What Is a Mother?

I think of my own mother first. Someone who said she didn’t want to have kids, then ended up birthing five of them and loves them fiercely. I think of my stepmom next. She is drawn to protecting the unborn and cares about the big needs of little hearts. I think of the panic, the slow deep breaths, and then the instinct that kicks in when those two pink lines appear on a test changes a woman’s world.

I think of the day I found out I was pregnant with my daughter—seeing the faint double lines that led to five more tests being taken and then repeatedly saying “Oh my gosh” while staring at my stomach. The way my heart sunk into my stomach and then rose back up with explosive joy that I had a little life I was carrying around in me.

I think of the woman working at a Cheesecake Factory who saw my daughter and said, “She is so beautiful! Children truly are a gift. I just started my second round of IVF and am hopeful.”

I think of a friend dear to my heart who was diagnosed with PCOS and cried because all she ever felt she was made to do was raise children. Our eyes filled with tears, she looked at me and said, “Sometimes it feels like God is tricking me.”

I think of women I’ve known who have children but don’t seem like mothers at all. They choose to bring little life into the world in hopes that it will heal something deep within them that feels broken. They choose to leave more often than to be with their children.

I think of Eve, the first mother, bearing her birth without any other mothers around her—being the first to feel the cramps and tension and pain that is childbirth.

I think of Sarah, who desired children but was barren until ninety years old. In bitterness, she mocked God for the thought of her conceiving, but God opened her womb and allowed a miracle.

I think of Hagar, who was Sarah’s backup plan to bear children because she didn’t believe God. Haggar was essentially a surrogate for Sarah, which in turn made Sarah jealous and mistreat her. God sent an angel to meet Haggar in her despair, and she proclaimed, “Surely you are the God who sees!” (Genesis 16).

I think of Hannah, who poured her heart out to God in grief over not being able to conceive to the point where the priest thought she was drunk. She replied, “Oh no, sir—please! I’m a woman brokenhearted. I haven’t been drinking. Not a drop of wine or beer. The only thing I’ve been pouring out is my heart, pouring it out to God” (1 Samuel 1).

I think of Mary, who wasn’t prepared for pregnancy, wasn’t even married, and had to face the public shame of carrying a baby seemingly out of wedlock. I can imagine her feeling the urge to justify and explain the divine to every onlooker who bore judgment.

A mother is so much more than a baby-bearer. Mother is an instinct— a driving force that beckons us to lay ourselves down as we roll over and see 2:40 AM (again). We peel ourselves out of bed (trying to remember how to walk because it’s only been an hour since the last cries woke us) to feed our totally dependent babies that our hearts gravitate towards. Mother is being tender to the boo-boos and lost toys that break our children’s hearts. It’s the impulse to stand by our kids and say, I see you, even if no one else does. It’s wrestling with giving space for mistakes, while also wanting to protect them from any form of harm. It’s crying out to God because we have no idea what the heck we’re doing but yet we want to be in control. It’s crying out to God because we want to trust that what He wills for our pregnancies, our lack of pregnancy, our losses, our birth stories, and our desires amount to something more than what we feel.

Before having my daughter, a dear friend told me that motherhood felt like two opposing emotions at the same strength, at the same time, always. Joy and grief co-exist as children grow and seemingly need us less. Love and anger tug our hearts over little tantrums that feel like mountains of defiance. Faith and fear well up when we realize that God is in control of the plans He has for our children, not us. In all of these tensions, we are called to surrender our hearts and minds, which always tell us we know best, to the only One who actually does.

Dear Mothers, those who love and grieve and hope and cry and rejoice, whatever kind of day you’re having, know that there is a God who sees (Genesis 16:13) and a God who cares (1 Peter 5:7).

Here’s to whatever is lovely,

whatever is pure,

whatever brings glory to God ✨

-Amber Lee