The Calling of Motherhood Begins

You and me, Helen…

“But You are He who took Me out of the womb;
You made Me trust while on My mother’s breasts.
I was cast upon You from birth.” Psalm 22:9–10

Dearest Daughters,

Well, today begins a new series! I’d like to spend the next few weeks talking about one of my favorite topics—babies!

The much loved Christmas song that we often sing says, A baby changes everything. I know it’s speaking of our Lord Jesus, but it’s drawn from what we all know is true of every baby.

I’d like to share something I wrote in A Time to Be Born about the life change I went through when you, Helen, were born:

Before I’d become a mother, my dreams for myself had been lofty. I’d envisioned bustling foreign cities, the music of other languages, the spicy scents of exotic markets as I served in mission work. These “important” things dominated my thoughts. Motherhood? That was simply life’s background music, peripheral to the “important” things—that is, until Helen. But now, holding my first baby in my arms, her milky scent sweet and her chubby warm body’s weight pressed against mine made me feel as if I’d been let in on a profound secret.

My first birth proportioned my world differently than ever before, shifting the weight of my thoughts and dreams from inside to outside of myself. Before I became a mother, I had lofty visions for my future. Perhaps I’d be a missionary. I could almost smell the exotic scents of Middle Eastern markets and hear the bustle of foreign cities. Perhaps I would serve God in various countries and in various ways…

As the climax of the [your] birth approached, the contractions took on a life of their own. Like grain in a mill, every mounting wave pulled me deeper into my labor. Clutching the wooden bedpost with my sweaty hand, I focused on Mom and matched my panting to hers. “Pant, pant, pant.” She panted out the word, fixing me with hazel eyes. How had she willingly done this ten times?

Dan scooted up beside me on our handmade, longleaf pine bed. Wrapping one arm around me, his whispered words drifted to me over a chasm of pain, “You can do it, honey. You’re doing so good.”

When, at last, our little wet baby Helen slipped from my body and passed from my mother’s hands into my own trembling ones, I clutched her to myself in gratitude and disbelief. She opened one eye, gazing at me as if seeing me from another world. Her tiny red fingers clutched mine, and in that moment, a light seemed to ignite in my life that cast the whole of my world in a new glow.

The reduction and triumph of birth had conveyed something to me I’d never seen before. Every time I looked into her deep, black eyes or touched her velvet skin, I thought, What could be more wonderful than holding in my hands the precious, moldable clay of a human soul? What could be more important than nurturing the seeds of eternal love in a human life? What if God gave me this child to raise to become a Sarah or an Esther?

I knew my dream had come true all in that one night; I had become a missionary, and my mission field began right there in my own bedroom. In that moment I had also become a teacher, a nurse: a mother. Something unfurled like the wet wings of a butterfly inside of me, the beginning of a transformation that would affect my view of the world, of those I loved and would come to love. In this birth, I had been reborn—as a mother.

And I was in love. But more than that, I felt like a window had opened, a light had come on, and I was seeing life and love in some ways for the first time. I was seeing myself for the first time—my own vulnerability, but also previously untapped strengths. I was seeing your dad—his empathy, his steadiness, his love—in ways I’d never seen before.

And every other identity seemed to shed off of me like an old skin. I was a mother.

In one moment, I had become a missionary, and the mission field was your heart, Helen. I had become a nurse, and my charge was to care for your little body and soul. I’d become a teacher, and my student was you. I’d become a prophetess, and the one who needed vision from me was you.

This was not the mundane drudgery I had once imagined motherhood to be, a thing you hurried through in your youth and strength so that someday you could go on to greater things. No, this was the GREAT thing. This was my calling, but even more, it had become who I was.

If I could say anything to mothers-to-be and brand-new moms, I would tell them: Embrace the identity.

Every time you cuddle that little infant, whisper to yourself, I am a mother. Every time you get up in the middle of the night for a feeding, let that sacrifice strip away every lesser identity as you enter into one of the highest callings He’s given humanity. Become your baby’s mother.

This brings me to a few practical thoughts.

Skin-to-skin contact is precious and important, especially in the first moments after birth. Hold your baby, and let them feel you, smell you, hear your heartbeat, and study your face. A newborn sees best at about fourteen to eighteen inches away, the perfect distance to gaze into the face of the one God has made to love them first—you!

Whenever possible, keep your newborn with you. You can swaddle them and hold them in your arms or carry them in a body wrap even while you accomplish other tasks. Those bonding hours are actually forming brain pathways, emotional security, and deep attachment that will shape their future life.

With you, Helen, I was never out of the same space with you until you were five months old. There have certainly been seasons with some of my other children when illness or circumstances required something different. Motherhood is full of unpredictable twists and turns, but as much as possible, I’ve tried to remain close to my babies, because I believe those hours together are among the most important (and wonderful) work we do.

Talk to your newborn from the very first day. Even though they don’t yet understand your words, they recognize your voice, understand your love, your delight, your comfort. Use different tones of voice. Laugh with them. Sing to them. Speak comfort and peace to them, and let them also hear joy in your voice. Even read to them! Long before they understand language, they are learning to love and be loved.

Breastfeeding is a wonderful bonding opportunity, so try not to miss a single feed. Notice their rooting and sucking cues. Even if they’re not hungry, they may be indicating that they need some bonding time.

Each cuddle, each feeding and each incoherent baby conversation is building the foundation of their little heart and their future life. You are constructing the emotional foundation upon which they will stand for the rest of their lives.

So try not rush through these early days! Hold them often, and speak to them constantly. Take immense joy in these brief moments of babyhood! And as you do, you are becoming their mother, just as they are growing into childhood.

With all my love,

Mom