Learning Contentment in Motherhood

When my first born was around a year old, I remember sitting outside in my backyard with her in my lap, watching the cars pass on the highway, the drivers likely on their way to work. For a couple of minutes, I allowed myself to go with them, to rewind my life and put on my nice business casual clothes that had been idling in my closet for a couple of years, pour my hot coffee in a to-go cup, turn on a sermon, and drive to work. For those moments, it seemed easier, and less sticky, to leave home and go where someone isn’t always needing your attention and where you don’t have to be the one in charge.

There I was sitting with a lap full of answered prayers- wedding rings on my left hand, a baby girl very attached to her mother, living in a new house of our own, getting to sit in our backyard at 7:30 am still wearing pajamas. These were the days I had once prayed for. I’m reminded of the verse in Ecclesiastes that says, “Say not to yourselves, ‘Why were the former days better than these? It is not in wisdom that you ask this.’”

Several weeks ago a Tik Tok user posted a photo of a poem entitled “I met my younger self for coffee,” which inspired all kinds of posts about what everyone would tell their former self. This probed my thoughts about what I would tell the Haley from ten years ago, who was finishing up graduate school, looking for a job, but yearning for marriage and children. 

I used to see young moms, not much older than myself, and think, “that is the peak of existence”- being married, getting to stay home, and raising a family. Now, my temptation can be to look ahead to the moms with older children, who have made it through the little years, or the empty nesters who’s floors can stay clean for more than a couple of hours and can go to the grocery store alone. I’ve had a taste of what the little years are like, can we just skip past the middle of the night wakings and toddler tantrums? But I know I am blind to the struggles and hardships they are currently facing. What I didn’t see then was a mother who had four hours of broken sleep and just cooked a nice, hot dinner for little mouths that are sure they are “not going to like that.” And what I don’t see now is an older mother whose physical strength isn’t what it used to be and is learning how to care for her aging parents.

When we're in high school, we can't wait for college, and then marriage, a job, pregnancy, the baby’s arrival, and then, “if only they were a little older,” etc. But wanting to skip ahead rather than riding out the seasons God so perfectly designed to prepare us for glory, would be folly. When we start trying to reach into the next season, we can miss the beauty of the setting sun on the way home from a long day at the office because we don’t want to have a job away from home anymore. Or the pleasantness of a last walk around the apartment complex with roommates because we’re too ready to just be married. Or the peacefulness of rocking our infant to sleep because we’re so ready for them to sleep through the night. We can forget to enjoy the days that the Lord has made because the refrain of the everyday moments has become monotonous. But God knew what he was doing when we put time into our lives. The passing of each event to the next was important for creation and is important for our sanctification. 

In motherhood, we want the emotional highs that come from a successful birth, picture-perfect Christmas photos, baby’s first birthday party, or kindergarten graduation. But these moments are fleeting. Just like with a new job, over time the shine can wear off. I am reminded of a quote by C.S. Lewis-

“It is simply no good trying to keep any thrill: that is the very worst thing you can do. Let the thrill go—let it die away—go on through that period of death into the quieter interest and happiness that follow—and you will find you are living in a world of new thrills all the time. But if you decide to make thrills your regular diet and try to prolong them artificially, they will all get weaker and weaker, and fewer and fewer, and you will be a bored, disillusioned old man for the rest of your life.”

For me, and many of us, our sanctification comes from those every day, seemingly small, ordinary events in a home: learning patience through answering our toddler’s same question over and over, learning hospitality through home cooked meals and tasteful decor, learning humility in asking a three-year-old

for forgiveness after losing our temper with them. And God is so good to give us big joys and little joys scattered throughout these days: hearing our baby laugh for the first time, the first steps (all of the firsts), even watching the picky eater clean their plate at the dinner table. These are the days of small things like Zephaniah 3 speaks of, and I will choose not to despise them.

So, what I would tell my former self at coffee is that marriage, a home, children, all of your heart’s desires, won’t bring contentment, and that’s okay. It’s the Giver, not the gifts that satisfy. This Giver is not in the business of granting happiness all of the time, but in transforming us to be more like his Son.

You will likely have the same struggles, they will just look differently. You’ll be tested often in the same ways by your loving heavenly Father, even though you thought you had mastery over a specific sin by now. Lord willing, you will learn one day to laugh at the times to come, but you haven’t quite gotten there yet. True joy will come through sacrifice, just as it did your Savior. Your times are in His hands. We won’t know the end from the beginning, but this “in between” matters. This is the arena God has given you to learn Christ. You will still be you, but God will still be God.