M Is for Mama: A Rebellion Against Mediocre Motherhood

by Abbie Halberstadt

In the world’s economics of motherhood, we can’t ever hope to have enough. We will burn out, and even our best intentions will succumb to a selfish, if universal, desire for ease. However, a gospel-centered view of the conundrum asks not “How can I if I don’t take care of me first?” but instead “How will Christ in spite of me?”

He has shown you, O mama, what is good and what the Lord requires of you. It’s in his Word. It’s in the daily seeking of him through prayer and petition. It’s in the memorizing of Scripture and the constant application of it to our lives. It’s in the bottom wiping and the belly laughing, the surprise sonograms and the surly teenagers. It’s there, hidden in the mysterious hours of quiet while we nurse our babes, written plainly across the sunlit, wonder-filled faces of our story-rapt toddlers. Moment by moment, day by day, “precept upon precept, line upon line, line upon line, here a little, there a little” (Isaiah 28:10 ESV), we catch glimpses of the ways in which the Lord is molding us into his likeness. There is no shortcut, and there is no generic formula. We must choose to trust in his goodness and be willing to let him tear away at our rough shell until our true skin is revealed, vulnerable and pliable—and bearing the marks of his grace.

If you already are a mother, then no other profession you can claim during your primary season of mothering can trump that of your job as a mama. Why? Because nothing else has the potential to impact the everlasting souls of the precious humans who have been entrusted to you (and to no one else) as much as the act of worship that is laying aside your other interests to focus on loving your family well.

In ten years, will any of the temporary stress relief you get from fussing about something that seems like a big deal now have been worth the lasting effect of your harsh words about it on your children? I knew the answer: a thousand times no.

I truly believe that my greatest and holiest purpose as a mother is to point my children to Jesus—to train them in his ways. But I cannot claim any credit for any success in keeping them in his ways. That is God’s doing.

But the truth is that it’s completely normal not to love a phase you’re in when it’s incredibly hard. I don’t think that “rejoicing always” (Philippians 4:4) is the same as “enjoying always.” I find no evidence that Jesus thought taking up his literal cross was fun—or that we’re expected to think taking up our figurative crosses is a lark either. We can rejoice that God’s strength is made perfect in our weakness when our eight-month-old is going through a brutal sleep regression. It doesn’t mean that we have to do high kicks about the lack of sleep itself. In fact, I might check your temperature if you did.

But unless we are willing to swim against the stream of a culture that paints tech obsession as an inevitable aspect of twenty-first-century childhood, our children might never have the opportunity to experience the magic of a well-placed, single-handed four square ball slam as shafts of summer sunlight beat down on sun-bleached mops of sweaty hair.

Because that is the beauty of blessing others. We do it for them, but we benefit greatly in return. I need to remember this when I am tempted to clutch my problems tightly to my chest so no one can see and offer a helping hand. In doing so, I am robbing them of an opportunity to give and receive the blessing of help.

When godly conviction and a desire to focus on the good the Lord is doing are called “shaming” and shunted aside in favor of collective self-pity, take notice. It may feel good to vent at first, but soon we will find ourselves mired in discontentment and resentment if we fix our eyes on anything but Jesus, the Author and Finisher of our faith.