(… continued from yesterday)

Although I’d forgotten to count my children, that eventually translated to a valuable parenting discovery: mothering is a marathon, not a sprint. Thankfully, my mistake didn’t disqualify me from the race.

The marathon principle is difficult to appropriate, since everyone around us seems to be sprinting. We’re all in a rush. Haven’t we stood in front of a microwave muttering, “C’mon… Hurry up!” I was raised watching parents heat leftover coffee in a sauce pan, but today 50 seconds is too long. Letters have picked up speed by morphing into email, which has condensed into Facebook, which has distilled into Twitter, symbols of life at zoom-speed.

So what’s a mother to do? She can’t run any faster or spread herself any thinner. She’s already meeting her husband’s needs, raising her children, serving in church, managing a home and going to work. Isn’t that enough?

Her question, born of frustration, can be answered with good news. She doesn’t have to get the motherhood project finished any time soon. What she says and does matters, but no single event is the end-all or be-all. Tomorrow will bring a new beginning, followed by another one after that. God’s mercies (and stores of endurance) are in fresh supply for moms, every single morning.

It’s comforting to know we don’t have to hurry up in our loving, serving or influencing of children. As in a marathon, we should pace ourselves for the long haul. Our finish line isn’t even in view. Actually, we can’t see it at all until we’re on our own death beds. We spend 8,760 hours raising a child to the age of 21, and though our hands-on care diminishes during those years, we’ll be mothers till the very end.

My own mom was still mothering her kids as she took her last breath, teaching us how to die without fear, and pointing us to “the bottom line,” her certainty about eternity. Minutes before she died, Mary was reading from a favorite Scripture passage, John 14. She paused at important words to see if Mom could fill in the blanks. By way of quiet whispers, she got them all. Although her body was lying in a bed, the rest of her was still running the mothering marathon.

It took me five children to learn (and be grateful for) the marathon truth, but in recent years I’ve made an additional discovery, that it’s pure delight to be the mom of adult children. As we fight against speed while raising kids through the growing-up years, we can take comfort in knowing the marathon continues, and the best is yet to come.

Granted, the job description changes radically after children leave home, but I had no idea that such satisfying friendships would be mine. Nate and I talked often about this phenomenon, marveling at the pleasure of being with our adult kids. And as he was approaching the parenting finish line before leaving this world, his children rushed to lavish love and care on their father, which he received with deep joy.

Nate isn’t marathon-ing next to me anymore, but I’m beginning to see there’s still more “best” to come as I mother my grands. Only 20 months into the grandmothering stretch of my marathon, I’ve already been amazed by the wonder of it all.

But better than all these mothering perks is the parenting promise the Lord has given directly to us ….

(… to be concluded tomorrow)

“Days should speak, and multitude of years should teach wisdom.” (Job 32:7)