One of the most amazing things about doing something hard with a bunch of other people is that you become a troop. A fraternity of sorts. You see this with men who fought together in the military, or people who suffered through crisis, or women who have struggled together in any form. Times of great stress can form a strong bond that isn’t easily broken.
Motherhood is this strain. It is the tree half unrooted, pulling toward the gravity of the earth but still yearning to reach the sky. We want to shield our children, and yet we have to equip them for the days alone. We have to pray for our children so that the spirit fills them in times of great trouble and is armor around them. Oh, the bitter dark nights that are ahead. We beg of you to pass. Not this year. Not this child. Not now. We pray this on our knees, for the hurt to be delayed until they are older. Until they are wiser. Until we have more time to teach them. For the world to wait before gutting them square in the chest.
But the world waits for no man. The tears fall, the evil comes. We must be ever vigilant.
My kids attend a fairly small private school, and I know many of the mothers. I know some struggles they’ve had with their children, but with others I’m blissfully unaware. Some I just wave at in carpool and comment on their new haircut. And I see some who are rooted in popularity and the game of comparisons, which manifests itself in their offspring. I see this, and I feel this, and my heart aches at all this. The masking of life. The covering up of insecurities.
Life is a wheel that just rounds itself time and again, the same weaknesses and the same fears and the same pain from thousands of years ago until today. Different styles, different clothes, different names. But the same. I wish I could break this cycle of comparisons, for us all to be stripped down. But I know there is a buffalo to hunt, and food to be eaten, and the fastest and strongest survive.
So let’s survive this together, differently. What is it about your child that makes them unique? What weakness do you see that needs correction? What do you want to foster and encourage in them? Write it down. Tell your circle. And ask about their children, so you can all be watchful to help foster the talents that each child was born with. Pray for them as well as yours. We have to be passionate advocates for our child’s inner soul that is crying out to be heard. And we can support and lift up other mothers who are doing the same thing for their own.
My dear mothers, we are in this fight together. The fight to keep our children safe and pure in spirit, for their heart to not be hardened, wise enough to make smart decisions, and the integrity to stand up for justice and mercy. We have to band together, arm in arm, and say “I stand with you in this fight.” Mothers of sons who may someday want to date my daughter, please teach your sons about consent and respect and how precious we should treat our women. Mothers of my daughter’s friends, please teach your daughters to be good and loyal friends. Mothers, teach your children not to fear stepping into a male-dominated field. And for boys to respect the playing field around them and treat all as equals. Because you children are all precious and loved in our eyes, and in the eyes of your heavenly father. We stand together and support you, whatever that pathway looks like.
We are releasing our children in a different world. The Land of Adulthood is at their fingertips, with a swipe and a touch, images they might not be prepared to see. Stereotypes they might not be prepared to fit. Hate they might not be equipped to handle.
We should sit together, hands interlocked. We know each soul. We hear each voice. We are working together to help raise these daughters and these sons up to be strong and courageous, persuasive and not manipulative. And when we see things go sideways, we love through it. We encourage instead of shame. We support instead of chastise. We have a troop at our disposal, to come to each other’s aid. To fight behind the scenes. To create an environment of acceptance. To work so hard in a way our children may never see, to create pathways for them to walk, rooms where they can rest, life that is a balm to the hurt around them.
Don’t give up. Not for one second. Don’t even think of giving up. Instead, put on your battle gear, mommas. Arm yourself with knowledge and power and other women around you. Raising adults is hard, and yet we are capable of it.
Troops, dust off that apathy. Join hands. We have work to do.
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