A Mother’s Lament

A Mother’s Lament by Cheeta Robinson

August 21, 1985

Many years ago—a little over twenty I’d say—a young woman from a family of six, well used to caring for babies and small children, a little over a week from being 19, gave birth to her first born child—a beautiful little girl. Oh, yes, I know all mothers say that; but this time it was true. This little girl didn’t have a flaw in her features. Oh how the nurses teased me for being so excited, so overcome with joy, as I took her blanket off and examined every inch of my baby.

Funny thing about those nurses teasing me, about my being so excited, because three more times I eagerly waited to unwrap that blanket and examine my gift—three little girls and one big boy; the following three times the nurses would all ask me, uh-huh this is surely your first? Oh no, I would say, but why do you ask that? Because you are so excited, I was told! I should say so! Wow! Man! God! I have a “life” here in my arms, a part of me and the man I loved and wanted to spend year after year with.

I truly would be the best mother there ever was, I thought as I wrapped those bundles up and cradled them close to my chest, and I spoke to the last one I had spoken to before entering that dark, scary delivery room—my Heavenly Father. I thanked Him for this honor He bestowed on me, to place me in charge of these lives; and I asked Him to help me raise them so that when they were old enough to decide for themselves they would choose to be a child of His. “Richer than I, you’ll never be, for I had a mother who prayed for me.” I did. I had such a mother, and I wanted them to have one too. So onward I went, confident I couldn’t miss.

In other areas I might fail, but as the mother of Katie, Rena, Delmar, and Ginger; I could handle that. It would be easy because I loved them so; but somewhere in the midst of all the cooking and cleaning, staying home while my sister in laws and my friends would go, go, go (because, to me, my place was home with my children). In spite of all the sacrifices made without hesitation. The times I was so sick I couldn’t hold my head up, but they were sick too. So, down the hall we went, to face the old rocking chair, in the wee lonely hours when all the world was sleeping; “God, give me strength”; this is my baby. My baby must come first.” How many sleepless nights? Only God could know; back then, and then later on, when you’re in that chair alone and you’re wondering why they didn’t come home? Where are they?! Why didn’t they call?

And you’re scared because you know in your heart they are doing something terribly wrong, something dangerous, and there is nothing you can do. When you get this feeling deep down inside you it will always be true because God gives a mother this ability, and you often wish you didn’t have it. God! This job is tough! The years roll on and the job just gets harder. You’re tired, weary, you’ve worked so hard to try to provide their needs, and you feel guilty for not giving them the “things” they (and so many people) think are so important, when really they’re not. It’s not what you have that matters; it’s what you enjoy. If having all these things were what it is cracked up to be, there wouldn’t be so many people possessing them so awfully miserable.

Dear God! I missed the mark! I am so sorry; please send them someone down the line to teach them, instruct them where I failed! Show them their greatest need in life, in whatever they endeavor, whatever they fail at—is to know God. He is the beginning and the end. Without Him, you are nothing; but with Him, in weakness you are made strong. Help them to know—beyond a doubt that you do, indeed, reap what you sow! Mother taught me that respect and trust are not neatly tied up in a bundle with love; they are earned. You cannot go through life being selfish; you must learn when its not your turn to be first and, sometimes, when it is you have to give first place over to someone else. She also taught me that when you are no longer a child no one owes it to you to provide for you.

You must work–tired, sick, downhearted or heartbroken—you must work; without labor there is no reward. Send someone to teach them that you are responsible for what you do or don’t do. Let someone instill in them the confidence that they are beautiful, bright, thoughtful and loving; and they can do anything they set out to do.

Please God, let them know the only way you can be happy is to be at peace within; this peace comes from knowing God. Knowing God, you have the desire to be the best you can be; until you are striving to be your best, you won’t be content. Father, when you have sent them someone to teach them all things I didn’t, send them someone to show them how much I have always loved them–and how much I love them now, and let that someone be me.

—a weary mom