Years ago, I had asked my boys’ dad if I could have three of his old shirts he doesn’t wear anymore.
I wanted to turn them into pillows, so the boys would have a part of their dad when they were with me.
I had a friend of mine, who knows what she’s doing, come over to help me. Remember, I’m not a crafty homemaker by nature. And it didn’t help I had a sewing machine that belonged to my mother, and in my lifetime I know had never been cleaned.
What should have taken a couple of hours, if I remember correctly, took the entire day and then having my friend take them home to finish them on her machine.
The important thing was they got done.
But here I am, years later, and one of my sons asks if I could re-fluff his.
Seriously? You still have it? It’s not destroyed? But you destroy everything? Why didn’t you destroy this?
Yep, he still has it. But to save face I have to tell you, it’s never been washed in all the years he’s had it. Gross.
So this morning, before work, I find myself looking around the house for my seam ripper.
As I sit down at the kitchen table with his deflated pillow and my ripper, we banter back and forth about how much work this is going to take me and that he should not make me do this, and how I’m a mom and it’s my job to do this for him, because I love him.
In walks one of his brothers, and guess what? Now I have to fix TWO of them!
Why can’t you be like your other brother? His is probably in one of the garbage bags of crap that he left behind, and is in the garage somewhere. He doesn’t care anymore. Why do you?
But if course, I don’t mean it. I don’t mean any of it. True I’m not looking forward to talking on this project, but only because it makes me feel incompetent. What would take other moms an hour to do, it will take me four.
But it grows me as a mom. It’s challenging, and difficult, and I don’t particularly enjoy any of it.
But I love my boys.
Anyone who has a child becomes a mom. Qualifications are pretty low. But the opportunities are limitless. You get to be the mom you want to be.
God knows this.
He knew I would struggle as a mom. He knew I wouldn’t particularly love every minute. He even knew I would have a hard time enjoying a lot of it.
But he knew I would step up and do it. Even if I didn’t want to.
In high school, classes would debate abortion. They probably still do. What I remember back then was I didn’t feel I really should have a say in what another woman did with her body.
I didn’t particularly like the idea of abortion, but I could think of reasons why others might have them. Rape, incest, mother’s safety, I’m sure there were others.
But as an adult, once I got older, once I found myself not living in the garden anymore, I found myself not in one, but two not ideal pregnancies.
For most of my friends, I could probably say, there was no decision to make, but really…how many of them were in my shoes?
When I found out I was pregnant with the first one, I had already had a five and one year old, and I had just left my husband, a week earlier.
We were getting a divorce and I was living back with my dad and his wife, in their three bedroom little house.
My income was around $24,000 a year.
My one year old was already showing signs of some kind of a disorder, but I had no idea what.
And remember, I wasn’t suppose to be a mom in the first place. I had no desire, growing up to be one.
(And before you say it, I was on birth control with two of my kids. The only one that was planned was the middle one…the one who has stretched me most as a mom.)
Now I’m going to be doing it alone.
Second time, I had three rambunctious boys. Oldest one was eight, youngest one was two, and my middle one was four; still not talking, destroying everything during frequent meltdowns and beating his older brother in rage and constantly fearing he would hurt his younger one.
I am unwed, and in an emotionally, verbally and quickly escalating into a physically abusive relationship.
I needed out.
So twice I asked myself, what the hell are you going to do?
I can’t say it was a hard decision to make. Of course, ultimately you all know, I kept the two babies. But it was still a decision I had to make. Or, I should say, it was a choice I felt I had.
However, although I didn’t feel very close to him at the time, I still knew God. I knew deep in my heart, he still had a plan for me, and he had a plan for these babies too.
For I know the plans I have for you,” says the LORD. “They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope. – Jeremiah 29:11
Oh my gosh, it took years, YEARS, for me to stop feeling like I was being punished.
God doesn’t punish.
But I finally came to the realization, that out of all the women, in all the world, that I was the only mom who could raise these kids the way God wanted them to be raised, so that they could grow up to be the men and woman, he intended for them to be.
And they didn’t need a mom who loved to bake cookies, or could sew all their clothes. Heck they didn’t even need a mom who could or would cook half way decent food.
They just needed a mom who would try.
So here I am, sitting at my kitchen table, cursing up a storm in my head but teasing my son about having to re-fluff a pillow, when it hits me…
I needed them, as much as they needed me!
Never, ever would I have felt the need to learn to cook, if I didn’t have to cook for them.
I wouldn’t have realized I needed to start standing up for myself and not let people take advantage of me, if I didn’t have to teach them the same thing.
I wouldn’t have learned I had a voice, if I hadn’t have had to shown them they have one too.
And I wouldn’t have learned to love, if I didn’t have someone, or someones to love.
So, I need to get back to ripping two pillows apart, so I can continue learning how to love my sons.
And I can give them a hard time about it later. Cuz that’s the kind of mom they need. And that’s the kind of mom God has made me to be.
Trust in the Lord with all your heart
and lean not on your own understanding;
in all your ways submit to him,
and he will make your paths straight. – Proverbs 3:5-6