So, last Sunday was Mother’s Day. As I get older, I find the day is a cornucopia of mixed emotions for me. On the one hand, I’ve been very blessed to have some incredible ladies in my life. Mom, aunts, grandmas, friends. These ladies deserve to be honored and celebrated.
On the other hand, I want to be a mom, and the older I get, the more I understand the sadness childless women feel on Mother’s Day. Until I was twenty-two, I firmly did not want kids. Absolutely not. Kids terrified me, and I didn’t think I’d stand a chance of being a good mom. However, something started changing in my heart, and the next four years I found myself in the mode of, “I do want kids, maybe not this instant, but I’m thinking I’d like to be a mom.” Then, my brain moved to the point of, “We live in a psycho world, it’s an absolutely insane idea to want to bring children into this world, but I don’t care. I want to be a mama.” It’s true. I don’t have the vaguest idea of how to be a mom, but women have been moms since the beginning of time; so there’s a good chance I wouldn’t be the worst mother ever. And yes, I know you don’t have to actually go through pregnancy and labor to have kids and be a mom, but I find myself praying that one of these days I’ll get to go through that experience as well.
And, while I usually pep talk myself that should a miracle happen and God gives me a little rugrat, there are some days, like today, where I worry I’ll emotionally scar the future rugrat for life.
I’m an internalizer. When something upsets me, I lock it inside, and let it fester. It’s a totally “healthy” way to deal with things. Unfortunately, when things fester, they tend to eventually explode. Like I did. Tonight. The situation isn’t really that important. Yes, something needed to be done. Yes, I was just as good a candidate to deal with it as anyone. However, I handled it wrong. I fully accept the responsibility for handling it wrong. I’m still not sure how I should have handled it, but I definitely should not have done so in anger.
Later, after I started to calm down, I got really sad. Here I am, wanting to be a mom, and when a mothering situation came along I totally screwed up. I found myself berating myself for asking God to let me have a go at being a mom when I struggle so much to handle even basic confrontation situations. (As you can tell, I’m clearly emotionally mature.) In the midst of this inner fight/pity party, I suddenly had the first verse of What a Friend We Have In Jesus pop into my head.
“What a Friend we have in Jesus, all our sins and griefs to bear!
What a privilege to carry everything to God in prayer!
O what peace we often forfeit, O what needless pain we bear,
All because we do not carry everything to God in prayer.”
Joseph M. Scriven
I’m not trying to get all preachy here. In fact, I’m not one hundred percent sure why I feel compelled to share this sad little tale of my lack of emotional maturity. I do know, though, that the more I thought about those words, the calmer I got. It also occurred to me that I talk a good line about loving Jesus and believing in God, but I rarely take anything to Him because I don’t want to bother Him with my measly little problems. After the disaster of today, though, it occurs to me that I really do need His help. As long as I try to handle things without help, doom is inevitable.