A lot can change in eighteen months.
One day in the spring of 2011 I walked into a room and shook hands with the people I didn't know, and then went upstairs to unpack my bags. Eighteen months later one of those hands that I shook that day took my hand and put a wedding band on my finger as we said "I do" and tried not to cry.
One late night late in the month of September 2013 my midwife handed me my son for the first time, and I pulled him close to me, waiting for that first breath and that first cry. It came. Color flooded his skin as he began crying, breathing in air for the first time. In that moment everything was exactly what it needed to be, because my baby was breathing. Eighteen months later I am 40 weeks and 2 days pregnant with our daughter, and I am waiting- longingly- to watch her take her first breath, to hear her first cry.
A lot can change in eighteen months.
EVERYTHING can change in eighteen months.
Becoming a wife and a mother were two of the greatest moments of my life- two momentous, life-altering events that would change who I was and how I lived, forever.
But I was someone before all that. There was a Sarah, once, who was neither wife nor mother, who was just Sarah. Sometimes I think about that girl, and how different we are from one another. Because we are very, very different. There are pieces of her in me still, of course. We both cannot help but sing along with the aching, haunting lyrics of Copeland's "Eat, Sleep, Repeat" album, which was my melancholy choice of soundtrack to my son's bath yesterday morning.
In most ways, though, I am not the Sarah I was just a few short years ago. I know I'm not the only woman who has found herself suddenly and completely transformed by this stage of life. There is talk of taking time for yourself, remembering who you are, holding on to your identity, not losing yourself in motherhood- and all of this talk stems from that all-encompassing change, from that moment when you look from a photo of yourself from a short time ago, to the mirror, and cannot find any resemblance.
It sounds terrifying.
It would have terrified me had I understood it before I got married, before I became Mama to two little hearts. If someone had told me four years ago that I would sit here in leggings, in a bedroom that contains not a single piece of old furniture and FOUR Star Trek posters, I would not have believed them.
If I had known that when I did at last have space of my own that my drawing "The Panopticon" still wouldn't get a place on the wall, I would have rebelled. I would not have believed that I would wear ballet flats more than Converse, or have four matching dining chairs instead of thrifting four entirely unique chairs. Four years ago, Converse were an unalterable staple to life, and the mismatched dining chair dream was one that could never be surrendered.
But here's the thing: I like this me better.
I like this Sarah. I liked the old Sarah, too, but who I am now is so much better. Sure, sometimes I miss standing in line outside dirty rock clubs, freezing in my hole-ridden skinny jeans and my black hoodie, wearing large safety pins through my ear piercings. But not enough to hang onto her. Because that's not me anymore, and that's okay.
Marriage has taught me sacrifice. No, not compromise- sacrifice. Sure, we've compromised on some things. Our kitchen table is the best example. He wanted bar-height and I wanted the aforementioned mismatched thing. We both strongly disliked the other's idea. "I don't want our toddlers falling off of bar stools!" and "Why does it have to look old and beat up right away?" were among the things discussed. We settled on a square, dark, regular-height wooden table with four matching chairs. (Side note: It ended up being perfect and we are so glad we didn't go with our other ideas.) Yes, in that case we compromised, but compromise cannot be my goal in things. It has to be sacrifice. It has to be love. It has to be preferring my husband above myself and buying the popcorn he likes even if I like a different popcorn better. It has to be getting up to make his tea in the morning all week without ever expecting that he will get up and make my coffee on the weekend.
The Sarah I was four years ago didn't know sacrifice. She knew compromise, but not sacrifice. She knew fair, and justice, and protecting her own interests, but she was absolutely terrible at sacrificing herself for another. I am a better Sarah now that I am learning.
Motherhood taught me yet more sacrifice, and then endurance and intentionality. Often I have been so tired I cried simply because I so desperately wanted sleep, and yet you need to get up and keep going. You stay awake, and present, and involved until at last they go to bed and you too can sleep. But until then, I must be there- really there. Actively loving, disciplining, caring for, teaching, and having fun. Sometimes it takes so much work to actively have fun with my child because the to-do list beckons, yet I know that every minute spent laying on the floor laughing with him is worth far more than any to-do list. I must endure throughout whatever weary discouragement may come, and I must be intentional in every single thing that I choose throughout my day.
Four-years-ago-Sarah didn't know these things. Four-years-ago-Sarah felt entitled to her sleep, to her rest, to her down-time. She didn't know how to choose "best" over "good enough" time and time again, even though "best" often requires more of us in the moment and is a far less intuitive choice. I am a better Sarah because I am learning these things.
So it's okay that I've changed, completely and in nearly every way. It's a good thing. Because while there are things that I've lost, I'm okay with the trade. The dreams I have now are better than the dreams I had four years ago. It's okay to let go of old dreams.
There are some things that I know I COULD be doing now, but which I have decided will simply have to wait until later. Maybe there will be a season in parenting when I decide to seriously pursue my art or my writing, later, when the bulk of our kids are older. But maybe not. Maybe the half-written books and half-formed collections will have to wait until we are empty nesters- not because my children are stealing my time, or my creativity, but because I am happily giving it to them. I am choosing them. My own gifts will get used once in a while, now, but mostly they will be used to help grow my children. That is what I have chosen to do with my life right now, and in no way do I regret that decision. They are a more precious legacy than any innovative art collection could ever be.
These children- my toddler, my unborn baby girl, and the children we are still praying for that are not here yet- are not keeping me from what I am meant to do with my life. They ARE what I am meant to do with my life. Being a mama does not prevent me from truly being who I am; it is who I truly am right now.
Besides, my own mama told me years ago- before I could really understand or relate to any of this- that as a believer it's never really about our own identity. It's about our relationship with God.
And she's right. I understand it now, or at least I am beginning to. My identity, or rather, the things I would have said made up my identity a few years ago, have largely changed. But my identity has not been lost. Rather, in losing myself, I have found room for more of Christ in me.
That's the really important part in all of this. Jesus. My own loves, dreams, abilities, convictions, and passions must fall away so my eyes can be more on Him. Not that all of those things are bad, but if they are ever as important to me as He is, then I am being proud in elevating my own loves to the level of His love, and that is wrong. He must be above all. He must motivate all that I do, why I do it, how I do it.
He alone enables me to be anything akin to a loving wife and loving mother. He alone gets me through the long days when all I want is for bedtime to arrive so I can collapse. He alone is the reason I am learning these lessons that I am learning. To Him be all the glory.
In Him may my entire identity be found.
This is my prayer, this is my goal: That instead of proudly identifying myself as a woman who is creative, organized, efficient, and whatever else I may be, I would first and foremost identify myself as an imperfect woman who has been saved by a perfect God.
No amount of diapers, missed naps, or giving up on decorating daydreams will take that from me. Motherhood does not strip you of Jesus. It strips you of yourself in many ways, yes...but maybe that isn't a bad thing. Maybe the stripping away of the things I once prided myself in is far better for me than holding on to those things. No, I never wear high heels anymore. Who cares? I love Jesus more today than I did four years ago, or even a year ago, and that is a beautiful thing. I depend on Him more today than I did when I was effectively managing a classroom and finding my love of teaching. Yes, some things are hard to let go of. Some things hurt a great deal to have stripped away. But nothing is more important than Jesus, and Jesus can be made greater in our lives when we are made less.
May He be my all, always.
"He who loves father or mother more than Me is not worthy of Me; and he who loves son or daughter more than Me is not worthy of Me. And he who does not take his cross ad follow after Me is not worthy of Me. He who has found his life will lose it, and he who has lost his life for My sake will find it." -Matthew 10:39
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