I flop into this wicker chair, all nine months miserable pregnant of me, and look out through the pretty white sheers draped lazy over the porch that I love – that everyone loves. The silence of this morning is restful, so reassuring, so freeing, but I know, I KNOW that the first sounds of life – the little one calling me from her crib or the other little one turned big bursting forth all questions and sounds – it will feel painfully jarring to this beautiful silence.
Why is that? Why do I always feel that my time in prayer and reflection is interrupted, cut short, not enough? Why do I find myself fighting the desire to run where rest and reading and writing are the three R’s of life? Why do I feel like I need to escape to love better? Why is it hard to stay in the mess of mothering?
Those are the words that flooded my journal this morning – this very morning – and I was reminded of Sara Hagerty’s love note to – me, apparently. I read it again and found the encouragement my heart always craves so much of:
So, you, mama, let go of the lie you’ve believed. Ease isn’t the gift for the mom to hold out in front of herself like a carrot, counting the days she moves closer towards that as her babes move out of diapers and into big beds and onto college, out of the house. Ease is the enemy of the mother who really wants to fall in love with God.