Uncertainty

my current knit project

Although I waddled into the new kindergarten teaching year at nine months along, I was confident that after my maternity leave, I would easily return to my satisfying career with its salary and benefits. And at that time, “salary and benefits” meant that my husband and I and baby would actually be assured of potatoes in the larder and a doctor on hand. Plus, it was the responsible thing to do, what with my university degrees and whatnot claiming my rightful place in society and in the economic engine. Did I already say I was confident?

I hardly need to provoke my older readers more; they are already smirking, knowing that handing off a fresh newborn baby is akin to peeling away the outer layer of a mother’s soul. Surely, my mind over time would convince (or is it deceive?) my conscience that all was well, especially as the baby would be home with her father, but my body would come to betray my seemingly logical fantasies with milk soaking my clothing at inopportune times.

I knew the moment I held my baby that I could not—should not—be parted with her to return to a mere job outside of the home. I knew this in the way most truth is known: it is reflected in creation, mamas caring for their babies, and in the conscience as well. Home was not only where my baby securely belonged, it was where I belonged as well, to protect, cherish, and raise her. We belonged together. However, as I counted down my maternity-leave days to that dreadful day of return (for it HAD become dreadful, once she was in my arms), my sense of duty to a contract—rather than to my child—sadly triumphed.

Five and a half months later, I sent in my letter of resignation. This, after telling my husband, “I don’t care if we have to go live in a shack…I am going to be with my baby.” His conscience also had been troubled, and he expressed relief. But we had no idea where those potatoes in the larder were going to come from. And I foolishly expected some sort of reply from the district, some word of thanksgiving or perhaps well wishes. Silence said everything I needed to know.

Certainty: Full assurance of mind; exemption from doubt (Webster’s 1828 American Dictionary of the English Language)

One of the perils of being a stay-at-home mother (which was probably a phrase that would be incomprehensible to mothers in history past) is that although we may have certainty of raising our own children and keeping our home, this does not translate to having assertive faith and unquestionable assurance that we are doing either thing well. Very few of us modern women have had the benefit of sitting at our mother’s knees for longer than a handful of years, if that, and even fewer have had the blessing of snuggling into our grandmother’s aprons on a regular basis. Instead, we have been trained and raised to run our lives with our heads and not our hands, and certainly not our hearts. Thus, coming home to raise our babies could not be more filled with doubt, insecurity, faltering and failing. Coming home to make a home is fraught with unpredictabilities and—hello—little hands and feet making continual messes of everything we have so carefully implemented.

Even knowing God’s will in the matter, ala Titus 2, does not exempt us from difficulties that arise while loving our husband, our children, and keeping the home. In fact, it’s quite sure that God will use all of those difficulties to grow us into more of the likeness of Christ, through our sanctification. He will reveal the truth about the character of our hearts as we hear the very words that fly out of our own mouths. He will expose the idols we worship as our anger rises or bitterness devours our minds. He will show us our laziness, ungratefulness, covetousness, and unkindness. Don’t claim to love Jesus if you don’t want to look more like Him, and it takes more humility than we will ever be able to display (irony, there) to do so. It takes a trusting heart to come home, to stay home, even in uncertainty.

In today’s particular world, mothers have not only the freedom to abandon homemaking, but the encouragement to do so. However, the heart does not forget even if the milk dries up, and this is self-evident. It is also unmistakable in the well being of children, as every kindergarten (and high school) teacher would attest if allowed to be sincerely honest.

Full assurance of mind, when deciding to stay home, does not arrive with perfect children or a magazine-worthy house either. As we all know, children do not need to be taught to lie, steal, hit, or manipulate, so the certainty of our calling to be home cannot be measured by their behaviors. We also know those magazines show images of rooms filled with things that do not always even belong to the owners of those rooms! In fact, I recall an acquaintance whose truly gorgeous home was in one of said magazines, and I was astonished when she told me what was removed and with what it was replaced! Advertisers must make their dues, I suppose. Our confidence cannot be in creating a house of our imaginations.

Are you a stay at home mother? Do you wish to be? Then you must embrace uncertainty. You must not stay your hope on how the day goes, how the schedule runs, how the floor stays clean or if your husband brings home more than bacon. You must not boast of tomorrow, nor of even today, for you do not know what a day may bring forth (Proverbs 27:1). The only thing we may boast of, that we may have certainty in, is in God (Psalm 44:8). It is He who calls us to be home (Titus 2:5), and He will be faithful to equip and empower us to do His work in it.

God also says “let not your heart be troubled” (John 14:1), because He is with us (Ps 23:4, Ps 42:8). And as I sit in my house not knowing how all of this child raising and homemaking is going to play itself out (don’t we wish we had guarantees!), God’s eternal presence is worth far more than any retirement plan. Of that, I am certain.