motherhood

I always thought I’d get married young. I always thought I’d have several children. It wasn’t that I really thought through everything in detail or planned it all out like a lot of my friends. I didn’t have wedding colors or baby names chosen and Pinterest didn’t even exist until well into my twenties.

But it was just the ways things were. Everyone always said I was an old soul, even from the time I was young. So I figured it just came with the territory.

When I purchased my first car at 18-years-old and went by the credit union at the base for them to inspect it for my self-secured loan so I could start building credit, the base air commander came by to see it and said I had the psychology of a 40-year-old housewife. I took it as the compliment he meant it as. But part of me has always wondered both why I am the way I am and also why I don’t seem to belong in many spaces. Don’t get me wrong, I can run in a lot of spaces (and I do) and I can appreciate and genuinely enjoy them. But a sense of home often eludes me.

Many of my best friends in college were the moms I babysat for. And then the people I worked at camp with… who were maybe cut from the same odd cloth as me. Or maybe we’re all a little odd and just aren’t always free to not conform. 

Back to the motherhood thing… From the time I could move around as a baby, I was putting the pacifiers back in others babies mouths when they were crying. I was a baby taking care of other babies. One of the girls in the youth group I helped lead told me one time that I was the most nurturing non-mother she’d ever known. I’ve had multiple girls grown into women come back to me and tell me that I was present for them in ways or taught them things that their own mothers never had the capacity to. None of these things were “lessons” I set out to impart, they were simply the overflow of who I was in the presence of who they were. To me, they were so instinctual and a non-negotiable overflow of the moment’s need or even just desire and delight. Not effortless, I’ve cried gut wrenching tears on their behalf. But intuitive and things I couldn’t not do in the moment.

Recently on a plane, a grandfather was walking the aisle, held out a baby to me and asked if I “wanted a baby?” His followup was, “You look like a mom.” I thanked him and let him know I’m not, but that I’m an aunt and love all the children in my life very much. I played with his grand baby a few minutes and then passed the baby back for him to continue his turn walking the aisle and entertaining the baby. 

I love how little children just look up at me with no guile and ask me if I have children, and I tell them no. To which they invariable ask “Why not?” That’s an easy one for me to answer, so I just tell them God hasn’t given me any. They also ask me if I’m married, and when I say no they also invariably ask “Why not?” My favorite answer to this one, even for adults who ask, is ask Jesus about that one. That could definitely be a longer conversation but it’s usually not the time of the place for all that.

But the funny thing, is for a several years now, I actually have felt like I won’t ever have children. And although I’ve walked with many friends over the years grieving not being able to have children, or the number of children they thought they would, I honestly don’t think I am distraught over this. And I don’t think I’m repressing or denying anything. But in light of the fact that I’ve essentially been a little mama for my whole life, it feels weird to me to acknowledge this. And it could be because I’m not in a serious relationship with anyone who I’d want to have children with. But I honestly don’t think so. 

And maybe the fact that I have been so surrounded my whole life with those I can step into mothering type of gaps in their life, and that I have so many littles in my life now that I get to love and be loved by, that I don’t feel an acute loss at the idea of not having my own children. And even sense the fact that I have a freedom in not having my own children to be more available to step into the lives of so many others that I would have less capacity for otherwise most likely. 

And as far as I know, it’s not that it would be physical impossible for me to have children. Although at the start of me trying to figure out all of my immune and gut issues 15 years ago, one nutritionist was very concerned that I not get pregnant as she thought it would be too much of a load on my body. At this point, I’m not getting any younger and am definitely starting to experience a round of hormonal shifts. Puberty in partial reverse ain’t no joke and isn’t a short journey and it looks like the train is starting to think about leaving the station.

Just this week, one of my favorite littles told her mom that I was “The bestest mom ever.” Her mom let her know I wasn’t a mom but I just love lots of kids to which this little one said, “Mom it doesn’t matter. Lela [what all the kids in my life call me] is the best mom ever and you need to tell her that.”

That just made me a weepy puddle. Again, I honestly think it wasn’t because I want to be an actual mom and am grieving that loss. But I really genuinely think it was the validation that I am exactly who I’m supposed to be and doing what I’m supposed to be doing. And this tiny person recognizes the love I have for her and is able to see me.

Recently I’ve realized ways that it’s extremely difficult for me to be seen still. Things I’ve worked on for years, still surfacing unexpectedly when pressed. To be seen and valued, even by an almost 4-year-old, is incredibly validating. Because she is exactly the kind of one I want to know this part of me. 

And when my nephew tells his mom that I’m his “best big person friend” and looks up at me with such delight and even almost shyness when he sees me but then abandons inhibition in a flurry of life updates and all he wants to show me… I melt all over again. 

And when my sister in law packs the kids their matching Christmas pajamas that I also have a set of for Thanksgiving night and the kids beam at the three of us matching, I beam too. And when my not even 2-year-old niece, points to her pajamas unprompted and beams “I’m pretty” while I’m holding her, I beam back “Yes, yes you are.” 

And somehow, the loving makes you know you’re loved. And somehow, this seeing lets you know you’re seen. 

And somehow this taking care of, this pouring out, this overflowing of a good design not confined to expectations or a particular role or relationship fills my life with such goodness. Glory come near. God’s good design flourishing. Outside the lines. I’ve never liked boxes anyway.

No matter the reason, the desire, the longing fulfilled and unfulfilled, may I just lean in close my sister friend and tell you that you are no less a daughter of Eve, a lifegiver in the spaces you occupy, whether you have given birth or not. Whether you have ever carried a child in your body or not. Whether you have adopted or not. Whether you are a bonus mom or not. Whether you have lost a child or not. Whether you have had an abortion or not. Whether you have an empty nest now or not. There are so many overwhelming situations and so much actual physical pain for a myriad of reasons in this broken and fallen world. And there’s grief in longings unfulfilled. But hear this loud and clear, by God’s good design you are a daughter of Eve. You are a lifegiver.

Can we champion this in each other? Can we champion a generation of girls to grow into women who can embody this in every space and role and season? Our language matters. Our theology matters… what we’re actually believing displayed in our actions, not just what we say we believe.