2 Chronicles

“Joash was seven years old when he became king, and he reigned in Jerusalem forty years. His mother's name was Zibiah; she was from Beersheba. Joash did what was right in the eyes of the Lord all the years of Jehoiada the priest.” -2 Chronicles 24:1-2

“Amaziah was twenty-five years old when he became king, and he reigned in Jerusalem twenty-nine years. His mother's name was Jehoaddin; she was from Jerusalem. He did what was right in the eyes of the Lord, but not wholeheartedly.” -2 Chronicles 25:1-2

“Uzziah was sixteen years old when he became king, and he reigned in Jerusalem fifty-two years. His mother's name was Jecoliah; she was from Jerusalem. He did what was right in the eyes of the Lord.” -2 Chronicles 26: 3-4

Quite often, being a mother feels mind-numbingly boring. It sounds awful to say, but there really are only so many times you can read the same book or push the same button on a toy before feeling your brain turn to mush. Sometimes I look at the clock and think, how am I going to make it through the next three hours until her nap? Usually this is worst at six A.M., which unfortunately is when her mood is the best but mine is the worst. Frequently I lie on the floor like a zombie making half-hearted attempts to hand her toys while she squeals and rolls around next to me.

I’m the only resident in my program who is the primary caregiver for a child. Sometimes I look at the people around me at work and think, they don’t really understand. They don’t understand how making it to lecture is not just a matter of pushing the snooze button, but of getting up hours earlier to nurse or having to pump an extra time and pack an extra bottle for daycare. How staying at home on a snow day off is just as exhausting as a regular day of work. How going to mandatory evening sessions is not possible because it coincides with her bedtime. How leaving on time is not just nice, but imperative, when D is on-call and no one else can pick her up from daycare.

And for the most part, I have nothing to show for all this, other than being able to accessorize at social events with a cute baby. I don’t have research posters, or deep rapport with my colleagues, or the ability to ever sleep in.

In my tracing of the word mother throughout the Bible, I paused at 2 Chronicles. In a book where genealogies generally only list fathers, it’s striking that the author is basically like: there’s this king who reigned this long. This was his mother, and where his mother was from. This is how the king was in the eyes of God.

These men were the legacies their mothers left on the earth. They did big things, good and bad things, and it was clear to God where their heart was. It was clear to God who their mothers were. Their mothers changed the world.

Every night, after she falls asleep nursing, I hold her a few moments before putting her in the crib and pray over her. May she be someone who loves you, God. May she do something really awesome for your kingdom. May she sleep peacefully. Amen.

It’s good to know all that matters. All of it, the prayers and the poops. To a God who cares more about my heart than my CV, who sees every small thing I do, it matters. And that is good to know.

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This post is part of an ongoing series I am writing along with the author of Souljourn Cafe