motherhood means dying to self

I’m often surprised at the events or changes each season brings.  Sort of like knowing that snow’s coming but not realizing how cold it will feel or how distracting it will be.

Bcz this isn’t the first time or the second or the third… I knew it would be hard to say another goodbye-for-now to Timothy this morning.  I knew the children would be sad and we’d all go through the litany of wouldda-shouldda-couldda dones.  And, I knew I’d run the gamut of emotions as I helped with last minute stuff and stood on the porch waving i-love-you’s and goodbyes. But I didn’t really know.  I didn’t know this part of the road—I didn’t know this part of this season.  And I didn’t know how this would ache in a different kind of way than other times…
So, more and more I’m seeing that motherhood is a series of goodbyes.  And with each goodbye we learn.  With each goodbye we learn to make a choice to live a little more or to die a little more.  Sort of a prompting to experience more joy and die to self.  That dying to self is the hard part sometimes.  It’s hard bcz we spend a lot of our early motherhood in the it’s-all-about-me phase.  My pregnancy, my birth, my nursing, my schedule, my baby… my next pregnancy, my baby shower, my greatest-child-ever-born, my baby’s first_________, my midwife, my rocking chair, my quiet-time, my baby quilt, my dishes, my appliances, my memories…

And then, suddenly it hits:  Owow.  Wait-a-second… what? It’s not all about me.  O, it’s not about me, it’s all about whoever it’s about at the time.  And usually when you come to this realization, you discover it’s all about them.  Their plans, their schedule, their clothes, their discoveries, their meals, their tickets, their books, their mail, their studies, their calling in life, their stuff, their coming’s and going’s.  And it’s all necessary… it’s part of their season.  It is all about them.

And mother stands on the porch and waves goodbye.

And it’s all good.  It’s all right.  It’s the way it oughtta be.

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