As my recently adult children sort through the clamor of input from
friends and family concerning where they should live, what they should
achieve and how they should believe, I’ve been contemplating the terms
“pro-life” and “pro-choice”…mulling and fussing over their deficiencies
like loose teeth from my elementary school days.
Just one month married, I was blindsided by pregnancy and still reeling
from the news when a family member came to talk with me. “You don’t have to go through with this,” she said. “You have so much ahead of you.”
I am now on the flip side of many choices I made. And therein is the source of all this cogitation: I made many choices. I chose a relationship that in my case led to conception. I chose to bring my baby to full-term. I chose breast milk and cloth diapers. I chose to keep his diet free from processed sugar for the first two years of life. I chose to give him siblings. I chose to teach them to use words instead of fists. I chose twenty minutes of fresh air every morning and afternoon, regardless of the temperature outside. I
chose regular naptimes, balanced meals and organized sports – and
helped navigate through the ups and downs of being on competitive teams.
I chose to unlock the mystery of reading, and all the science and history and sociology that goes with it. I chose a world of limited electronic influence, and invested in building materials and outreach projects. I chose to require regular participation in household chores. I chose acknowledging fault and asking forgiveness. I chose to promote friendship between siblings. I chose to bring them to church and teach them that they are creatures made to be in relationship with their Creator.
Every day I made broader choices that were a direct result of my choosing to be a mother. Decisions at the grocery store and the clothing store were all based on a budget influenced by the choice to be a mother. The structure of my hours, days, weeks, months, years and decades, was all determined in that light. Like
most parents I know, I battled daily with my own inadequacies, fears
and selfishness – under the weight of all the responsibility that these
were people who would be impacted by every choice I made. My midnight prayers are for God’s mercy and grace to be bigger than the choices that wake me up with guilt and regret.
But, I chose to not quit for twenty-four years. And
my choices have contributed to these people society now wants as
students in their classrooms, as caretakers of their aging parents, as
social workers willing to go into abusive situations and rescue
children, as human beings who are a joy to be around and who light up a
room just by being their warm, giving selves.
As they are pulled at from different directions, I watch them
receiving, evaluating, and either accepting or rejecting counsel. My days of choosing for them have ended – but they lasted far longer than that one prenatal moment.
