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| (L to R: Queen Susan, Mr. Tumnus, High King Peter, King Edmund. ;-) |
A while back I sent my
brother-in-law, a family physician, a rather
melodramatic e-mail. I mentioned the large black and blue blotch
that's emerged on my left leg. "Is it a varicose vein?" I
asked. I explained that I expected a varicose vein to look more like–well,
a vein–not an itchy, painful, swollen, leg-covering abstract painting in
purple in green. I went on, "Should I ice it? What types of exercise
are good or bad? Am I stuck with it forever?"
There's a lot about
motherhood—and pregnancy—that can feel like forever. Continually
interrupted sleep, repeated power plays in the grocery store, and yes, even
varicose veins. It's when I focus on these little trials that I'm tempted
to think that there must be another calling for which I'm better suited, one I would
find more fulfilling.
That's why I was
struck by Exodus 1:21 the other morning. The eastern horizon was smudged with the first
rosy hints of dawn when I settled on the loveseat, wrapped in my bathrobe, my
Bible in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. Except for the whirr of the furnace, our home
was silent and still—two rare commodities around here. That morning I began reading in the book of Exodus,
which opens by relating Pharaoh’s desperate attempts to curb the rapid growth
of the Israelite nation. Two Israelite women were a vital part of his
genocidal plan. While most of their sisters slaved as fieldworkers and
brick-bakers, these two Hebrew women, midwives, were called before Pharoah
himself.
You don't have
to be very familiar with the story to remember that the midwives didn't comply
with Pharoah’s command that they kill the newborn sons of the Israelites: their
lack of cooperation led to the cruel and radical order that all those baby boys
be thrown into the Nile. No, these women
revered God. They loved Jehovah so much that they obeyed Him rather than
man, and God rewarded them for their obedience. How?
No promotions. No advancement in professional
career. No public platform or widespread accolades. No, "because the midwives feared God, he
gave them families" (Ex. 1:21 ESV). He gave them families. He made them to know the
joys of holding their own newborns in their arms, the busy pitter-patter of
little feet in their homes, and stories and laughter around their table. But He also gave them the aches and pains
that pregnancy entails, and children who bickered with their siblings and made countless
messes that they were tempted to resent.
Like all other children, their infants needed constant care, their toddlers
required continual discipline, and as those children grew older they were prone
to disrespect their parents. Still, they
were God’s reward, and that at a time
when the boys’ lives were threatened from the very moment of their birth and
the girls were guaranteed a life of poverty and slavery, followed by years of
drifting in the dessert without a place to call home. That was His reward.
I needed that reminder
the other morning; I need it again today; it’s likely I will need it tomorrow. All it takes is one rough morning, one exhausting
outing, or one incident of rebellion, and I succumb to sinful, self-centered
thoughts that motherhood is little more than slavery, and I envy others who,
from my limited perspective, are occupied in more intellectually-stimulating
and materially-rewarding careers. It’s
then that I need the warning that I not throw my children into the Nile River
of my own self-idolatry.
The gospel transforms
homemaking, you see. I’ve been saved
from sin and bought by the Lord Jesus Christ!
He is no cruel taskmaster: he richly and undeservedly rewards all who
belong to Him, and His fields are white for harvest. When I do my work in His service, even a cup
of cold water given in His name is a work that praises Him. Even wiping up spilled milk, when done with a
thankful heart, not regret or a martyr complex, is a deed that praises Him. So, too, the cheerful sweeping of the floor,
the faithful loading of the dishes, and the patient instructing of a
child. Mothering
is not sacrifice or slavery: it is a high and holy calling, and the vocation that
God uses to sanctify many Christian women.
As numerous mothers of grown
children remind me, motherhood won’t last forever: the sleepless nights, the resolving
of petty arguments, and the varicose veins will give way to the eternal rest,
the blessed fellowship, and the glorious, resurrected bodies that will belong
to all of God’s saints in heaven. There
we will know how truly great our God is, how entirely satisfying He is. We’ll
marvel at the exceeding and eternal weight of glory worked by the light, momentary
afflictions of this life. And, Lord willing, there will be others there
to experience with us the joy that lasts forever: the children whom He has given to us.
