I am a processor. To a fault most of the time. (Any other ENFJs out there? Is it a curse or a blessing? Cuz I’m not always sure!) Anyways. The other day, I stood staring out my window, sticking my spoon straight into the peanut butter jar (I mean, protein, right?!), and it hit me. A realization flooded over me with a force that can only be Sovereign. Motherhood just cannot be processed. I spend so much time fleshing out feelings, thoughts, actions that all seem so confusing and so contradictory.
Motherhood is all the things all the time. All the feels even when you don’t want to feel. It is fully joy *and* fully struggle, just like the journey of childbirth. It’s wanting my kids to have big, beautiful imaginations, but also thinking I’m gonna go out of my ever-lovin’ mind if I have to answer one more question. It’s the frustration of cleaning up messes while knowing I would die if I didn’t have those messes to clean up. It’s the giving up of a former self to embrace a new and fully beautiful and fully terrifying identity. How can these things be?! (Literally, while I finished that sentence, my son informed me my daughter spilled a whole glass of milk on the couch. Like the couch might need to be burned and replaced it is so bad.) So, I guess it’s the irony of writing a blog post on the beauty of motherhood while pausing to clean up ginormous messes.
The hardest thing I’ve ever done and ever will do can never be processed or wholly understood. Motherhood just is. It just is so many things. And all at the same time. And in its mystery I can find peace, knowing it doesn’t have to be processed or understood to be meaningful. And in its mystery I can know that even when it doesn’t feel fulfilling, it is.
Its mystery keeps me constantly scared to death and equally thrilled to see what’s in store next.
Oh, this heart of mine. Only God knows it and can protect it, however He sees fit.