I had a friend ask me recently, “Why all the kids?” Why, in an ideal world where I had infinite time, patience, and youth, would I choose not four kids, but forty kids?
Why?
At the time, I said joy. I’ve spent a lot of time over the last year contemplating the differences between joy, happiness, fun, and contentment. Joy, I realized, doesn’t have to necessarily have anything to do with the other three. Joy lives in those moments of transcendence. The moments that take us out of this realm, out of everyday life, and transports us to a greater place. Joy is a place where we aren’t confined by the limits our humanity imposes on us. Joy occurs in those moments when we experience a bit of what we were created for.
So why do I have so many kids? Because they bring me, daily, to that place of joy.
Because they can stare at the water coming down from a shower for endless amounts of time, mezmorized by the “watee” coming down.
Because playing softball is fun and it brings me happiness, but seeing them play softball and experience the rush of it and find pride in their accomplishments brings me joy.
Because they sit down in a corner and play with their dolls. They snuggle them. They read to them. They pat their backs, and they call them sweetie. And you know that that compassion and tenderness and nurturance that they show to their dolls was born in them when they felt first it from you. They are showing you your greatest accomplishment daily.
Because as you try to sit at your computer and write a blog post about them, one of them is sitting on your shoulder, pulling your hair as she brushes it with a doll brush and every couple of minutes, she yanks your head back and says, “kissie” as she plants one on you.
Because sometimes you want fifteen minutes to yourself. You go upstairs, and you close the door. You get out your book. And then one of them walks in and closes the door. She hops on your bed and stares at you. There are so many things she could be doing, but she wants to be there with you, talking about nothing. Because she needs you. And she wants you. And she just asked you if you could apply to become her fifth grade teacher even though you have zero qualifications, desire, or ability to teach fifth grade and you still have a little sister at home to watch full time. But she wants you there. Because you’re mom.
Because sometimes they ask you the big questions. The scary questions. The questions that have no good answers that you can come up with. But you blunder and you stammer and you give an incredibly awkward and ineloquent answer, but they are satisfied by it because you told them all the truth that you know and you did it honestly. And they respect that.
And because you can brainwash them. You can tell them that knitting is exciting and books are best friends and writing is the key to wisdom. And they believe you. And then you can take it further and tell that country music and Laura Ingalls Wilder and long walks are the best of this world. And again they believe you. And finally someone believes you have good taste in music.
Because their holiness comes with no judgment 0r pretense. It just is. And it trusts and it loves, and it’s better than that you can live out, but every day they teach you and inspire you to be more.
Because there are school shootings and nuclear bombs. There are car crashes and climate change. Because people out there talk so badly and act so badly. But in here, we can speak love. We can act love. And we can see it coming forth and coming back. And it’s innocent and pure and honest. Because in here we can create a better world.
Because there are billions of people in this world, but these few belong to me and I to them. Because right now I am their person. But in twenty years, we will be each other’s people. We are a tribe. A unit. A package deal. We won’t always be under one roof, but we will always be in each other’s hearts.
Because they share your strengths. And your weaknesses. And when you see those strengths in them, you respect your own more. And when you see your weaknesses in them, you accept them more.
And finally, because there is no greater love than to lay down one’s life for another. It’s one thing to jump in front of a train for someone or to take a bullet in the chest protecting someone. But most of us won’t be called to that. The rest of us lay down our lives differently. We put aside our wishes. We sacrifice our desires and our time and our finances. We wake up for the screaming baby even when we haven’t slept well in days. We give our last cookie. We give up the clean couches and the organized car. We break our hearts to keep theirs whole for a few moments longer.
It’s a big gift, a big sacrifice, but it’s one that’s paid back ten fold. The gifts we give of ourselves mold us and change us and sanctify us.
Our children open our worlds and our hearts. They make us bigger. They make us more passionate. They dig out the integrity that sometimes has been buried more deeply than we would like to admit.
So I guess that’s my reason. My goodness, children require a lot from us. But nothing grows without struggle. They are our greatest teachers all the while bringing us our greatest joy.
You don’t need four or ten or even two children to experience this. All it takes is one. But I’m a joy glutton, so I’ll take all that I can get.