It seemed like every time someone at Crossroads brought up getting into a group, I had the perfect excuse not to join – it was an inconvenient day of the week, the time was too early or too late, I had that one commitment months from now that would make me miss a meeting (maybe). But somehow, as I sat at home on modified bedrest after some pretty scary pregnancy complications, I couldn’t think of a single reason not to sign up.
I knew I was considering not going back to work after my second daughter was born and I could already feel my sense of community and identity being sucked right out of the room. I wanted that glorious and mystical tribe I had heard other women talking about. I wanted a place where I was more than just mom, keeper of the snacks, and wife, guardian of the laundry. So I signed up for Moms – on a literal whim – a week after the group had already started meeting.
I remember sitting at my computer as panic set in. I thought for sure I’d be walking into a room full of Instagram-ready women only to hear stories of their Pinterest-worthy motherhood.
I can’t say that I understood God’s plan when I sat down at the table with the other moms for the first time, but I immediately knew that He had put me in the right place with some of the realest women I’d ever met.
In the weeks that followed, we shared our childhoods, our experiences as women, our marriages, our journeys to motherhood and our relationships with Jesus. Although we were all at different stages of accepting our own identity in each of those categories, we stood in solidarity with the unspoken understanding that we were all there because none of us could continue to pour from an empty cup. So we built into each other. We listened to the experiences of other Christian women. We studied scripture and even seemed to come up with our own translation, the Exhausted Momma Version. We prayed for each other – celebrating in the triumphs, grieving in the tragedies and encouraging one another in the life lived in between.
I’m not sure if this group of women will ever know (or be willing to take credit for) the imprint they’ve made on the lives around them. Like I said, even I wasn’t sure why I was there when I took a seat at their table, but every single day since they continue to remind me of my Heavenly Father whose love, patience, discipline and grace shows me exactly what it means to be a mom. -Molly M.