Why Being A Mom Is Worth It

Last year I went with some friends to watch the movie Mom's Night Out - if you're a mama then you might be familiar with it. It was adorably funny and relatable. At the time, I was hugely pregnant and swollen, wondering how on earth I was going to keep our home from descending into total chaos after we brought our third child home from the hospital.

(Spoiler alert: I didn't. Barely/not-at-all controlled chaos has been the name of the game for the past ten months or so. The infant stage is tough, y'all.)

My favorite part was when the husband comes home from his business trip and follows a trail of chocolate wrappers to the closet where he finds his wife, hiding from the messy house and having a mini nervous breakdown. If you haven't hit a low like that in your mothering career already...your day is probably coming ;) Later on, Dave and I rented the movie to watch together - mostly because I wanted to show him proof that I'm not crazy - or at least only as crazy as the average mom.

He liked it and we laughed but at the end he said, "Man, that really makes being a mom sound horrible."

And I stopped, because I realized he was right.

Now, let me be clear, I don't think it's wrong to admit that being a mom is hard sometimes and I don't think it's necessary to pretend like we always love every second or  that our kids fart rainbows and we flit magically through life with nary a problem. In fact, it can be super, super encouraging to hear another mom admit that they so do not have it all figured out. 

Sometimes we need to be able to have a good cry with our husband or friends and just get it off our chests that this mothering gig can be rough, and for Pete's sake, we need to be able to laugh at our troubles because it's good for the soul and reminds us that the world will not end because our child wrote her name on her bed in black permanent marker and the baby pooped in the tub and nobody took a nap and there is yogurt on the ceiling for some inexplicable reason. Laughter says, "Guess what soldier, YOU SURVIVED. And everyone in your house is still alive and breathing and the world will go on turning whether you ever get the yogurt cleaned off the ceiling or not. It's going to be ok."

But.

But.

Too often I expertly communicate in great detail all of the bad things without really doing any justice to the awesome things. Usually I throw out some pithy statement,

"Oh, but it's sooo worth it!"

Well, yes, it is. But why?

Because last night when Luke was up every few hours fussing with a nose so plugged up he couldn't nurse, I sat and rocked him and he snuggled on my chest and he kept taking his impossibly soft little face and giving me kisses until I thought my heart would melt right into a puddle on the floor. Because I am his mama and he needed me and in his little baby way he was telling me, "I'm so glad you're here, Mommy, because I don't feel good and you help make it better."

It's that moment when the doctor lays your screaming newborn on your chest and you say her name and she instantly stops crying because she knows your voice and instinctively feels, "This is my mama and she will make it all better."

It's that moment when your six year old tells you about a friend who hurt her feelings and she's trying to be brave and hold back her tears until you take her in your arms and she sobs because this is her mama, and she will make it feel better.

It's that moment when your four year old has a nightmare and cries out for you because you are her mama and you will help make it better.

It's their chubby hand in yours, the easy way they forgive you when you've wronged them, the way they are always happy to see you.

The way they bounce and chatter and share every moment of their day with you, because you are that person to them, the one whose opinion matters above all else, the one whose encouragement can help pick them up again and whose disapproval can crush them.

It's the way they giggle and sing and dance with abandon and remind you not to take life so seriously.

It's the way their eyes light up when you come into the room, or they catch your eye on stage. The way they run and jump and hug you with all the strength they can muster when you return from being gone.

It's the way they remind me that life is not meant to be lived only for myself.

Jesus, while he was on earth, did not come as the political king his followers were looking for, but as the servant king.

In those last moments before his death he wasn't walking around demanding to be pampered and hoping people would feel sorry for him, he was washing feet. 

When I am up all night with a crying baby and I feel as though I will never sleep again...that's foot washing.

When I'm cleaning puke out of sheets and stroking feverish heads...that's foot washing.

When I'm reading Goodnight, Moon for the five trillionth time instead of vegging in front of the TV or reading a grown up story...that's foot washing.

When I'm sacrificing my comfort and my desires for the sake of my children, I am being the hands and feet of Jesus.

The truth is, someday my children won't be so dependent on me. And I hope that when that day comes I will not take all my free time and turn it inward. I pray that my sunset years will find me still working, still serving, still sacrificing my free time for the sake of others, still washing feet.

If I spend my life constructing a sand castle kingdom of self, in the end when the tide comes it will wash away and all I will be left with is myself. Selfishness promises satisfaction and brings emptiness. He promises life - abundant life. 

I'm so grateful for these little faces He gave me that have helped me see that - glimpses of His grace. My love for them is but a mere echo of His love for me.

Yes, being a mom is hard, but it is way more amazing than it is hard. And it IS worth it, because He is worth it. Press on, Mama, you are doing kingdom work!