When did the world become so heavy? When did my heart become
so burdened for the hurts of others?
I hear updates of mothers who pass too soon and leave behind
children not yet in school. And my heart hurts. I read stories of children
without adequate nourishment, whose bellies are swollen and their mouths dry.
And I weep bitter, hard tears. There are times I am so overwhelmed by the
injustice of sex slavery and child pornography that I swear violently and
sincerely I will take their place. Every now and then, I lie awake at night and
pray fiercely for God to sweep these precious children up into His arms, or
more practically, up into the arms of a loving parent. In the darkest hours, I wake without reason and war Heaven against Hell. I pace up and down the
hallway sobbing and praying all the while. Then I tip toe into my son’s room.
Just to make sure. Just to thank Jesus.
Is it normal to weep over children you’ve never met and
probably never will? Is it sane to post at 2am about the transformation of motherhood?
What else do I do with the salty stream of tears streaking down my face? That I can
see the world more clearly through these tears is a profound mystery to me.
Motherhood has changed me. I honestly cannot even recall the
person I was before this transformation. And I don’t want to. I’m sure that
girl was likeable enough. Funny enough. Pretty, smart, kind enough. But she’s
no longer enough for me. My heart is too broken, too malleable, too soft to
ever be her again. The responsibility of motherhood burdens me, and yet it sets
me free.
My worldview has bourgeoned into something beyond myself,
something bigger and vaster and more holistic than I could have ever imagined.
I rock my sweet baby through teething, colds, ear infections, little fingers
caught in the cracks of doors, and I rock and rock and rock. I kiss his head,
stroke his cheek, and sing off key Christian lullabies until his tears have
subsided. And then I hold and rock him even tighter. What is this in my heart
that makes me want to rock all the children of the world? Even all of those
wounded adults who were once children? These rocking moments have made me
keenly aware of my dependency on, my addiction to Jesus. Truly, is there any
other answer? Any other hope or healer? Any other name by which men can be
saved? All other ground really is sinking sand.
There was a time, I remember vaguely, when my heart tried to
empathize with humanistic, secular causes. There were instances when I
attempted to extend common grace to the plight of gays fighting for marriage,
women fighting for pro-choice laws, and the medically uninsured fighting
against the one percent. But what mother has the time or the heart for that?
Who among us has energy to fight for anything more than our children’s
innocence, health, and salvation?
The right drawer of my home office desk is filled to the
brim with fliers that come to my mailbox. Anti-sex trafficking organizations.
Orphans in African countries. South American children with cleft pallets. I
want to rescue them all. Only, I can’t. My finances and my time are limited.
But my heart is full and overflowing. Somehow, by some divinely beautiful
mystery, knowing all of this breaks and heals me over and over again. My
responsibility to love the world as I love my son prompts me to action, and my
hope in Jesus sustains me against the waves of doubt and disbelief.
Oh, how gracious the Lord is to use motherhood to set me
free from the bondage of self and open my eyes to the needs of others.
