Thoughts of a Nonmother-Mother

A year and a bit ago, amidst taking care of my two kid nieces and newborn nephew a lot, I had a conversation with my 5-year-old niece in the car after taking her to the store with me.

"Aunt Michelle, it's kind of like you're a mom right now, isn't it?"

"Kind of. Yeah, but I think I'm more like an aunt who loves you a lot though."

After a thoughtful pause, Niece says with all sincerity, "You're going to make a good mom someday." With my heart melting into the seat and a tiny bit of a blubbery thank you, Niece follows up with, "Buuuuut you might not have very many kids because you're getting kind of old."

Ouch.

Despite the somewhat ruined moment, my niece raised a subtle question that I have been thinking about for quite some time. Just like my niece, I have always placed my personal motherhood in the "someday" category--someday when I'm married, someday when I'm older, someday when I'm more mature, etc. Does it have to be "someday" though? Ever since I was little, I yearned to be a mother. I would play "mommy" with my baby dolls. I struggled finding a place in college when all I wanted to be was a mom, not a journalist, an advertising agent, or a piano performance major. Even now, there are times I feel empty and unfulfilled, as if I am not living up to a calling I long ago accepted. Does it have to be this way though? Do I need to feel bad for these circumstances that are beyond my control? Although I do not have biological children, can I not be a mother in some sense of the word right now? Will those women who are never able to have children really not experience motherhood until the next life? Is the fact that I am not a "mom" mean that I do not have the gift of "motherhood?" These questions have been swimming in my head, causing me to study out what motherhood is really all about.

Before I go any further, let's get one thing straight. There is definitely something beautiful to be said for the process of creating, bearing, and raising one of God's children that should not and cannot be diminished. My gut just tells me that this cannot be the only way to experience motherhood. I don't think God would grant us the gift of motherhood in this life when there are so many women unable to use it. I do not think that a woman who finds herself dishearteningly childless for one reason or another is therefore denied that calling and privilege here in this life, is denied those blessings, is denied the lessons learned and wisdom gained that come with children. Sheri Dew addresses this issue as she states that "motherhood is more than bearing children, though it is certainly that. It is the essence of who we are as women. It defines our very identity, our divine stature and nature, and the unique traits our Father gave us." So there is more to it, but what exactly are those unique traits? What exactly does motherhood all encompass? 

In my quest to attempt to grasp the essence of motherhood, I found a series of scriptures that display beautiful depictions of this value by women who lack children. Of the more well known examples lies in the courageous, inspiring Eve who "model[ed] the characteristics with which we as women have been endowed: heroic faith, a keen sensitivity to the Spirit, an abhorrence of evil, and complete selflessness" (Sheri L. Dew, Are we not all Mothers). Although she did indeed bear children, turning her into a mother in the traditional sense, she was entitled "the mother of all living" at a point where bearing children was physically unachievable (Genesis 3:20). Motherhood is an eternal calling, with no beginning or end. Eve was already the mother of all living even before she came to this earth. She continued to be that same mother in the Garden of Eden. She had the potential to live up to the qualities required by such a title at a time it was physically impossible for her to bear children. How? By displaying heroic faith, sensitivity to the spirit, and complete selflessness as she chose to eat of the fruit to bless all of human-kind, despite the pain and anguish she knew it would cause. Eve had no children, yet she was making choices and living her life in such a way to benefit those to come. Eve displays that there must be deeper qualities than the ability to have a baby to achieve motherhood.

The next scriptural account demonstrating the core of motherhood is found in the book of Judges in the form of the famous prophetess Deborah. Deborah was an incredible, well trusted, highly regarded leader and judge of Israel. After courageously delivering Israel out of Canaanite bondage, she was labeled as "a mother in Israel" when, at least to our knowledge, she had no biological children (Judges 5:7). We can only assume that Deborah was a mother, not to biological children, but to all of Israel. She valiantly brought both child and adult out of bondage and closer to God, providing them a new beginning, a rebirth in a sense, an opportunity to start anew. She displayed bravery, courage, power, and authority for the benefit of the children of God. Again, from the eternal perspective of motherhood, Deborah must have been fulfilling some sort of inherent qualities to have this title projected upon her.

Christ himself is likened to a mother when he makes the compassionate comparison of himself to a "hen [that] gathereth her chickens under her wings" (Matthew 23:37; 3 Nephi 10:6). This imagery of motherhood brings about images of nurturing care, compassion, and mercy extended toward others. In another instance, Christ implies an alternative meaning to motherhood. He describes a mother as one who aligns her will with God: "For whosoever shall do the will of my father which is in heaven, the same is my brother, and sister, and mother" (Matthew 12:50). All of these virtues are qualities we should all be seeking to develop in ourselves whether we have children or not.

I think the first thing that needs to be understood is that motherhood is an eternal calling. Motherhood has no beginning or end. Righteous women always have been, and always will be mothers. Women that have children are clearly mothers, and because of this eternal calling, even women without children are still mothers. When I think of the best mothers I know, I think of very similar qualities portrayed by Eve, Deborah, and even Christ himself:  sacrifice, devotion, courage, loving kindness, dependability, selflessness, charity, testimony builders, keepers of the commandments, teachers of all things "virtuous, lovely, or of good report, or praiseworthy," etc. 

Thomas S. Monson likens the attributes of a mother to God himself as he explains that "these two sacred persons, god and mother, partners in creation, in love, in sacrifice, in service, are as one." We are reaching our potentials of being pure, righteous women of God and mothers when we are aligning our wills, becoming one with God, and extending that to those around us as we strive to act as God would in service and sacrifice. These are all beautiful qualities that fall under the motherhood umbrella, yet do not actually require children to develop. What they do require is the turning from self-centered thought to an outward focus on other people to build the kingdom of God. A passage out of the book, Daughters in my Kingdom addresses this core of motherhood:  "Every time we build the faith or reinforce the nobility of a young woman or man, every time we love or lead anyone even one small step along the path, we are true to our endowment and calling as mothers and in the process we build the kingdom of God."(Hmmm, this ultimate goal of motherhood sounds strangely like the ultimate goal of the priesthood. Women are given motherhood, men the priesthood--two separate entities, one crowning goal. It seems to me women and men can work together as equal companions after all. Another topic for another time.) 

These attributes describing motherhood are truly beautiful and honestly, a bit overwhelming. Motherhood viewed this way lays out a high expectation--genuine love, even for those you may find difficult to love, heartfelt service, sincere and honest sacrifice, in essence, bringing people closer to God. We can learn to be mothers as we develop these virtues and apply them to not just our own children, but all of God's children. I can teach children about Christ, I can be an example for others to follow, I can sacrifice time and effort to give service to my neighbors, I can honestly forgive and sincerely love those who have wronged me, I can think of others before I think of myself, and in the process, I can become the mother God designed me to be right now. Not someday. 

Nightmare, fantasy, or reality? Yes.

Lotoja - I thought there were supposed to be 30 miles of flat riding before the climbing began. There were only 5 short miles preceding a 90 degree angle cliff to climb that I couldn't tackle, then I woke up.

Lotoja - I had been planning on training for a while. I swear. I had the best of intentions to do so, but suddenly, the big race was just right around the corner. I wasn't ready, and I was terrified. Then I woke up.

Lotoja - I was quite nervous for the climbs, but I had trained hard for many months and felt as ready as I would ever be. When it came right down to it, however, it didn't matter how much I had trained, how many miles I had put in, or what kind of miles I had worked, it was impossible for me to climb something just short of a shear cliff on a bike. My race was over in the blink of an eye. Fortunately, I then woke up.

Lotoja - I had trained so hard. I was pumped, ready to go. A mere 10 minutes before go-time, there at the start line, I realized all my riding food was forgotten on the kitchen table a hundred-something miles away. My heart sunk into my stomach as I realized I wouldn't make it far with no nutrition to sustain me, but then I woke up.

Lotoja - I had trained so hard. I was pumped, ready to go. There I was, at the start line. The countdown commencing, and before I knew it, my beating heart was fueling my start. I pushed forward on my bike, pulling up my leg to clip in. My foot slid forward, flying right off the clip. I looked down. My heart sunk to my stomach. I had forgotten my shoes. It was going to be a long 200 miles riding in tennis shoes, not clipped in. The longest. Then I woke up.

Lotoja - I had trained so hard. I was pumped, ready to go. There I was, at the start line. The countdown commencing, and before I know it, my beating heart was fueling my start. The pack took off, and I rapidly fell behind. Nobody wanted me to ride with them, everybody blowing past me at speeds just short of lightening to ensure that I could not attach to the end and draft. In no time at all, I was the last participant on the route, literally squeaking along all by myself, still with 200 miles to go. Then I woke up.

Lotoja - I normally never leave my bike outside. I payed way too much for it to be exposed to the elements, and I definitely do not trust those cycling snatchers poking around for their next pray. It was an emergency though. There were children on the playground in potential danger that needed help! I leaned The Firebolt against the slide and ran to aid the children, helping them into the school. Just a few minutes passed, and as they passed so did any more riding that I was to do for a long time. Within the 5 minutes that I was gone, The Firebolt had disappeared, along with my love of cycling and hopes and dreams of completing Lotoja. They were reawakened when I woke up.

Lotoja - After having only done 20 miles once on a clunky mountain bike the year before, I made the foolishly grand decision to buy a road bike and register for Lotoja--a bike race just a mere 10 times my longest distance. Through literal blood, sweat, and tears, I (again, quite literally) trained my bum off, spending hours every day in the saddle, taking time cross-training at the gym, lifting weights, increasing my lung capacity running the track, and most importantly, riding thousands and thousands of miles over the span of 6 months. I could not have trained harder, and I could not have been more anxious. I had worked so hard, established expectations, and did not want to let myself down. Race day came, and after checking my list double, triple, quadruple times with everything seemingly in order, I was off, leaving behind the cheering crowd and the world's best support crew, both en route and back home. It was the hardest. I pushed myself harder than I ever had before--climbing some of my toughest mountains and canyons, reaching some of my personal best speeds while drafting with those my cycling superior as well as on my own, and pushing through the worst aches, pains, and little voices in my head questioning what the point was, what was I trying to prove, why not just quit. With my body aching in every nook and cranny, my digestive tract shutting down, and my vision failing me, I did what I thought I couldn't. I proved to myself that I could persevere, that I could push through muck to reach a greater goal, that I could accomplish something seemingly impossible to me through grit and hard work, that the human body, no matter its shape and size, is truly a miracle and capable of much more than I give it credit for. A mere 40 minutes before cut off time and with my entire body never hurting more than it did, I crossed the finish line. That night I collapsed into bed like never before. Then I fell asleep.