To Everything in Motherhood, There is a Season

This week I watched social media as all of the people my age moved their kids to college. We, too, packed up Adelade and headed south on the same day that we sent one to his junior year of high school and one to her first day of seventh grade. All of this, while one enthusiastic little two year old followed us around everywhere singing songs she had composed about Mommy, dogs, church, and Elsa. It feels like I am living all the seasons of motherhood at once, and it’s both disorienting and glorious.

I am still hit by waves of grief that come from someplace deep inside, and usually at times when I least expect it. It is a type of grief, although some who have buried children would likely object to that terminology. There are different types of grief, though, and I believe that mothers experience a range of mournful moments as their children grow and change, as life shifts, as times pass by that will never come again. The day after we moved Adelade back to school, Chad and I took Ivy and went to eat Mexican fast food. I sat in the booth and cried into my tacos, completely bewildering both Chad and the baby. Strangers in the restaurant glanced nervously in my direction, but I couldn’t stop the flow of hot tears, even though I wanted to. Ivy kept dabbing at my face with a stiff fast food napkin, declaring loudly that I was crying and asking what was wrong.

It would have been impossible for me to explain my grief in that moment. I was missing something. Not people necessarily, but a time of life with those people. Third grade Adelade. Four year old Sawyer. Emerald as a songwriting two year old. Even Ivy as a tiny six month old, smiling at her little bunny that sings “Jesus Loves Me.” All of these times and many more along the path of motherhood play in my head like an old home movie. Scenes that probably only I remember. Expressions on little freckled faces. Toothless grins. First jokes. Declarations of love. I miss when things were simpler, when all of my little ones were under one roof. When our biggest concerns were who ate their vegetables and who was going to take a bath first.

Yet, each new season brings new joys. It’s one of the true beauties of motherhood: something new and interesting is always beginning as kids grow and change. As mothers, we really have two options. We can embrace each new season and absorb all of the joy of it, or we can grieve past seasons so often that we lose our enthusiasm for the glory that’s right in front of us. I’m not saying that we should never cry all over our taco plates. It happens. But I am saying that if we dwell too much on what we’ve lost as our kids grow up, we will wake up one day and realize that the beautiful life God gave us passed us by while we looked backward. Seasons change. This, too, shall pass. And I don’t want to miss any of the beauty in it, even if I am gazing at it through a few tears from time to time.

There are so many seasons in motherhood, and all of them are precious in their own way. But I think I’m figuring out after doing this job for 20 years that the most meaningful seasons aren’t those simpler, easier times that I sometimes long for. It’s the times when I am forced to fully rely on God that have made all the difference in my spiritual growth–seasons like this one, when I unclench those fists that have been holding on so tight to one of my kids, and I release her to God’s care. In these ways God sanctifies me through motherhood.

As Ivy dabbed at my eyes with her napkin which happened to be covered in refried beans, I patted her little hand and reassured her that I was okay. Before long we were beginning our long drive home, and she was back in her carseat making up songs as loudly as she possibly could. Chad and I looked at each other and grinned. What a season. It’s miraculous, really, how God teaches us in so many personal ways who He is. As I lie down to sleep tonight, I’ll picture my firstborn, so far away, so close to God’s heart, so safe in God’s hands. I’ll think of these precious ones just down the hall who will be leaving home sooner than we want. I’ll think of the toddler who will bring us joy well into our old age as she changes and grows and becomes who God designed her to be. And I’ll praise Him for all of the seasons past and yet to come. For He has been Master and Lord of them all, and He has never let go of one of us. My faith is well placed in this God who never leaves. To everything in motherhood, there is a season. And He is a God for all of them.