The
Gift of Motherhood
An
article that outlines the important areas of
nondenominational worship.
I have never
doubted that children are among God’s greatest gifts. But I assumed that one somehow
earned them, after proving oneself adequately mature and prepared.
In July,
1990, I was engaged to be married, barely twenty years old. I had just flunked
through my sophomore year of college, where I drank, smoked, and racked up credit
card debt, when I learned I was pregnant. My doctor phoned me at work, and numbly
I asked my boss for the afternoon off.
I drove
to a river, and while watching the current, tried to realize that fact that I
was going to be a mother. I took an honest look at myself. It was not a fruitful
inventory. A twenty-year-old who drinks, smokes, and doesn’t pay her bills is
not the same as a mother doing these things.
The word
mother conjured up many images for me: it meant a sun-filled kitchen, an apron,
helping with homework (the mother I wanted to be); it meant tiptoeing around before
school, being afraid to ask favors or advice, and the words "resent"
and "victimized" (the mother I had). That day I was nowhere near the
former and rebelling painfully against the latter. I wore black leather and torn
jeans, drank excessively, was wild and angry at the world. Just the sight of me
so horrified my future mother-in-law into calling, as Andy and I left for dates,
"Remember, God’s watching!" Frankly, I didn’t care. I was sure He wasn’t
interested in my life.
That hot
day I learned that while I was adolescent and self-indulgent, even though I was
regularly kicked out of my parents’ house and slept in my car, even though it
had always been my policy to live a destructive life (because "ya gotta die
of something"), despite my utter lack of qualifications, I was responsible
for someone’s livelihood, health, and security. Me. What in the world was God
thinking, saddling me with this responsibility when I couldn’t even take care
of myself? I had enormous changes to make.
From that
day on, I saw myself through my child’s eyes. I was struggling to make sense out
of my own childhood: What would this child grow up to see in me? What was there
to respect, esteem, or be proud of?
I immediately
stopped smoking and drinking. I retired my motorcycle jacket and the jeans with
the torn-out seat. I started eating regular meals. Most importantly, on August
8th, I gave my life to Christ, certain that this parenting job was
too bit to attempt without Him. Hindsight tells me that this must have been part
of His plan. I had been in a downward spiral of destruction. My husband Andy’s
gentle acceptance slowed it some, but deep down I didn’t feel worthy of his love,
or even God’s. Then He entrusted me with one of His precious children.
The next
months were a blur of the wedding, moving, college, and my son’s premature birth
in January, 1991. Andy and I were college students. We organized our schedules
so one of us was always with our son. Sometimes we met on campus, the baby bundled
in the stroller, handing off between classes. By our first anniversary, I was
completely different than the girl Andy met and fell in love with. I learned that
marriage was yet another area of my life that I could lift up to God, and we worked
hard to establish a solid relationship that started under such difficult conditions.
I tried hard
to be someone my son could admire. He was one year old when I got a full scholarship,
two when I graduated, and seven when I finished a graduate degree. Along the way
I found some gifts that God had entrusted to me. They were like new discoveries.
One day I
will have to explain to my son the circumstances of his birth. I hope that I can
also explain that it was his unearned and arguably misplaced trust in me that
motivated to become who I am now: that is, a woman of faith. I hope he will see
what a life-changing blessing he was. God gave me this child to show me that His
love was not something to be earned. It was always there, and I had simply to
turn to Him, claim it and be healed by it. It was this gesture, this gift sent
in a receiving blanket, that motivated me to dedicate my life to God. I have been
grateful ever since.
Author:
Jennifer Smith-Morris
Date: 3/5/00
