Pre-Order So God Made a Mother

The first lie I ever told was probably not the one I’m remembering right now. I’m sure there were other smaller, simpler ones along the way leading like stepping stones across my life to this tale. I’m sure I said I’d brushed my teeth when I hadn’t. I’m sure I said I’d played nice with others at school when I, for sure, circled them up like penitents at recess and subjected them to my will. How many little lies do we tell in a day, a week, a childhood? But this one, on this particular night at the age of eight, I consider my first to cause fallout.

We’d had chili for dinner than night—basic beans and meat and cheesy fair. That’s what I recall the most, that everything about the night had been basic. Snacked after school, did homework, ate dinner, etc. As the youngest of two with a twelve-year gap between my brother and me, I was used to the steady flow of solitary days at home. He was off in college tooling around in my grandpa’s old pick up and becoming a real adult. My father (a doctor) worked a lot of on-call shifts. Independence grew in me like the meat of a nut. It was a natural thing and easy.

Night came and bedtime on its heels. And here’s where the timeline shifts from what should have been to what did. Had my mom and I fought that night? I’ve dug around in the dirt of my memories to find out, but haven’t found anything solid. Maybe I hadn’t wanted that chili for dinner. Maybe I hadn’t wanted to go to bed yet. Maybe I’d had an early hormonal surge and was testing out pre-teen tantrums. Whatever the case, here’s how it played out before I turned to walk up the peach-carpeted stairs.

Me: “I don’t want you to tuck me in.”

Mom: “Okay, but what about your prayers?”

Me: “I don’t want you to say my prayers with me.”

Mom: A beat. “Okay.”

And so I went. I didn’t stomp. I didn’t slam the door. I didn’t call my best friend and list all the things wrong with my life. I was only eight. I didn’t know what I was doing. So, I crawled into my daybed with the eyelet comforter and I stared at the flowered border trailing my ceiling. I followed the vines with my eyes until I lost a thread and had to start over again. I tried to pick out the faces in the newel posts of my white rod-iron bed, the ones that always looked like they were winking or laughing at me. I did whatever I could to pass the time, certain in my knowledge that my mother would come. Because she always had. She’d walk those step with me and tuck the sheets up to my chin, but not too tight, and smooth the hair away from my face and we’d put our hands together and pray. The prayers weren’t complicated. A creature of habit, I always said the exact same thing every time:

“Dear Lord, please don’t let any robbers get in. Please don’t let a fire catch on our house. And please keep everyone safe. Amen.”

Apparently, I catastrophized even then. But the words wouldn’t come out that night. A tightness in the center of me spread until my fingers tingled. The tension from trying to listen for footsteps was too much. So, I got up and, tucking my nightgown around my knees, crouched at the door to hear better. Maybe mom was rinsing out the chili pot, a slow job, or talking to dad, or changing into her robe? But after a while, five minutes or an hour (who knows as a kid?), I heard only the muffled sounds of a football game on tv. No one was coming for me.

I crawled back into bed that night and fell asleep. The next morning, I went to school like always. Mom wasn’t any different. Neither was I. The cheerios and banana didn’t taste worse after the first night I spent on my own. Mom didn’t abandon me. It wasn’t a full stop after that of tucking in and prayer time. It was simply more erratic. She would ask me from then on, each night, if I wanted her to come up. And every night I would have to decide. It was a lot for a little person, not yet in her double digits, to think about.

The truth is, I always wanted her to come up. I always wanted her to tuck the covers just how she knew to do it. I wanted my hair brushed from my face and I wanted my prayers overseen by her and with her stamp of approval. I wanted them noted, notarized, and made official. But already I knew I could not take us back to that assumption of her presence.

Now that I’m a mother, I look to my own kids and wonder, what do I do when you start to break away from me, peeling off like bark from a tree? Do I trust you to know your moment? Do I trust myself to know it? That first lie bought me an independence more weighty than freeing. I broke too early. There is a time to let them navigate their relationship with God on their own, but when it will be for each of them, I do not know. Along with all my prayers of theft and fire prevention, I am adding one of prescience, so I catch the right moment just as it comes. I don’t want to hold on too long and accrue all the angst that comes from steamrolling their road to faith, but I also don’t want my little people with ears to their door holding their breaths and wishing for me.

So God Made a Mother book by Leslie Means

If you liked this, you'll love our new book, SO GOD MADE A MOTHER available for pre-order now!

Pre-Order Now

Jamie Sumner

Jamie Sumner is the author of the middle-grade novel, Roll with It. Her second and third middle-grade novels with Atheneum Books for Young Readers will be coming out in 2020 and 2021. She is also the author of the nonfiction book on motherhood, Unboundand the forthcoming bookEat, Sleep, Save the Worldfor parents of children with special needs. She is also mom to a son with cerebral palsy and she writes and speaks about disability in literature. She loves stories that celebrate the grit and beauty in all kids. She and her family live in Nashville, Tennessee. Connect with her at Jamie-Sumner.com   

8 Fight Songs for the Single Mom

In: Faith, Living, Motherhood
Woman holding earbuds in ears

They whispered to her: You cannot withstand the storm. I have had days when the storms hit me while I sat on the shower floor with my knees to my chest feeling completely defeated, letting the hot water beat down on my body. I have had nights when the storms hit me as tears stained my pillow. As time has moved on, I am learning how to beat the storms. This is only possible because of the family and friends that God has brought into my life. This is my fight song. These are and have been my take back...

Keep Reading

Your Brother Is With Jesus Now

In: Faith, Grief, Loss
Brother and sister in yellow outfits smiling on park bench

“Thao is with Jesus now,” we told her, barely choking out the whisper. Jesus. This invisible being we sing about. Jesus. The baby in the manger? Jesus. How can we explain Jesus and death and loss and grief to a 3-year-old? And now, how can we not? We live it, breathe it, and dwell in loss since the death of her brother, our son, Thao. Here we are living a life we never wanted or dreamed of. Here we are navigating loss and death in a way our Creator never intended. What words can I use to describe death to...

Keep Reading

Even When You Can’t Find Joy, Jesus Is There

In: Faith, Grief, Loss
Sad woman through pane of rain covered glass

The international church service was vibrant with voices lifted up in songs of praise. Many clapped their hands and some even danced before God. But I wanted to be invisible. Joy felt like a land depicted in a fairy tale. I had returned from the hospital the day before—a surgery to remove the baby who had died in my womb. Watching this church buzz with happiness unearthed my fragileness. I slouched in my chair and closed my eyes. Tears trickled down my freckled face. My mind knew God was in control, but my heart ached as yet another thing I...

Keep Reading

He Mends Our Broken Hearts

In: Faith, Grief, Loss
Praying hands of woman with bracelets

Rays of soft sunlight streamed through the curtain onto the hospital bed. I stepped to the edge of the bed, taking a moment to soak in his face before gently holding his hand. Eighty-nine years is a rich, full life, and each passing day revealed more convincingly it was time for him to go. Grief and relief shared the space in my heart as I carried the weight of understanding each visit held the opportunity to be my last.  When he felt my hand, his eyes opened, and he gifted me a smile. Pop Pop always had a smile for...

Keep Reading

When I Feel Like a Failure, God Reminds Me of His Grace

In: Faith, Motherhood
Child hugs mother in sun flare

I’ve always been a teeth grinder, especially during times of high stress. Striving manifests itself physically through my teeth and jaw. I have even shifted several of my teeth from the grinding, moving my pearly whites to become crooked and a little unsightly. I should’ve known this morning that the night of grinding my teeth before was going to turn into a day of clenching my jaw. The spiritual warfare was intense, the temptations strong. I felt angry and burnt out.  After I finally laid my son down for a nap, I sat on the couch and told God, “I...

Keep Reading

My Father’s Faith

In: Faith, Grief
Man with grown daughter, color photo

I’ve been thinking a lot about legacy lately.  When my dad passed away in 2011, I lost the most influential person in my life. He was sacrificial in his love for me and others. His heart was devoted to the Lord, and it was evident to all who knew him. His death marked me in a significant way, and I still struggle with grief 11 years later. But his life marked me in an even greater way, and for that, I’m eternally grateful. As I reflect on legacy, I think about the impact that my dad’s faith had (and still...

Keep Reading

He’s the God of Small Things In Motherhood Too

In: Faith, Motherhood
Woman holding infant, black-and-white photo

Normally, on a Sunday afternoon during the girls’ naptime, I try to get some work done or lie down to rest. But a few days ago, I instead wrapped a blanket around my waist to keep warm and pulled cutting boards and pots out of the cupboard.  Before I had kids, I wondered what kind of mom I would be. In fact, I was pretty sure I knew. My outgoing and vivacious personality attracted kids to my side for years. Their energy matched mine, and we giggled and chased each other before collapsing on the floor. I pictured myself holding...

Keep Reading

Silence the Lie that Says You’re Too Much

In: Faith, Living
Mother and daughter smiling outside wearing sunglasses

As a kindergartner sometimes I tagged along to my mom’s work as a hotel housekeeper. While my mom worked, I played in the recreation room. Her boss checked on me and always had something fun to play with or a story to share.  One day, in a burst of excitement, I shared something special that happened over the weekend with the supervisor. The words bounded from my mouth like a puppy ready to play in the morning.  The boss chuckled, “Whoa, motor mouth! Slow down!” In a split second, my 5-year-old heart crumbled, and the lie that would follow me...

Keep Reading

Let’s Stop the Negative Talk about Marriage

In: Faith, Marriage
Square, wooden arch with floral and fabric in field, color photo

Growing up, I remember hearing many negative phrases used about marriage—on TV, by distant relatives, anywhere, really.  “The old ball and chain.” “All my wife does is nag.” “You’re happy in your marriage? You must still be in the honeymoon phase.” These are just a few examples of the many things I have heard for years that create a negative connotation around marriage. I never really thought much of it until I fell in love and got engaged to the man of my dreams. Can you guess what happened next? “Just wait . . .” I heard entirely too many...

Keep Reading

Dear Momma, I Will Be Your Friend

In: Faith, Friendship, Motherhood
Woman sitting in hammock with baby, color photo

Dear momma, You got this. Every fiber of your being was uniquely designed to do what you say you can’t. Your uniqueness, talents, drive, warmth, and smiles are all part of God’s perfect plan. Being a mother is no easy task. It requires the Lord, patience, endurance, steadfastness, and a friend. Dear momma, I’ll be your friend. We don’t have to have the same beliefs or ways of doing things to share our burdens with each other. Know that my walk weighs heavily on God, His strength, His peace and His purpose. I will share my heart with you and...

Keep Reading