Early this summer Dr. Albert Mohler referred to the
1968 bestseller The Population Bomb
on his daily news podcast The Briefing. In that book, the author, Paul Ehrlich,
warned that our planet would soon be overpopulated. Among other things, he predicted that mass starvation would result in the deaths of
half of all Americans by 1990.
Consequently, he argued for limited family size and compulsory
abortions. But none of Ehrlich’s doomsday
predictions came true. Though the
world’s population has grown from 3.5 to 7.5 billion since 1968, Mohler noted
on that podcast that a smaller percentage of people face starvation now than
they did then. What was the big mistake
in Erlich’s reasoning? He viewed the forthcoming
members of Generations X, Y, and Z as consumers, not producers. He calculated all the food they would consume
and all the resources they would deplete but failed to consider all that they would
produce. These yet-to-be-born
generations wouldn’t only eat, they would also work! Their thinking, inventing, farming, and
manufacturing would contribute to the worldwide GDP.
It occurred to me the
other day that Erlich’s view of people as consumers, not producers, was precisely
my problem. The kids and I had just
finished breakfast, and they had helped with the obligatory table clearing, but
haphazardly. Milk puddled on the floor
in the vicinity of James’s high chair.
Sticky but rapidly dehydrating Cheerios clung to Sean’s seat. Somehow the Table Washer had circumnavigated
a rather large pool of jam and a cinnamon-and-sugar spill. The majority of these breakfast-consuming
little people had boisterously migrated to the living room, where a myriad
K’nex almost instantaneously carpeted the floor. Add a glimpse of that to the Cheerios now
stuck to my shoe, the precarious stacks of dirty dishes on the counter, and a
clingy, feverish, teething one-year-old, and I felt as if a population bomb had
indeed detonated, and that in my own home.
I started to attack the carnage, loading the dishwasher a little more
furiously than necessary, mentally listing all the things on my to-do list that
I was sure I would not accomplish that day, while James, strapped in a hiking
backpack, fussed in my left ear.
But just as things in
my own heart were about to go from bad to worse, it occurred to me that my
thinking was a lot like that of Paul Erlich.
I was treating my children as if they were only consumers, and it is
when I permit them to carry on as if that is indeed all that they are, that my
resources, energy, and Christian perspective are rapidly depleted.
The fact of the
matter is, when children are born they are enlisted into their family
unit. This is a mandatory draft: all
members are fit for service and will be called up for active
duty. That’s a daily matter not of if, but when. Not of if, but what. Shortly after I’d
considered this, I was loading the dishwasher, backpack free, while Will
strolled James around the block, Marie mopped up the milk, Sean scouted for
Cheerios, and Eli and Nathan headed downstairs to sort the laundry.
People sometimes
comment to me, “I don’t know how you do it all.” When I hear that, I’m tempted to lament my
life right along with them, “I don’t know, either.” I am not one of those moms who’s able to say,
“Oh, once you have [fill in a number] children, adding another on is no big
deal.” It’s been a big deal to me seven
times over. Yes, the tater-tot casserole
that fed eight stretches to feed nine pretty easily. (Though I have a sneaking suspicion that our
food damages are going to grow exponentially in the future.) But the weight of the responsibility for an
eternal human soul is the same whether that soul belongs to your first child or
your fifth. True, along with the heavier
weight of responsibility comes a greater weight of joy. (When I once complained about my workload, a perceptive
single friend convicted me by calling my attention to that point.) But the fact of the matter is, I don’t do it
all. I can’t. And it’s when I start acting like I can that
things fall apart around here. The
little people around me are capable producers.
It’s true, they consume a lot more than they produce at first, but not
long and they can entertain the baby, vacuum rugs, flip grilled cheese, and put
away the laundry. And in fact, they
thrive when they learn these tasks, do them well, and receive loving praise and the reassurance that they are an important and contributing
member of their family unit.
In short, being a mom of many
children has put my managerial skills to the test. Honestly, I would prefer rolling up my sleeves to facing the objections that so often follow conscription or
orchestrating a wash-cloth folding boot camp.
But I’m blessed and my children are blessed when I wisely delegate so
that all members of this family work together for the benefit of the whole. And when we live that way, the Lord willing, we'll all be better prepared to face the future assignments
that await us in this spiritual battle in which we’re enlisted.
