From Musician to Mom: How I Learned To Embrace Motherhood
It’s Not Monotony, It’s Faithfulness
As a mother of two school-aged children, one of the first things I think of when it comes to parenting is cutting the crusts off of bread. Not inspiring enough for you? Well, it’s true! While my kids are finally entering an age where they are willing to accept this once-reviled portion of the loaf, I still remember a time when, day after day, I would take out a bread knife, amputate those scorned edges, and banish them to the ends of the earth. The depth of contentment it created was just too good. No matter how annoying and wasteful it was, I couldn’t resist giving in to this small, but meaningful act of love for my kids.
Before becoming a mom, “routine,” was a dirty word to me. I equated habit and predictability with some sort of death of the soul that was to be avoided at all costs. True to my artistic temperament, I kept late and inconsistent hours. My husband and I are both night owls even now, so back then, if the sun was setting, the day had just begun for us. We had few cares other than our mutual fervor to lead worship and write songs. Music ministry was our baby, and as long as we arrived wherever we were playing next (sort of) on time, we were otherwise generally free to roam, “like a candy wrapper caught in an updraft.” -Homer Simpson
By age 30, I was fully immersed in my career and ministry, and just generally flying by the seat of my pants. Life was an adventure and I was a pioneer in my own story.
At the same time though…
The clock started to tick. You know the clock. That biological one that I thought was mythical until it definitely wasn’t. My body was nagging me to start a family, and I had no idea what to do with that.
Where I used to see a baby and either feel indifferent or maybe even a little repelled (don’t judge me), now I felt a foreign, but very real pang of desire to hold one of my own. Their tiny fragility went from seeming scary and intimidating, to undeniably, irresistibly inviting. It wasn’t long before my husband and I welcomed our daughter, and then a few years later, our son into ready arms.
During my first year of motherhood, I tried to continue doing everything I did before having children; only now I literally had a baby strapped to my chest. I refused to let anything slow down or change me. And I burnt out. Bad.
I’m not saying a woman can’t continue to chase dreams and adventure after motherhood. In fact, now that my kids are not babies anymore, I’ve been recently reawakening to a few past dreams that had to… take a nap for a bit. But in the beginning, I learned that I personally have a limit on how much pressure and responsibility I can handle; the result was that I ultimately decided that, “routine,” was not only not a bad word, but an incredibly necessary step towards my mental health as a mom and the stability I could create for my children. It did also mean, however, that I had to let a lot of things go.
Over the years, God has repeatedly reminded me of one thing: right now, motherhood is my highest and holiest calling.
I still lead worship and write music, but not nearly as often as I once did. I still stay up late, but it’s more like midnight instead of two or three. I still serve in ministry, but now my children come before everyone else. I’m still me, but it’s a version of me that puts my family before myself.
The role parents play might look conventional from the outside, but up close, the work is sacred. Every drive to a dance class is watering a garden of creativity and self-expression. Every cacophonous drum lesson is potentially building a future musician in God’s kingdom. Every Sunday that we choose to get dressed and go to church instead of staying home sews an understanding that God’s house and God’s people are worth getting up for.
Every load of laundry, every washed dish, every pair of socks bought and soon lost, every box of macaroni and cheese made, every anarchic birthday party, and yes… every crust of bread lovingly removed from a peanut butter and jelly sandwich is an act of faithfulness that fulfills a mandate God has given us all: to die to self and live for another. Just as He has done for us.
“Then he said to them all: ‘Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me.’” (Luke 9:23, NIV)
Parenthood is a daily, continual death to self in service to our children. In doing so, we serve Jesus.
“The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’” (Matthew 25:40, NIV)
We cannot let the enemy equate repetition with boredom. Our consistency is a glorious sacrifice that lays a new brick each day into the foundation of our children’s well-being. It models the very agape love that Jesus personified and commanded us to replicate.
We have a built-in opportunity to pick up our cross daily and follow Jesus, simply by being reliable, available, and attentive. Is it always a grand adventure? I mean, a diaper blowout can be pretty exciting, but most of the time, it’s just steady, dependable faithfulness.
“Therefore, I urge you, brothers and sisters, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God — this is your true and proper worship.” (Romans 12:1, NIV)
Whether I am commanding a stage as I lead thousands into worship, or sitting on a bedroom floor leading two children in sleepy bedtime prayers and lullabies, I will tell you this: both are holy ground.
Thanks for reading!
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