As a child, every year my focus during Lent was on suffering. More specifically, my suffering. I would spend all day thinking about whatever I gave up, or how hard it was to get through these extra prayers (followed by beating myself up over not focusing on Christ's life instead of mine). I'd push myself to do extra things - you know, polish my halo and feel holy inside. And I'd ask myself, "Am I suffering enough? Maybe I need to add more to my load so that it will be a 'good lent.'" It wasn't all bad, and certainly, in my fumbling immature ways, I did have the intention to love God more and rid myself of vices through these added sufferings. I would look up at a God who was willing to suffer for me, and try to imitate the saints and suffer for Him. An attempt at payback, right?
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Many of the mothers with whom I associate have more than the 2.2 children our society expects. It's beautiful. For some time now, when chatting with other moms or sharing our tidbits of challenges and joys, I've found myself sharing my experiences, with the addendum, "but I only have two."
(As a side note, this is not at all to ignore or forget my little one whom I lost, but in usual conversation, I talk about the two kids here on earth. That aside....) Because I only have two children to care for here, it costs me less to go to that exhibit at the museum. Because I only have two children, going to the grocery store is not quite pure insanity (though it helps that they're girls...) Because I only have two, I don't have as much trouble figuring out where to put all the beds or how to keep track of everyone's shoes. Because I only have two, family photos are less complicated, the dishes are fewer, the car-seat costs lower. But that does not mean my motherhood is easier. |
JpgA mother, pondering what it means to be loved. CategoriesArchives
March 2017
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