word says about faith.”
As much as I pursue life differently than I had before, I don’t think the mountains that I face today have changed in size or importance. I endure the same drama, same people, same struggles, and the world truly feels more grim. It feels easier because I’m placing my trust in Him instead of myself. I’ve refocused where my eyes are, what path my feet are walking, the purpose to which I am called for, and Who I’m letting lead the way now. If I ever feel lost or alone, it’s fleeting because I can flood my mind with truths that I’ve placed my faith and hope in. I’m confident in who I am in Christ, where my life will take me, and certain that “all things work together for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose”.
Before I started writing this, I listened to a song by Sovereign Grace Music. It was a gentle reminder that whatever mountain you are facing, however dark the world feels right now, however alone you may be feeling, or lost…. “Turn your eyes upon Jesus. Look full in His wonderful face. And the things of earth will grow strangely dim In the light of His glory and grace.”