A Mother’s Worth

It started with buying life insurance. I’ve never had it, and started looking at policies the week my mother-in-law was diagnosed with terminal cancer. She was going to die, and I, helpless to stop it, fretted about other, controllable things instead. My mind dimmed, closing around one singular idea: what would happen to my kids if I died too?

Nancy was my backup plan, the one who knew the kid’s school pick up time and after-school snacks. She knew their friends and soccer coaches and had the right sized booster seats buckled into her car. When I was in a bind, she mothered them for me.

In daytime hours, sense won out. Of course, if I died, they would be well cared for. My children have two other amazing grandmothers that would jump on planes and swoop in instantly.  Of course, my husband would manage. Of course, the aunts and uncles, grandpas, friends, and church-family would align themselves around the circumference of our pain. Ofcourseofcourseofcourse

But sense and fear make terrible bedfellows. At three in the morning fear wins out every time. Of course, they would be cared for, but…what if? During these night hours, I laid awake, my brain a tornado of scenarios. Some absurd, but most, slightly believable, because that’s how lies work. They only need a tiny dose of truth, of plausibility, to catch into your brain leaving you, like a fish, flopping breathless on the hook.

I laid awake wondering how much money Drew might need, considering his 48-hour shifts, the 5 kids, the 3 school drop offs, the overnight stays. How much extra would I have to pay to ensure my children got to make messes, to create and play? Who would remember that every child likes cheese on their burgers, except Harden? Or that Finn won’t eat broccoli if its cooked, or that Claire needs to be reminded to take fiber for her bad kidney? How much to ensure they do not forget to put a kiss in Fiona’s pocket before she leaves for school, one she can pull out for later? How much per hour to tickle Harden’s back in the middle of the night as he drifts back to sleep?

I wasn’t wondering how much to ensure they were fed, clothed and cared for, but how much to be loved, loved desperately, like air? The question I found myself asking a dozen different ways: How much is a mother worth?

The worth of mothering is on my mind these days. Today is the two year anniversary of Nancy’s death. My youngest started kindergarten this week, his small arms leaving a death grip imprint on my leg, until he ran away, nonplussed. I’m thinking about the mothers who have to make decisions about their kids staying home or their kids going to school and how a thousand impossible choices rest on our shoulders. I’m thinking about our daily demands, within the context of Covid, the work and mothering and schooling and sanitizing, and worrying and praying and bargaining. I’m thinking about how, as a society, we need mothers now more than ever before, but we are overloading them to the point they cannot mother anymore.

We are increasingly desperate for connection. In our isolation and separation, we long for someone to invite us in, someone’s face to light up when they see us, someone to hug us like they mean it. How much is a mother worth in a society with closed church doors and boogeymen around every corner and even the grocery store shelves reflect that no one is looking out for anyone but themselves?

I’m reading a book about the feminine divine nature of God. It makes an excellent point: that the most feminine language used in Scripture for God can be found in the post-exile language, throughout Jeremiah, Isaiah, etc. Traumatized, exiled, displaced Israel needed not the warrior/defender God as much as they needed the tender, deliverer God. So, God chooses mothering language, nurturing them out of captivity, giving them a warm place to land, inviting them back home.

In our trauma and uncertainty, when the whole world seems to be burning down around us, we are crying out for comfort. We long to be nurtured. More than ever, these days we need One whose wings we rest under, who provides for us, and carries us close. And then, maybe we can go mother the world a bit, as we are able, it sure could use it.