I would like to be known for knowing Him. This has been my greatest desire for years. Although the last few years have been particularly poor in terms of time spent together, because I am a mother of two small children. And yet, despite all my inability, He is there. Close. Revealed in everyday life. I don’t have to wait for untiringness. For long solitary prayers. For life like before. I don’t have to. You don’t have to.
As a mother, I often cried over the fact that things are no longer like they used to be. And once upon a time, it was beautiful. I would come home from work and it would be just us. I used to talk to Him out loud, about everything ordinary and extraordinary. Together we would marvel at His Word. He would shower me with revelations from verses that are usually overlooked. We would go out spontaneously to a café. Me – because I liked talking to Him over coffee. He – probably only because He liked me, anywhere. Or we would sit in that park covered in forget-me-nots. We would talk on the tram and during long walks home from work. There were weeks when the only meetings I scheduled in the afternoon were with Him.
That’s when large files were created, in which I wrote down everything He said to me. He would untangle my complexities, heal what hadn’t healed yet. And He spoke about a future together that was unbelievable. From a girl who liked routine and predictability He turned her into one who was ready to say “yes” to an invitation to Mozambique. First for three weeks, and then for life (because who knows if it will ever end). In the numerous visions that He showed me and others, He confirmed that He would be with me every step of the way. And He is. Although I often have to discover Him in the midst of what happens in our lives every day.
As a mother, I often cried that things aren’t like they used to be. I remember especially that time in Jeziorany, shortly after Francis was born. I told my husband how good and deep those meetings with God were when I was still single. And how much I missed them. Missed Him. And that I was at a loss, because I knew that it was impossible to do it between breastfeedings. In imperfect silence. Always more or less tired. Because such meetings need time. Then my husband told me to just go to the room and he would take care of the children.
And I went. And I started by crying about all those days, months and even years when we couldn’t be together like we used to. And when I stopped complaining and started being with Him, suddenly He came noticeably. Unexpectedly, without hours of preparation, just like when we used to go together almost until touch, every day. And I started crying again. Because I understood that He never left. That I never left. That we remained close to each other, although my emotions told me something completely different.
I would like to be known for knowing Him. Maybe that’s presumptuous.
My heart has always trembled when I read about Enoch, who walked with God and then he was no more, for God took him away (Genesis 5:21-24). And again, in another place, that he pleased God (Hebrews 11:5).
I would like Him to be known more than I am. Perhaps that is presumptuous.
“I have been crucified with Christ; it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me; and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself for me.” Galatians 2:20
That is why my motherly lack of time is so painful to me. And lack of the spaces in me and outside me, in which we could build our closeness again. Because without it, nothing happens. Neither in us nor in those to whom we are sent. But, dear mother, it is time to redefine the ways of our connection with God. Otherwise, frustration will eat us up, and sadness will not leave our hearts.
Because you know, my space for prayer is sometimes a “pre-sleep,” in which I tell Him how much I need Him. It was in this space that He recently reminded me how I always wanted to be recognizable as the one who knows Him. Or a “during-shower”, where I remembered one of the girls I had prayed for earlier in the village and wanted to bless her and announce what He was doing in her life. It could also be a “meal-time”, when I finally sit down and look into His eyes for a moment.
I can also choose. Him before social media. Him before a TV series. Him before a book. Him before something that relaxes me. Because no one brings life and calms motherly (and every) nerves like Him. But I can also choose sleep, which He gives to those He loves (Psalms 127:2). And that will be very good too.
There is nothing groundbreaking about it. Just life with Him. Walking with Him. Naturally, as our life allows it. Anchoring in Him in the way that is best for us today. Grasping Him, who invented motherhood (and parenthood) after all. And not putting Him off until better times. Because in better times, there may be nothing left of our closeness. Not even the desire to meet.
Mom, you don’t have to wait for untiringness. For free time. For long, lonely prayers. For life as it used to be. You don’t have to. Start with one call to the One who knows you. Anywhere.
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