Musings About Mothers
Musings About Mothers

Mothers are Not Perfect

 but they are ‘mom-azing, mom-derful, and mom-some’.

I thought I would write a few thoughts about mothers since we have just celebrated mother’s day.

Mothers are not Born they are Made.

They are made in the furnace of adversity, and in the melting first look at your baby. They are made in the faithfulness of the night watch over a sick child and in the joy of a child’s response, no matter how small.

Proverbs outlines the character of this wise mother:

 Strength and dignity are her clothing, and she laughs at the time to come. She opens her mouth with wisdom, and the teaching of kindness is on her tongue. She looks well to the ways of her household and does not eat the bread of idleness. Her children rise up and call her blessed; (Prov 31:25-28a ESV).

The real life of mothering a child molds a woman into another kind of human being altogether, still fragile, still weak, still human, but wonderfully tough and resilient and willing to fight for her child.

Sure, there are some young or wounded women who are so damaged and hurt they cannot look beyond themselves to see the life of this precious little soul they have brought into the world.

But, most mothers become moms the moment they encounter the fragile life of a child.

Some women are so nurturing they take on others’ rejected children to love and care for; thank God for them!

Mothers are special kinds of human beings.

They see more deeply, feel more deeply through the child they bare.

Jesus’ mother, Mary was at the cross when all the disciples had fled, her fear overcome by her mother’s heart of love and grief for her son.

Ravi Zacharias, the apologist, speaks highly of his mother’s tenacity in sitting by the bedside of his dying brother when everyone else had given up on him, even the rest of the family, and her love seeing him restored to health.

My own family has a rich history of many generations of caring mothers, caring for the souls of their children, and fighting the fight in prayer for their children.

My great-grandmother was one of them.

I have in my possession a letter written to her children (she had 8) a few years before she died. She gives her testimony, and adds at the end, “I have prayed that I will see all my children in heaven”.

My maternal grandmother was her oldest child.

When her mom died she had not yet seen the fulfillment of that prayer. My grandmother lived her own kind of life for many years, only coming to repentance and faith in Christ in her 60’s after an accident that left her debilitated. I know this because she too wrote a letter, to me, from the old age village where she lived, speaking of her love for Christ.

My own mother was another woman who fought for her children. Born with a heart defect, her life expectancy was 18 years. When she was still alive at age 21 and engaged to be married to my father, doctors performed the first ever open-heart surgery in South Africa on an adult to correct this particular defect. (My mom is 83, and strong and healthy today). She wanted children and courageously, 2 years after her major surgery, I was born, pretty uneventfully.

Little did she know that a defining event a year later would rock her world as a mother and define mine for the rest of my life. At 1 year of age, I was burned rather badly and hospitalized in a small missionary hospital in Swaziland, where we lived.

The doctors gave my parents bad news that I was not responding to treatment for infection, and they went home to pray, calling all their friends to a prayer meeting that night. My mom fought for me, in prayer, and I was soon on the way to recovery.

A generation later, and I well remember the fight for my own daughters as if it were yesterday. I have experienced earth-shattering news on a few occasions, but the worst was with regards to separate incidents that happened to each my two daughters while they were growing up.

The fight for their survival was harsh, and at times soul destroying, but it turned out to God’s glory. I remember my heart and mind kicking into a new gear. A shout rose up from deep inside, a shout that said we would win! It was the shout of faith in God.

As a mother, I have stood before God and cried, mourned, prayed, shouted the victory in faith, given sacrifices of praise. I have held on sometimes by seeing a little spark of light in the distant darkness, but I have held on. And you do that as a mother, that’s what you do.

You don’t give up; you fight the good fight of faith. You intercede, you pray for your children. You refuse any other voice rising in your mind.

I watch my daughters in their own fight for their children. They laugh, they cry, and all the deep, dark emotions are mixed up with the happy, light ones in the pursuit of motherhood.

One of my daughters had a five-year struggle with infertility. I watched her struggle and stood by helplessly, and finally two beautiful babies. I have watched my other daughter weather the news of unexpected difficulties and make the adjustments because she is a mother.

You believe God and his word for you as a family.

After all, you are a mother.