"her name is sarah"

There came a day one late spring when my son Nathanael decided that his life was not yet complete.  Something was very missing.  Or, rather, some one. 

"Please," he begged his father and me, "I need this person.  Get her for me."

We told him it wasn't the right time.  Conditions were not favorable.  He needed to wait.

But he persisted.  Not a day went by when he did not speak of her.  Finally, I told him he would have to pray about this, because this dream of his was not on our agenda.  Only God, we told him, could work this out for him.

So he prayed.  "Dear Jesus, please give me a baby sister."

He was three years old, and had the undeniable, unshakable faith of a child.

Technically, we were homeless.  We had a place to stay, but not permanently.  Most of our worldly possessions were in storage in another state a full day's drive away.  Tom worked nearly non-stop from seven in the morning till eleven at night because we were trying to save as much as we could so we could join our possessions before fall.  With a preschooler and a toddler, we felt we had enough on our hands at the moment.  Much as we love children, this was not the best time to add a baby.

One month later I got so sick I could hardly function.  Nothing I ate would stay down.  Nothing.  I moaned and groaned on our borrowed couch, overcome with waves of nausea.  I knew the signs.  I'd gone through this before.  Twice, in fact.  I dreaded going through it again, but there was no denying it.

We were having a baby.

Nathanael was just ecstatic when we told him.  Jumping up and down, clapping his hands ecstatic.  He told everyone he knew, and even a few people he didn't.  He wanted to know when she was coming, what her name would be.

"Well," I said, "IF we have a girl," (great emphasis on the word if), "we will call her Sarah."

Nathanael completely ignored the if.  There were no ifs in his thinking.  Not at all.  God had heard his prayer; he was getting his baby sister at long last.

We went to Maranatha that August, and Nathanael met lots of new people.  He quickly learned there were several pieces of information everyone wanted to know, so as the out-going older brother of a rather shy toddler, he took over all the introductions.  And added a bit of extra information no one thought to ask about.

"Hi!  I'm Nathanael, and I'm three.  This is my brother Josiah, and he's one.  And I have a baby sister named Sarah, and she's inside my mommy's belly."

Oh, the looks that generated!  Most people at least had the grace to act excited for his sake, but the sidewise glances I got were...interesting.  :D

Several teenage girls sat down with Nathanael that week, and tried to explain the facts:  Mommy could give you another brother, you know.  What would his name be? 

"I'm not having a brother, I'm having a sister.  And HER name is Sarah."

Then one day in January there was a concern that I might possibly go into early labor.  I didn't, and there was no real cause for alarm, but that day we had a sonogram done.  Which revealed that we were having a boy.

I had caught Nathanael's excitement, and was eagerly anticipating my first daughter.  I was never more disappointed in my life.

I explained to Nathanael that doctors have this machine that can take pictures of a baby before it's born, and that those pictures showed that our baby was a boy.  We would be calling him Christopher.  He listened patiently, then patted my shoulder to assure me:

"It's a girl, Mommy.  Her name is Sarah."

A month later, labor started for real.  In the middle of the night we woke the boys and rushed them to the babysitter's house.  Then we rushed to the hospital, running several red lights in the process.  We got there barely in time.  I was in the hospital maybe 45 minutes when with a loud SMATCH the water balloon broke and our baby entered our world.

"It's a girl!" Tom said, his face radiant with smiles.

I was incredulous.  "It's a girl?  It's a girl?  It's a GIRL?"

A girl.  A glorious daughter.  A dream come true.  A prayer answered.

Of course, Nathanael was not in the least surprised by this news.  Later that day he was heard speaking on the phone:

"It's a girl, Grandma.  The doctor said it was a boy, but it's a girl."

His voice clearly indicated his opinion that doctors are fools.

lonely moms of older children

This blog post struck a chord with me.  A couple of friends posted it on facebook, and some of the comments referred to young moms who think they've got it all figured out and how maybe it's better not to give advice to other moms.

I know what they mean--we really don't have it all figured out, we really don't have all the answers, we really aren't sure we're qualified to give anyone advice about anything related to child-rearing.  Young moms haven't gone through the whole gamut of parenting from start to finish.  Older moms wonder if you're ever really "finished" parenting.  Really older moms know you never will be.

My point is, no one, if they're truly honest, thinks they have all the answers.  No one feels qualified to advise or counsel someone else.  As a result, there are mothers out there who are searching for answers they can't find, struggling in the dark to make a go of things without any assurance they're on the right track.

Sometimes I'm one of them.  And yet...

I am in a position where I am expected to have advice ready when called upon.

I'm a grandma now, and my daughter has lots of questions about this 24/7 occupation called "motherhood."  Most of her questions start with the words, "Is it normal...?"

Yes, it's normal.  It's normal for nursing moms to want some time off.  It's normal for a baby not to want covered up, even when you're freezing.  It's normal for a baby to sleep all night one night, and then want to play for hours on end the next night.  It's normal to struggle with patience when you've been up all night.  It's normal to lose it, to make mistakes, to second-guess yourself, to cry in the dark wondering if you really are cut out for this job.  It's also normal to feel like it's the best job in the whole world, and to know that you never want to do anything else.

I'm a mother, with two daughters still at home who need me to guide them through this winding, twisting, confusing maze called "growing up."

You're becoming a woman.  You're going to have meltdowns for no rational reason you can think of.  You're going to be on cloud nine one minute, and in the depths of despair the next.  [Anne of Green Gables, anyone?]  It's okay to be friends with the guys and to be irritated with all the annoying remarks and insinuations from people who can't seem to comprehend the concept of "just friends."  It's normal to be annoyed with your little brothers and love them to pieces (not literally) at the same time.  Yes, I want to get out of the house and get away from everybody sometimes, too.

I'm a pastor's wife, and women often ask me marriage/family-related questions.

No, your child will not suffer from doing chores.  I'm sorry to hear about your son/daughter.  It's hard to stand by and watch your grown children make choices that lead to bitter consequences.  I'll be praying with you about him/her.  Yes, God says we're to love and honor our husbands even when they are dead wrong.  Remember Sarah and Abraham, and 1 Peter 3.

[By the way, surely I'm not the only person who thinks maybe Peter wrote verses 1-2 with a somewhat rueful smile toward his own wife?  What kind of amazing woman was she, anyway, to put up with his impulsiveness and his "open mouth, insert foot" tendencies?  How she must have believed in him, encouraged him, supported him, prayed for him!  1 Corinthians 9:5 suggests she must have traveled with him in some itinerant ministry, also.  It can be hard on a woman not to have a permanent home.]

We women need other women.  Wives need other wives.  Mothers need other mothers.  Grandmothers need other grandmothers.

Which means someone needs me, and I need you.

I've learned not to put on a know-it-all front, because I really don't know much.  Pride turns to hypocritical condemnation faster than you can blink.

But I can point to what the Lord has told us in His Word, one of which is that the older women have this God-given list of things they are supposed to teach to younger women.  Which means that if I am older than you, I have the responsibility to show you the way on this journey of wife-hood, motherhood, life.

I can share what worked for me in any given similar situation, and I can also tell you a lot of stuff I tried that didn't work.  I can put my arms around you and tell you how I made a lot of sad, sorry mistakes and I don't know how to fix them, and I know how you feel.  I can tell you how I learned to trust my Saviour all the more through the hard times--how I learned to praise Him in the dark.

I can tell you about being so sorrowful of soul that no words come in the prayer closet--only heart-broken, heaving sobs.  I can tell you about turning hymns into prayers over a kitchen full of dirty dishes and squabbling children when there's no time or space for getting alone with God.

I can teach you how to be sober (which means to be self-controlled, and not moody--even during "that" time of the month).

I can teach you how to love your husband, to make him brownies and chocolate chip cookies and liver and onions, to be quiet when you've said enough (or too much).

I can teach you how to love your children, to change their diapers, to hug them at the odd times of the day or night when they seem to randomly need a hug, to home school them without "losing it", to spell love the way they do: TIME.

I can teach you how to be discreet (which is the same Greek word as sober, above--God knows we need to be told more than once to be self-controlled).

I can teach you how to be chaste in your heart and with your body, with your behaviour and with your clothes.  And I can help you understand why that is so important for the guys' sakes.

I can teach you how to be a keeper at home even when you're dirt poor and your husband has to take part-time work on top of his full-time work just to barely make ends meet--and how to keep your marriage strong when your husband works 60+ hours a week.  I can teach you how to keep your house clean, cook healthy meals, sew clothing, make quilts, knit mitts and scarves and hats, crochet pot holders, cross-stitch pictures with Bible verses for your walls.  How to manage your time wisely, and manage your children's time as well.

I can teach you to be good (which means, among other things, to be cheerful, useful, kind, honorable).

I can teach you to be obedient to your own husband, and how to appeal your case when you think he's being unreasonable.

And I can teach you how all those things I've listed are soooooooo necessary so that we don't cause the word of God to be blasphemed by those who are watching, wondering whether there really is anything to this thing we call Christianity.

I have been young, and now I'm getting older.  I'm more often being called upon to be the teacher....

BUT....

....at the same time desperately needing to be the student.

Yesterday I had a melt-down.  It wasn't pretty.  And mine weren't the only tears flowing.  I thank God my children are so forgiving.  I was mean.  I said hurtful things.  If I had taken time to bite my tongue and walk away, I would have seen that I was tired and frustrated.  I would have remembered that when I'm tired and frustrated it's better that I don't talk.  Because so often I don't talk when I'm that way.  I yell.  I cry.  I lecture.  I scold.  And with escalating intensity.  And people--usually my children--get their feelings and emotions hurt, crushed, stomped on.

I need someone to teach me.

I need you to get in my face about some stuff, to let me cry on your shoulder, to be excited about stuff I'm learning, to hug me when I'm down, and to show me by example how to praise God in the storm.

I need you to teach me how to be sober (which means to be self-controlled, and not moody--even during "that" time of the month).

I need you to teach me how to love my husband, to make food that will keep him strong and healthy, to be quiet when I've said enough (or, more often, too much).

I need you to teach me how to love my children, to be patient with their messes, to hug them at the odd times of the day or night when they seem to randomly need a hug (even when I'd rather be left alone), to home school the whole bunch without "losing it", to spell love the way they do: TIME.

I need you to teach me how to be discreet (which is the same Greek word as sober, above--God knows I need to be told more than once to be self-controlled).  I need you to keep me accountable in my eating habits.  I need you to teach me how to say just enough but not too much, and to do it calmly.

I need you to teach me how to be chaste in what I watch or read, and I need you to remind me to be careful about what my children watch or read. 

I need you to teach me how to be a keeper at home, to be frugal, to make a penny buy a dime's worth.  I need you to teach me how to make my home look home-y: tastefully decorated in a simple, uncluttered style that reflects who we are as a family, one that welcomes children but isn't constantly trashed by them.  I need you to teach me how to manage my time wisely so that I can slowly ease in a home business that adds to our income and the children's practical real-life education, but doesn't take me away from my other responsibilities, and manage my children's time as well.

I need you to teach me how to be good (which means, among other things, to be cheerful in attitude and to be kind in speech).  How to find the right balance between ministering to my family (top priority) and ministering to others on the "outside" (also important).

I need you to teach me how to be obedient to my own husband, and how to appeal my case when I think he's being unreasonable.

[By the way, pastors and pastors' wives are human, just like everyone else.  We aren't up on some "look at us, we've arrived" sort of pedestal.  We sin.  We make mistakes we bitterly regret.  We need grace and forgiveness.  We need hugs and encouragement and prayer.  We need people to hold themselves to the same standard they want to hold us to, as long as it's a biblical standard.]

And I need you to remind me how all those things I've listed are soooooooo necessary so that I don't cause the word of God to be blasphemed by those who are watching, wondering whether there really is anything to this thing we call Christianity.  I need you to encourage me to keep at it, no matter what the world, or even other Christians, think.

We need each other.  We do need to respect our children's need for privacy and not put a lot of personal stuff on facebook or in blog posts, or even in private e-mails.  Hey, I'm even careful about what I write in my journal.  But we also need to be vulnerable for the sake of encouraging others who are going through the same struggles we are, or that we have been through.  We need to teach our children that we're not in this life just for ourselves, but that we are here for each other and for the glory of God.

The blog post I linked to at the beginning of this post is titled "Dear Lonely Mom of Older Kids."  Let me remind you that God puts the lonely in families (Psalm 68:6).  We're in this together.  If you're lonely, reach out to someone around you who can walk with you.  If you know someone who is lonely, offer yourself to them.  There's no reason (other than selfishly shielding ourselves from vulnerability) not to.

{{{{hugs to all the lonely moms out there}}}} :)