I can still see that scene playing out in the TV show, Dinosaurs, when the baby is hitting the daddy dinosaur over the head with the pot yelling over and over again, “Not the Mama! Not the Mama!” As if the dad needed help in remembering.
(If you don’t know what I am talking about or just want to be nostalgic, click here.)
Sometimes, this rings too true in my life- the reminder that I am not the mama.
I don’t know what that is – to be a mother. To not only care for another individual, but be concerned for their wellbeing – to be responsible for their safety and growth – to delight in their successes and support them in their failings– to sooth nightmares and boo-boos – to know the difference in a cry for hunger for food and a hunger for attention – to be consumed emotionally and physically by another being – to know every inch of that person and the stories of their scars and marks; to have one job that trumps a position that may bring in income– to make myself unnecessary. To help build that person into an individual capable of surviving without me all the while providing a soft place to land and a hard line to cross.
Recently, there was an article written. It was not an article that should have gained attention, but it did. (I hesitate to even link to it here, but if you have not read it, be warned that it is unkind.) This article throws words against a page that blasts women who do not recoil from their God-given ability of being a mother all the while making claims that anyone could be a mother; and this article was written by a woman.
Not only is this brash expression not true, it has been given the platform, thus the ability, to lodge into the deep recesses of desire and cut open the hearts of many women waiting for just such a title. And not only the women waiting, but the women who don’t even know what it is to wait in the want. The words flung on the page fly into the faces of women everywhere.
I believe in this world where everything is killing us from the food we eat to how we live in our surroundings, words are the fastest and most dangerous weapon. We have somehow convinced ourselves the age-old shield used as children is real: sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me.
What a flimsy shield. What a cowardly excuse to hide behind.
To the women waiting with your desires stinging your heart – hold on.
To the women with hands full and messy houses – hold on.
To the women who don’t even know what this looks like – hold on.
Hold on to each other.
And, even more important, hold on to Truth.
God is bigger than any moment in your life – even the moments that seem to overwhelm reality and dig into your dreams and heartaches.
We are torn down enough by the world; why not be a community of women coming together and building one another up instead of tearing each other down?
It takes the same effort and the same energy, just different words.