The morning of my first job interview since I had children (a good decade and a half ago), I pulled a crocheted gray cardigan over a buttoned-up floral blouse, slipped into a pair of rarely-worn khakis, and slid into my favorite purple half-inch pumps.
When my little girl descended the stairs into the kitchen for breakfast, her hair tousled and eyes bleary, she stopped cold and studied my outfit. A huge smile broke out on her face. She ran to me and wrapped her arms around my waist.
“Oh mom,” she breathed, fingering the front of my shirt, “you look just like a teacher.”
Surely it comes more naturally to other people, and obviously I am slow to commit and reluctant to limit myself to one career-related endeavor. It’s my husband who always wanted to climb ladders or even got any sort of thrill out of trying.
I’ve been biding my time, waiting for the golden opportunity or a sign from heaven to let me know I could move on from the stay-at-home gig. After all, who will do laundry? Who will clean toilets? Who will roast the chicken and mash the potatoes? These are high on the list of things good mothers do, and I love clean things and delicious food.
I spent one summer in college working for an old lady who, every day, wanted me to clean her windows with vinegar, newspaper, and water–the outside of the windows, mind you–where she hung the suet feeder. There’s nothing more demoralizing than scraping big globs of fat off glass you cannot reach (the windows being on the second story) with the wrong tool for six dollars an hour. (Demoralizing well describes every job I had prior to the age of 26.) I also weeded the pitiful zinnias and polished the Civil War-era silver on the mantel. The latter felt to me like a chore better left to professionals (also, do I look like a person who has ever polished anything in her life?). This was confirmed when the tiny, marble-sized handle on the sugar bowl popped right off the lid and bounced out of my hands and onto the hardwood floor. I pretended I never saw it happen. (Lord, forgive.)
The lady’s name was Win and she so happened to be a professor emeritus at the University–a skilled writer known nationally for her rhetoric-plus-composition curriculum and literary translations from Spanish into English. I didn’t know I was in the presence of anyone great. It was later, when her obituary was in the paper ten years ago and my mom sent it to me, I felt a kinship toward her instead of dread over window washing and the nagging guilt of the sugar bowl incident.
The article described her life and accolades, a writer, teacher, mother–hugely successful and beloved by students. She was 38 years old when she earned her master’s degree and 53 when she got her doctorate. (These are numbers you appreciate as a mother in the dregs of potty training, sleeplessness, and unending chasing-of-toddlers phase.) There was a quote she’d give years and years before she passed away. I’m paraphrasing, but I’ve tucked it away in my pocket for such times as this: “I firmly believe a person can do it all and have it all. You can be a mother, an author, a teacher. You just can’t expect to do it all at once.”
Bless Win for saying it. We get in such a hurry to do it all and be it all and what’s left in the meanwhile? But then again, what’s left behind if you aren’t pursuing at least something? It’s a plodding sort of pace one must maintain if they expect it to be a joy-filled life. But plodding forward, nevertheless.
We’ve been studying the story of Samuel at home, where a baby, pre-born, is dedicated to the Lord by his yet-to-conceive (and desperate-for-kids) mother.
Two things important to know: it was God who had caused her to be barren in the first place (1 Sam. 1:6) and it was a source of bitter grief (1:16).
When the Lord gives her the so-desired baby, she announces she will wean the baby and then take him up to the house of the Lord to dedicate him. Her husband shrugs and says, “okey-dokey!” (This is humorous to me because I’m married to the same type of guy– “do what seems best to you!” Applicable advice in every situation, from shopping to hair-cutting to child rearing! Also the same guy who says, “why are you sad? Don’t I mean more than ten sons to you?” Seriously, Elkanah?! not.the.same.thing.)
So Hannah, Samuel’s mother, stays at home with him until he is weaned. I imagine this was akin to getting him used to eating solid food–probably meat and bread (as that’s what Eli and the priests ate, but I’m getting ahead of the story) and giving him a few get-ready-for-kindergarten life lessons.
Though this must have felt like an awful ticking countdown for Hannah, for whom there was no promise of additional children to take Samuel’s place.
But, upon closer inspection–I don’t think it was so. Hannah was determined to squeeze the joy out of the toddler years, just as she was determined to keep her promise of giving her son away when time ran out. Surely this determination and boldness to keep plodding forward was a source of inspiration to her husband–do what seems best to you! (don’t you think he knew good and well he wasn’t going to change her mind?!)–and every person who knew Hannah?
She was the same woman who defended herself to Eli, the priest, when he accused her of drunken-prayer: “I am not drunk! I’m pouring my soul out to the Lord!” (1:15)
All this to say–my children have been weaned accordingly. I also stayed home until they were fit to be around other kids and grownups, pouring on some version of obey-and-respect-authority and treat-others-the-way-you-want-to-be-treated kindergarten lessons.
I’m amazed I made it through what I consider one of the sketchiest phases of my life (toddler boys on mountains near rushing rivers, bears, and mountain lions. Nine-month long winters, poorly vented wood-burning stoves, carbon-monoxide poisoning, GT kiddos with major sensory issues, scraping by to pay the mortgage, you get the picture). Weaning takes a looong time.
Win, I think, was right: you really can’t do it all at once, but it all can be done. And it can be done with great determination. Hannah knew it, too.
There’s no passive life that is worth living, but let’s not mistake passivity for patience and persistence. God closed her womb; he also opened it. He gave her a child and expected her to keep her promise; she did.
God did bless Hannah with more kids–and who knows what else! Did she get the job she interviewed for? Did she work until she retired? Did she become a writer? (If the recorded prayer in chapter 2 is any indication, I think she did!)
This second prayer happens when she drops Samuel off at his appointed destination. It’s an audible prayer this time, not one mistaken by Eli or anyone else as drunkenness:
My mouth boasts over my enemies, for I delight in your deliverance (1:1)
There is no one beside you, no Rock like our God (1:2)
Do not keep talking so proudly or let your mouth speak such arrogance, for the Lord is a God who knows, and by him deeds are weighed. (1:3)
This bold prayer goes on for ten verses, every one a declaration of God’s goodness to Hannah. It is His goodness to us when we don’t lean on our own understanding, but acknowledge Him in all our ways and He directs our path (Proverbs 3:6).
What a faith-filled, devoted, humble and confident mom!
I wonder, do I have that same vibe about me?
And when I put on my flowered blouse–and my kids are beaming, holding my hand when we walk into school together–and my husband gives me the do what seems best to you! go-ahead nod along with a bear hug and kiss–
When, at thirty-eight years old, the ground shifts because the babies are weaned and I’ve plodded into new ground–
I think I’m on the right path, one where Hannah and Win and other moms are cheering me on.
