REDEMPTION

Finding the Householders' Path

I weave my way through the crowded sanctuary, crying baby in the sling. I'm earnestly trying to get out of the church service and into the "cry" room before the fussing becomes screaming. His little eyes are closed, but his crumpled face is beet red. With cheeks rubbing frantically against my chest, he's winding up for a major demonstration. I walk faster.

When you have small children, going anywhere can seem like more trouble than it's worth. Church is no exception: a lot of hassle in order to perform the same childcare tasks in a less conducive environment. We are visitors at this church today. I long to be present, focused, and engaged. Instead, this outing becomes one more opportunity to be banished from adult teaching and corporate worship.

Finding the right room, I pause and read the sign on the door: Breastfeeding Mothers Only. My heart sinks. Not only am I to be relegated to a closet with a demanding baby, but my sex and lactation determine that I am the only one in the family who can be. No chance of Daddy or Grandma taking a shift later, I guess. I put a resentful hand on the knob and push the door open.

My senses and emotions flood before my mind has a chance to take it in. The setting offers itself immediately as sanctuary. The room is dimly lit, perfect for soothing a child — or a mama's soul. The furniture is nice, comfortable. All my needs are anticipated: nursing pillows and tissue, a water pitcher and glasses. A silver tray is laid out for Communion, awaiting my participation. Next to it is a plaque that reads, "Mother, what you have given in love has become part of me. I thank God always for you."

Immediately tears are rolling down my face. I hadn't known that I felt invisible until I felt seen. I hadn't realized how thankless the ceaseless sacrifices of motherhood felt until someone gently pointed me to their honor and value.

Missed Adventures

I've always been a bookworm, and quite of few of my childhood BFFs were fictional. Frodo and Sam. Arthur and Merlin. My imagination was ignited as I lived through their adventures, but when I tried to picture myself in their stories, I just couldn't. The hero and his buddies were usually male; the womenfolk stayed back at camp during the real adventure. In all likelihood these women were having their own meaningful experiences, but those stories didn't make the book. It dawned on me that in my favorite epics, had I been there, I wouldn't be there. Without knowing it, I had imbibed a love of courage and inspiration — and a suspicion that there are beautiful places and quests to which women are not invited.

My life outside the pages, however, has seen no end of adventures. Topping the list is this miracle I've been caught up in for the past ten years: creating, birthing, and nurturing three brand-new souls. My children.

But as almost any mom can tell you, it's easy to get lost along the way. We're often playing the role of those who stayed behind to tend the fire, those whose stories fade into history untold and unsung. Again and again we stumble upon the message that the demands of motherhood will keep us from the most thrilling excursions.

Spiritual journeys, for instance. Investing time and energy into seeking God and his presence throughout the day. Loving and serving others in his name. Fellowshipping joyfully in community.

This is one adventure that does not drop easily from my hands. It haunts me like a song I can't place, like a delicious scent wafting on the winds of memory. It is the ambition I cannot quite let die.

Do you feel this too? Do you ache to connect with God, to love and serve others well? Does your soul long to be filled — and yet finds itself drying up in the busy stretches of every long day? When motherhood leaves us parched, where are we to find the time and energy for such a quest?

True and lasting spiritual growth comes from practicing spiritual disciplines over time, as Christian teaching and generations of seekers can attest. Our goal isn't to earn God's love or catch his attention, but to exercise and build our spiritual muscles. By investing our time and energy in pursuing God, our hearts and minds are changed; we begin to find him, to make a place for him in our spirits, our thoughts, and our identity.

Richard Foster's important book Celebration of Discipline outlines twelve practices that form the backbone of such a life: meditation, prayer, fasting, study, simplicity, solitude, submission, service, confession, worship, guidance, and celebration. Before becoming a mother, I eagerly embraced as many of these as my responsibilities allowed.

Now, my responsibilities rarely allow me to take a shower, much less sharpen spiritual practices. Silence and solitude? Never, ever, day or night. Prayer? Harder than you'd think after years of sleep deprivation. Fasting? Not while pregnant or breastfeeding. Service? Well, my kids definitely left their mark that time we "helped" at community painting day. Worship? There were years I didn't attend a worship service without a toddler bouncing on my back.

As mothers, our accumulated experience speaks a compelling case: Pursuing a deep spiritual life is simply not possible in this season, at least not in the ways we were taught. It seems the spiritual quest is one place where mothers, at least, cannot go.

That, or I'm really botching it.

Doorways and Forgotten Paths

I'm ready to leave the shop, but one thing stands in my way — the door. Not exactly a formidable barrier, but the odds are against me. My preschooler is running in circles, while my toddler pulls at my left hand. My right hand grips this terribly unwieldy baby carrier. Inside the carrier is, of course, my infant daughter. She is hungry and tired and howling. My purse is falling off one shoulder, my diaper bag off the other. Children are asking about snacks and water fountains, and I'm wondering, How are we all going to get through that door?

No one jumps to hold it open for me, though more than enough people are watching to ensure my embarrassment when...