“If you’re not enough without it, you won’t be enough with it.” - Cool Runnings
I never wanted kids. I was perfectly content keeping my ballerina body and my adulthood freedom. But then I got married. And God planted the seeds of motherhood delicately in my heart. It wasn’t a longing desire that just had to be fulfilled, but more of an adventure that might be worth pursuing. Once. Maybe. And then I met Audrey Nole and everything changed. Those delicately placed seeds suddenly sprouted and they had deep roots in my very being and identity. I was so in love, in a way I never fathomed possible, and my whole outlook on motherhood and children changed; literally in an instant. Suddenly, I wanted to be Mama. I wanted to love, raise, and mentor a whole slew of children. When I heard those words today, a quote from a movie no less, I realized that often my happiness is wrapped up in being that mama to lots of babes. That if I were to examine my grief over this last year, so much of it is wrapped up in the fact that not only did my baby die and I miss him, but that I’m having to wait even longer to add more babies to our family. God gave me this desire for lots of kids so obviously that means he’s going to make fulfilling that desire a top priority; and one of ease. Except that’s never been promised to me. And when I think about my identity - a mama of two, but only one you can see - it pains my heart and makes me angry. So what does that mean? I can focus all of my everything on filling bedrooms in my house with all the babies I imagined, but if I can’t rest in Jesus and know that he’s enough, right now and always, he still won’t be enough when I’m stressing over 2 or 3 more kiddos. And him being enough has been one of the themes through this journey. I can say to myself that he’s enough. I can write it down. I can plaster it on any surface I’d like. But do I believe it? Do I know it to be true? This is what I want to gain from this journey. Knowing and believing that Jesus is enough, no matter how many babies are in my arms. That doesn’t make the pain of losing George Mason any less, but it does make the grief over my own mental picture a whole lot easier to process and heal.