We hear it whispered around the edges of circles. Hushed voices not quite escaping our ears. Desperate to ignore its sting, we try to stand straight while wanting to slump into the shadows.
That woman? The one hunched in the corner? Oh. She’s just a mom.
To tell a woman she’s just a mom demeans her worth. To say she’s just a mom implies her sacred calling is meaningless. To convey being just a mom is somehow less-than-noble names her as dispensable—a throw away.
Oh, that’s nothing. It’s just a scratch. Just a bug bite. Just a scrap of paper.
Inconsequential. Trivial. Frivolous.
Just a mom carries with it an I-can’t-shoulder-this weight of insignificance.
But how can You, a mother, be insignificant when you are capable of the monumental? The powerful? The glorious?
- Wrap your heart and soul around ten tiny fingers and ten tiny toes,
- Read Green Eggs and Ham over and over and over again,
- Discover ways to make green eggs and ham,
- Wrangle the Court Jester while stitching up the broken heart of your Princess,
- Create last-minute science projects out of pipe cleaners, toilet paper, and laundry detergent,
- Style ballet buns in 3.5 minutes flat while teaching b-ball dribbling skills,
- Rock and sway until the last pebbles of the day fall from your baby’s eyes,
- Rotate refrigerator art with the trained eye of a Smithsonian curator,
- Relearn Algebra, Geometry, and Calculus,
- Referee the fight of the century while driving, applying lipstick, and talking on the phone,
- Pretend to be Barbie, Cinderella, and all of the Avengers—at the same time,
- Use all eight arms to clean house, cook dinner, help with homework, car pool, stay sexy, change diapers, answer the phone, and pay bills between the hour of five and six,
- Teach more than the ABC’s as you instruct your children how to live,
- Listen for the quiet, unexpected moments when our children want to talk,
- Bridle spirit-destroying anger in 2.5 seconds and then to respond with gentle calm,
- Nurture today’s hearts for tomorrow’s trials,
- Discipline with intention, praying your correction will blossom into obedience,
- Bind brokenness with bandages never big enough,
- Cultivate imaginations big enough to create beauty in the world,
- Instill morality into innocence, bracing for the day innocence is lost but morality holds,
- Protect with a crazy-fierceness that would cause an army to tremble,
- Hold within your palms the dreams of your children to foster—grow,
- Mediate small battles, knowing there are wars you will prevent because you’re in the trenches today,
- Wait in the dark hours for your child to come home, knowing one day coming home will mean something different—harder,
- Trust the wisdom you’ve instilled, knowing their choices won’t always be wise,
- Counsel broken hearts, broken yourself,
- Pray God’s will be done, even when the prayer shreds the deep places of your soul,
- Preach the gentleness and compassion of Jesus with arms wide open,
- Love without condition.
In the brilliant display of all we do and all we are, why do we allow others to breathe insignificance into spirits when God has designed us to be His? To be the mothers of His children? Why do we listen to the mouth murmurs planting lies in our hearts of the unimportant life?
When we see our mommy-role as insignificant, we demean the significance of God.
Mother. Mommy. Momma. Mom. You could be called by many names. Counselor. Healer. Hero. You should be revered by all. But you should never be known as just a mom.