By Kendra Everett 
Eating steaks from styrofoam plates while watching reruns with your husband isn’t exactly how many imagine celebrating their first wedding anniversary. But hey, cut me some slack, I was eating for two. My feet were so swollen my husband didn’t stand a chance of claiming our hand-me-down recliner for himself. It wasn’t long after that, he was rocking our newborn to sleep in that same spot.
New Year’s looked a lot different for us that year, welcoming our first-born child Oliver. As my anesthesiologist said, my name changed that day—Mama has a nice ring to it.
The love I felt when they laid my sweet boy on my chest for the first time was unlike anything I had ever experienced. It makes me wonder if God gets the same feeling each time he looks at us. Looking into those big brown eyes, my husband and I knew it was time to make some changes. Sure, we’d always been believers, attending church with his mom as teenagers, but when we married, we admittedly slowed down. We blamed it on the late nights my husband worked to support our newlywed lifestyle, and oversleeping, but really, we had put God on the back burner. Could you imagine a life where God puts us on the back burner? I don’t want to; I couldn’t fathom it.
Ultimately, we decided to change churches, to find somewhere that set our souls on fire, and boy, did we achieve that. When I tell you we dove in headfirst, he dove in like Michael Phelps while I jumped into the deep end with my floaties. We were all in, just in our different ways. We were spread thin serving through our church, but in the best way possible. The sermons were powerful—often, soul quaking. The worship was healing; the village was strong.
I learned that God didn’t create us to be alone—that became obvious with Adam and Eve. Believe me when I say this: He didn’t create you to be alone, either. God urges that we surround ourselves with community many times throughout the Bible. Just like in 1 Corinthians 12:27. God urges us to love our community, hurt and heal with them, rejoice and celebrate with them, live life with them, and not compete with them. That’s exactly what our village did for us. I’ll never forget how Oliver would run through the lobby, members of the church scooping him up and throwing him over their shoulders, playing with him, loving him–all so we could serve or hear the Sunday message. Our youth students loved him, sharing snacks and stealing selfies with my curly-headed little fella.
Meanwhile, outside church doors, I was battling my mother. That’s right, battling. I was fighting the rage that tried to smother the flame of grace. I was learning how to be a mama while facing mine who had conflicting desires and demons of her own. The past couple of years had been an emotional rollercoaster that never seemed to end. I knew I wanted to be the “World’s Best Mom” to my son, but that’s hard to do when you are constantly in flight or fight mode.
Now, I’ll spare you the details and inconsistencies of my life because we all have our troubles. It’s what we do with them that defines us. And before you say “Oh well, that’s your mother. You only have one mother,” please, know I’ve heard it all before. Sometimes the best way you can love someone and heal is by loving them from a distance.
It wasn’t until I became an adult that I was diagnosed with generalized anxiety. It was scary at first, being diagnosed, but adding in the fact that I was a new mom made it even scarier. Thoughts of all kinds flooded my mind. Does this make me a bad mom? Will my son have anxiety? I now wonder this about my daughter, too. Are there times when my anxiety affects my parenting?
But God. God reminds us of the incomparable, overwhelming peace that only he can give us in John 14:27. Looking back, I wish I’d taken the opportunity to start counseling to get a handle on my anxiety sooner. One piece of advice I will always stick by is that everyone needs a therapist, and if you think you don’t, you do.
After battling my mom, I eventually realized the battle was never mine to bear. I’ve laid that part of my life down at the cross, and trust that He has won.
For the past seven years, I’ve combed through the different pieces of my life and motherly influences, trying to figure out the kind of mother I want to be, praying that I break generational curses along the way without causing trauma to my children. Several other life events have happened since we first joined our church as new parents and newlyweds, such as the closing of that campus and a book-length story of other events.
We ultimately fell out of church, out of serving, and back into our worldly ways. We’ve never stopped believing, but things just didn’t feel the same anymore. The fire my soul felt wasn’t raging anymore. It was a simple candlelight flame, timid, and shaking, but still there, waiting to burn bright.
Recently, we’ve found a new church home, and so far, we love it. Imagine my caution though, dipping only my toes in first, scared to dive all in. Then I look at my husband shaking hands with everyone he knows, the smiling faces waiting to greet us, the way my children go to and from their classes and sing worship music, and my flame grows. Our village may look a little different, our church may be somewhere different, and my parenting skills may evolve, but God remains the same. As my children grow, and my story of motherhood is written, I hope my children reflect on the life we’ve created and see it as a beautiful stained-glass window, illuminating the world around them with stories and say, “That’s my mama and Jesus.”
by Whitney Ballard 
by Caitlin Henderson 
by Kelsey Scism 
