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Beauty on the Backroads

Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns

motherhood

What kind of mother would do that?

May 8, 2015

I’d like to think that the longer I’ve been a mother, the more forgiving I am of other mothers. (And of myself, if I’m honest. I’m my own harshest critic.)

Some days, I am. Other days, I’m just as critical as ever. In an effort to justify my own choices in motherhood, my own parenting policies, I judge another mother’s decisions as if there is one right way to do this whole motherhood gig.

News flash: there just isn’t.

I hear the same plea for acceptance from the mom who homeschools as I do from the mom whose kids go to public school, from the mom whose kids are close in age and from the mom whose kids have a bigger age range. Whether we’re swimming in money or struggling to make ends meet, all the moms I know want what’s best for the kids, and I know that no matter what it looks like, love drives those decisions.

Where I struggle to find the same kind of compassion and identification is with moms around the world. (I’m hoping our trip to Kenya this summer will show me how universal motherhood is no matter our place on the planet.) Especially when it comes to stories where kids have been sold into unspeakable situations. Sex trafficking. Slavery. Debt bondage.

How could they do that? I think. What kind of mother would sell her children?

Maybe you read the news or Facebook posts with the same questions hovering in your brain.

I’m so thankful for the folks at The Exodus Road who can take those tough questions and give us a glimpse of an answer. What follows is a partial repost of blog written by Laura Parker of The Exodus Road. In it, she addresses the circumstances that led to the rescue of a 15-year-old girl (Sarah, though not her real name) in 2012. You can read Sarah’s story here.

mother-child

“As mothers in a first world country, we understand that there are resources that can put food on the table, that can protect us when natural disaster strikes, that will help pay the doctor’s bills.

We live in the reality of free public education, a democratic government with laws and a police force that seeks to protect our little ones. We can afford basic vaccinations, and we do not live in fear of a mosquito bite or dirty water or stomach worms that can eat a person from the inside out.

We parents in the West have also been born into a culture where women have incredible value, where females are seen (theoretically) as equals, and where an infant girl is just as celebrated as a newborn baby boy.

But, this, this, is not the reality of most mothers around the world. Many women in developing countries taste the fear and desperation of motherhood on an entirely different playing field than we mothers in the first world do. And while these third world moms are often noble, strong, and brave beyond belief, they still have to look into the eyes of their small ones with the understanding that there are too many mouths and not enough rice.

And extreme poverty forces a parent to make extreme decisions. For good or for bad, people are in large part products of their environments.

And this decision by Sarah’s mother? Well, we don’t know what factors played a part in the unfolding of it. It could have been made out of ignorance or deceit, out of a deeply-seated cultural belief about girls, or even out of a desire to protect the survival of several siblings with the sacrifice of one.

And while I’m not saying that Sarah’s mother was justified, that her decision to sell her 15-year-old’s virginity was acceptable, I am saying that even Sarah’s mother deserves our compassion, too.

Because were she born into a different country, under better circumstances, chances are Sarah wouldn’t have tasted life in a brothel, at the hands of systems that made such a horrific decision feel like the best one.”

–       Laura Parker  |  2012  | The Exodus Road

—

I thought of this post as we approach Mother’s Day this weekend, and while it’s not your typical Mother’s Day topic, I think it’s an important time to remember the struggles of mothers of all kinds. And that we can give ourselves, the moms we know and the moms we don’t, a lot of grace for the grueling, gratifying work of motherhood.

And maybe thinking about moms whose choices are not simple will move us beyond compassion and lead us to make a difference.

That’s why I blog monthly for The Exodus Road. To remind you that slavery is a real part of the world we live in. To tell stories of rescue and freedom and bravery. To remind myself that my problems are not the only ones that matter. And to encourage us all to do something–tell, share, give–in the support of freedom from modern-day slavery.

The Exodus Road has lots of ways to get involved. You can check them out here.

Filed Under: Children & motherhood, the exodus road Tagged With: Mother's Day, motherhood, the exodus road, trafficking, worldwide motherhood

To the boy who turns 5

December 2, 2014

All I did was write the title of this post, and already, I’m nearly in tears.

It’s not that I don’t want you to grow up. I do want that because that’s the way of things.

Sometimes, though, I wish it didn’t happen so fast.

Wasn’t it just a minute ago that you were barreling into the world via emergency C-section because you were bigger than life?

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

 

And seconds ago you were a smiley baby I snuggled tight while trying to balance your needs and your toddling sister’s needs.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Now you’re five. You’ll be on your way to kindergarten next year, and though I am looking forward to the days of having my own schedule again, I have to admit that I will miss you.Corban and mommy

You’ve never known anything but a mom who stays home with you. And these last two years, when your sister went off to school, it’s been just you and me, precious time I wouldn’t trade for anything because I saw your personality bloom.

You’ve become my helper. At grocery shopping. At running errands. At washing dishes and doing laundry. You’ve kept me sane through some insanity because you are funny and compassionate and easy to please, when the occasion warrants.

Corban cooks

I thought I knew everything about babies and children after your sister was born. Having a second child seemed easier than the first time around. But you’ve kept us on our toes–from the numerous ear infections as a baby to the urgent care visit in Illinois to our first trip to the ER for a “pediatric head injury.” You live life wild and hard and sometimes you have cuts and bruises and scars that appear from where you’ve tried to take out a wall on accident. (Even when you play soccer with your sister, we see the football–the other kind–potential in you.)

Without you, I wouldn’t know that it was possible for a person to be noisy from the moment they woke up to the moment they fell asleep. The house is quiet without you. I’m not 100 percent sure what’s going on inside your brain, but occasionally, during the noise, all the thoughts and questions and ideas leak out. I can’t wait to see what happens when you’re in school.

Corban dragon

And speaking of questions: you have so many. I can’t really complain because I was the same way as a child. Even as an adult, I’m asking questions all the time, even if I don’t voice them. You love to know how things work and the reason for things. Just the other night, I was amazed by the workings of your little brain. We walked downtown in the city, you holding my gloved hand with your gloved hand. We hadn’t taken more than a few steps from the car and you were studying a building and a staircase, trying to figure out where it went and how it got there. The amazement I heard in your voice made me pause to be amazed, too.

This, too, is what you’ve done to me. You’ve made me notice things I wouldn’t otherwise see. Because of you I see trucks of all kinds on the road. I know the difference between a bulldozer and a backhoe and a skid loader because that’s what you want to read about. I’m learning about trains and bridges and trucks because those are the non-fiction books you find at the library. (And you want to read every word because you want to know how it works.)

Before you were born, I wondered if I had enough love for two children. In some weird way, my love wasn’t split; it was multiplied.

Corban batman

And now you’re 5 and the years have already passed so quickly. And I wonder if I’ll blink and you’ll be on the verge of manhood. Will I always see you as a little boy?

You bring so much life to our lives. I know we don’t have a lot of proof of our love, at least not in the form of pictures. It’s true what they say about subsequent children and the lesser amount of photos. We were too busy loving you and your sister, figuring out our life as a family of four, becoming a healthy place for you to grow up. You might never read these words, or maybe you will someday when you’re much older, but let them reflect all the love I don’t say, all the love you don’t see when you look for pictures of your childhood. OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

You are so very loved, wanted from the moment we knew you were coming, even though it scared us.

We can’t imagine our family without you.

Happy birthday, Corban. You are, and will always be, what your name means: a gift given back to God.

Filed Under: Children & motherhood, holidays Tagged With: birthday celebrations, boy birthdays, children, motherhood, turning five

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Hi. I’m Lisa, and I’m glad you’re here. If we were meeting in real life, I’d offer you something to eat or drink while we sat on the porch letting the conversation wander as it does. That’s a little bit what this space is like. We talk about books and family and travel and food and running, whatever I might encounter in world. I’m looking for the beauty in the midst of it all, even the tough stuff. (You’ll find a lot of that here, too.) Thanks for stopping by. Stay as long as you like.

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