7/8/2014 0 Comments The Other MotherWhen you’re the “other” mother. Life has lots of “others”. Sometimes people are the “other” friend, the “other” woman, the “other” church, or job, or child. But what about when you’re the “other” mom? Society has pegged me as a target because of my differences in today’s parenting age. I didn’t breastfeed for “6 weeks to 6 months” which was best. I chose the “other” method of feeding, and thusly, perhaps poisoned my kids, and gave any other child a head-start against them. I don’t have 2.5 kids. In fact I’ve nearly doubled that and become a “crazy other”, like some sort of circus spectacle. I want to homeschool, and I’m not organic. The two seem to go hand in hand these days. Either you’re an “other” for completely sheltering your children from all things processed or man-made, or you’ve exposed them to the dangers and torments of the world we live in. I’ve chosen the “worst” of both: my kids get refined carbohydrates and high fructose corn syrup, AND a home-grown education where they may become socially awkward. (Wow I feel like I’m winning already!) But I’m the “other” mother on a terrifyingly new, and heartbreaking story, that’s more real life than I wish it to be. A distant friend of mine lost her sweet baby boy, just weeks before he was due to make his entrance into the world. And I happen to be the “other” mother, who can’t relate. I’ve never had a miscarriage. I’ve never struggled to get pregnant. In fact, I’ve found myself, three out of four times, pregnant with a baby that was “unplanned”. I’ve never had a long, hard, or difficult pregnancy, delivery, or recovery. I’m the “other” mother, who had all of her kids in less than 5 hours labor total, didn’t gain lots of extra weight, lost said weight within about 48 hours of having each of those babies, and who recovered well. So well that within the “6 weeks recovery” period, I got just that: a period. But I don’t know what to say or do now. Not because anyone actually will ever have the words or things to say or do to anyone who has loved and lost. But because in some ways I feel guilty for having the “ease” that I’ve had along the way. The story of David and Bathsheeba comes to mind in fact. And my friend and I, are two halves of the story. You read about David, having looked at this beautiful woman, and without so much as batting an eye, he takes her for himself after having her husband murdered in battle, appearing to be an honorable death. He and the woman conceive a child-a child born from the result of sin. My friend however is on the flip side. She had the most holiest of unions. A husband and wife made one by a Holy God. Who had conceived a child out of purity and love, carried out only to end in loss and pain and torment. Just like David and Bathsheeba, her baby boy died. Dear Jesus, why. That’s been the question that haunts me as the ” other” mother. The one who had her fourth baby, again unplanned, and to be candid, unwanted, up until about 6 months of pregnancy. My mind won’t let me rest, and every moment I spend alone feeding and soothing, changing and burping, watching, talking, rocking, and holding my sweet baby, I think of her. My mind haunts me, and yet hers must be more. My heart breaks, but undoubtedly her is more broken. My sadness is deeper than I’ve known, and yet hers deeper than most will ever imagine. Guilt and shame and embarrassment fill my mind, when I post photos of my baby. When I let the world know of a new milestone in her life, I feel as though her, the “other” mother will resent it. Or me. Or maybe she finds peace knowing her baby would be doing the same things In the same season, since our babies would be so close in age. Maybe she feels comforted by the similar smiles and features of a new baby, even though they will never compare to her own.
And regardless of me, or my friend, or you or an “other”, we should be drawn to worship. Whether on the highest of mountains, or in the muck of the lowest valleys, we too should pour out our songs of sadness, praise, thanks and worship to the Maker of all. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve learned in the last four years that the love of God is deeper than my deepest feelings of love as a parent. That my babies are gifts, and I cherish them. That regardless of methods and means, they too are part of the ransomed chosen children of Christ. And for that I am yet again blessed. But I pray that I would be found worth of the cause of worship, in my everyday as a parent. Usually people have to remind themselves that “God is sovereigb” as they walk through hardship. I’ve been walking through someone else’s hardship reminding myself that He is as well. But it’s a new perspective for sure. The last time I found myself throwing up because of an “unwanted”pregnancy, I found myself clinging to words that He is the cornerstone, regardless of my position. And recently I’ve found myself asking for forgiveness because my heart was not aligned with God’s plan that is perfect. And I pray that the perfection of His plan, although difficult at times, would be realized by my friend sooner than later. In fact, every time I look at my baby, I remember hers, and pray for sweet peace to flood their home. I pray, That God would grant her the grace to find each day easier than the day before. Please Jesus, do it. And even though she has been broken into pieces by circumstances out of anyone's control, she, like David, has poured out beautiful worship to Jesus. I know that not because of the "songs" I've heard her sing. But because her responses, and her actions, in the everyday grind, which is where it is most difficult, have been an anthem to the God who is now holding her sweet baby, until we all, one day, rise again in Christ.One thing I do know is this: there is NO “other” deserving of my worship. Or hers. Our yours."My hope is built on nothing less Christ alone
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AuthorBri is the mom to four little people, the wife to a gentle giant, and a lover of Jesus. She's figuring out the best ways to parent by trial and error, and sharing her struggles, successes, and stories with you! Archives
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