Sharon McKeeman Blog » Blog

I think I may have finally come to believe in the work of motherhood, in the artistry.

I wanted to be a mother and that stepping out takes a lot of faith, even more so when the road gets rough.

But I have done so much in life because I thought I should or to go against the grain, for approval or to rebel.

And I have shied away, given up on so much because I thought I wasn’t good enough, couldn’t do it.

I was drawn into motherhood from the very center of my being, that place God made in me to nurture life. But I have run through it unbelieving, doubtful. Burdened by unfounded expectations, seeing it as less than it is. Searching for a way out of the messy creative process, desiring a purchase of certainty, needing a finished product to quell my doubts.

He knows I am of little faith

and so He cultivates, He strips away

“The artist, like the child, is a good believer. The depth and strength of the belief is reflected in the work; if the artist does not believe, then no one else will; no amount of technique will make the responder see truth in something the artist knows to be phony.” – Madeleine L’Engle

We mothers are artists, creating beings who will live beyond us, to whom we hope to impart truth. Do we believe in the work?

“The creative process has a lot to do with faith, and nothing to do with virtue, which may explain why so many artists are far from virtuous; are indeed great sinners. And yet, at the moment of creation, they must have complete faith, faith in their vision, faith in their work.” – Madeleine L’Engle

I have been a phony.

Too concerned with virtue, trying desperately to play the part of a “good” mother, constantly worrying if my children will give me the gratification of turning out ok.  Where is the faith in that?   Where is the grace?   If motherhood is a creative process and God is the author and we are artists together then why do I not just trust the work He is doing through me?

What relief, it has nothing to do with virtue. Only faith

Motherhood is artistry not because we do it perfectly or it looks amazing, but because it is creation. And we are not alone in this creative work. What freedom to chart our course through motherhood not by expectations, shame and worry, but to believe in the work and who we share it with.

A belief so strong and deep that nothing can tear us away. To believe more each day so that the ugly moments melt away and all we are left with is growing bodies and budding souls and a God we can trust to hold them closer than we know how

I do not make perfect meals or have all the visual details just right in my home. I’m always running late and never getting it all done. I don’t make it through a day without losing my patience. I can never give them all they need,

but I think for the first time I believe in the work,

and I will rest in the joy that brings.

 

12-24-12 . 24-70mm . VSCO1 Tri-X 400 . Christmas Eve traditions

This is my life. 26 minutes of it.

Put this on repeat all day long and sometimes into the night and you can view the majority of my current existence.

It’s beautiful. It is exhausting. and it is divine.

“We have been so long taught to regard children as products of education and environment, that we fail to realize that from the first they are persons; and as Carlyle has well said, “The mystery of a person, indeed, is ever divine, to him that has a sense for the godlike.” – Charlotte Mason

This terrifies me. They are persons, and they will grow into the responsibilities of their own decisions. After being so long intertwined with their every moment I will find the house silent and empty, ringing with their echoes. This is our path as women, through bellies full with child, to days packed with taking care of little lives, always a letting go, a constant losing, hoping to gain. Hoping the end will shine brighter even than the treasured beginning. I fight to pull away from this fear of their personhood, to accept that after pouring every minute into who they are, they will decide who they become. After years of working to shape their future, they will hold mine in their hands.

I pull away from the fear, loosen the reins and fall full into the mystery of their magic. Created in the image of God, each one a divine enactment. I lose myself in an artistic process so far beyond me that I could never imagine the next second, let alone the long years ahead. I know they will ask me the same question a thousand times, need help untieing their shoes, squabble with their brother, stumble and bloody a lip. I know the laundry basket will be ever full, the fridge always emptying, but I am always surprised by how gloriously their hair shines in the sunlight, by words of truth born on tiny lips, fierce life springing from them in ever changing ways.

If I can stop the worry, the need for control, I find myself wrapped up in love and magic deep and true, beyond   beyond   beyond . . . and these images are my testament. They speak of more moments than they can ever show. A poor substitute for my face buried deep in blond silken hair, a stilted representation of little arms thrown around me whispering “I love you”, of the newest game and grand imaginations spilled out all through our home day upon day. So many do not know this holy huddle of a family and I marvel that I should know this love. With all it’s frustrations and long hours, that I should hold these gifts, be surrounded by this life and love. I marvel. and I feel I know a little of what Mary did, pondering, treasuring these things in my heart. Hoping only that we can still hold eachother close no matter what may come.

I fall smitten with their personhood, willing my senses not to grow dull, but to soak up all the glimpses of God that He breathes through them. His creation, His work, mine to hold for a time.

12-18-12 . 24-70mm . VSCO1 Fuji 400+