Mothers

Very early this morning, my mom dragged her suitcase down the narrow flight of stairs in our building and out into the crisp Brooklyn streets. Over the last eleven days, she cooked and cleaned for us, held Evangeline so I could shower occasionally, talked with us, prayed for us, and generally strewed her love all about the burrow. I miss her.

She shocked us when she bought her ticket from Phoenix to New York while I was still in labor, and traveled across the country to arrive here just hours after the birth. I'm glad she did because I don't know how I could have made it through last week without her.

One afternoon last week, as I cradled my new daughter and tried to memorize the little curves of her face, I contemplated this undertaking called motherhood. Here was a new life that needed nurturing from Mr. Miller and me for the next eighteen or twenty years. Then I looked up and saw my mom on the Internet furiously researching a baby question for me. I thought about her trip. This trip wasn't a vacation, even though she was in a famous vacation destination. Instead, she was passing the hours caring for me in the most basic ways--providing food, a clean home, and even holding me when I cried. I wasn't that different from Evangeline (aside from the fact that I can form complete sentences). So while my mom birthed me over twenty-six years ago, she's still caring for me.

It dawned on me for the first time that mothering isn't simply a season of life; it's a life-long commitment. That fact is both intimidating and exciting. How does one really contemplate much less prepare for a task that enormous in import? By prayer, yes? And by seeking the Lord's wisdom for each day, not worrying about tomorrow? Perhaps, then, by God's grace and in his providence, I may find myself some twenty-plus years from now caring for Evangeline after she gives birth to her first child, just as my mom cared for me this week.


Oma & Evangeline