I wish I had enjoyed it more

One regret from 14 years of motherhood

My husband, holding one of our babies [photo by RAE Portraits]

Fourteen years ago, a mother was born. While the world slept, I labored, listening to the sound of the midwife in the kitchen drinking tea, the clinking of spoons on teacups reaching my ears through the dimness. How can she be calmly relaxing while I’m in here suffering? I thought miserably. But then another thought came, It’s because everything is okay. This is the most everyday occurrence in the world: a baby is about to be born.

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Recently, at Costco, I saw a grandmother with her grandchildren. The scene deeply touched me. She had the three young boys in her cart, tumbling around like puppies, probably aged 1, 3 & 5. It reminded me of what grocery shopping was like for me when my oldest was 5, just without a newborn. Except for one thing: this woman was clearly enjoying herself. She wasn’t shopping–her cart was empty–she was just merrily chatting with those three sweet boys about what she observed and asking them questions about pineapple and watermelon. It was so arresting to see her having such a good time, at a grocery store, with a passel of young boys. All I could think was, I wish I had enjoyed my children more when they were young.

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A few days later I was on a walk on a brilliant warm afternoon, complete with early Elm leaves unfurling, beginning the beauty of the trees’ adornment with new, yellow-green jewels. As I walked I was listening to Neil Gaiman share the best advice he received after he became a successful author. The advice was simple: you should enjoy this. He described it as the best advice he didn’t take. Instead, he worried. He worried about what came next, and things going wrong. After over 3 decades as an author, he said that it was an amazing ride, but that there were parts of it that he missed because he was so worried. Hearing him say that stopped me in my tracks. I listened to him say it again, and then again, making certain I’d heard him clearly. I felt convicted. What had I let worry distract me from?

Worry is a thief.

Worry robs us of little joys, little moments: the look of a 5-year-old the day before his face changes and his jaw is now less soft and a little more angular. Worry is a thief we invite in through the front door, in broad daylight. She wants to sit down and enjoy a cup of mint tea with us, to hear all our complaints. She might even suggest a few things we hadn’t noticed that we should definitely be worried about. Like a seed blown in from some undesirable, choking weed, worry begets worry. Seek and ye shall find. If I’m looking for things to worry about, I will find them, without fail, every time.

Jesus offers us a better way. Harder, yes. But in every way, better. He teaches, “take no thought for your life,” and in another translation, “do not be anxious about your life.”¹

I cried on that walk, thinking of all the days and moments that I let my worry about who knows what take me out of the present with my children and float off in my mind to some imagined future where I have failed at everything and my children are failures, too. More often, though, I let the daily tasks of life distract me from the beauty of the moment–the day as precious and more rare than a diamond, becoming nothing more than just another day when I hadn’t truly stopped and enjoyed my children. Troubled about many things, I was blind to the gifts God had so abundantly strewn everywhere around me.

Lest you think that I’m painting a picture of motherhood that is gloomy and miserable, let me hasten to correct the record. I have loved being a mother these fourteen years, and have a store of numberless happy memories. I did (and do!) enjoy my children often. I just wish I had enjoyed them more. I wish I had realized that I don’t control any outcomes for my children. If I had realized that sooner, I could have exhaled deeply, smiled sincerely, and worked and played together knowing that all the worry in the world won’t solve a single problem I face.

And it’s not too late. Even though I can’t recapture any years from the past, the future opens before me, and I still have (very) young children at home–my youngest is still only 3. The verse I recite to myself often helps me remember this:

This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it.

Psalm 118:24

If I could go back and give one piece of advice to  myself, on March 11, 2010, the day I became a mother, I know exactly what I’d say.

You should enjoy this.

1. Matthew 6:25