I turned forty nearly a month ago, and although I have been wanting to share about it for awhile, I have been procrastinating a bit because the topic I feel most compelled to write about is one that makes me feel vulnerable and is least relevant to my readers. It has to do with how I have been feeling lately as a forty-year-old mother to a toddler son.
I mourned the fact that I would be an older mom (if one at all) when JJ and I were newly engaged. The feeling took me by surprise since it seemed so incongruous to the joy I felt as I prepared to marry the man I loved. The truth is, I was seriously starting to wonder if I’d ever get married before meeting JJ. My twenties and early thirties passed me by with a lot of solo moments and a whole lot of questions about my future and romance. So, when JJ entered my life and we got engaged shortly before my 35th birthday, it wasn’t something I took for granted. I saw God’s fingerprints all over our story, and I was deeply grateful for what He was writing of it.
Nonetheless, I found myself in tears the first few weeks of our engagement as I mourned the fact that I’d never be a young mom. Fortunately, I was able to recognize that I was allowing the enemy to rob me of my joy, so I asked God to help me fully enjoy the moment, and He did. My sadness diminished as I reveled in the fact that God had truly answered my prayers for a husband. Life was sweet.
Several months later, JJ and I got married, and since neither of us were ready for children right away, we waited a full year until we both were. Fortunately for us, God blessed us with a baby boy ten months later. I was 37 at the time.
The first few months after Liam was born, I didn’t have time to think about my age. As I slowly started to venture out a bit more, however, I began to meet other moms with young children and was quickly reminded of just how old I was. And while the younger moms expressed their sadness over approaching their thirties, I was thinking forward to my son’s high school graduation and wondering just how many people would mistake me for his grandmother.
Life as an older mom has proven to be emotionally hard throughout the short time that I have been one, and although part of that hardship is based on my physical appearance in the midst of moms that are young and wrinkle free, a bigger part of it has to do with knowing that I will not always be able to keep up with my son as many younger moms will. My age is already playing a physical part in my parenting more than I would like it to, and turning forty has only intensified the reality of the impact my age has on my parenting. Nonetheless, I know these thoughts and feelings don’t have to have the final say in this topic. When I think of my age, I also think of Biblical characters that became mothers at much greater ages, and I’m reminded of how miraculous, beautiful, and noteworthy their stories were as a result.
I think of Sarah, who had to wait until she was ninety before having a son. But it was precisely after all those years of barrenness and in the biologically impossible stage of bearing children that God delighted to miraculously cause her to conceive and give birth to a son. And I think of Elizabeth, who was barren until she, too, became advanced in age. But God performed a similar miracle for her and also blessed her with a baby son.
Moreover, I think of the stories of Rebekah, Rachel, and Hannah, who also struggled with infertility and no doubt begged God through tears for Him to give them a child as they hoped and waited for what may have seemed like an eternity. And although they did not have to wait until their childbearing years had passed to conceive a child, their stories were still very much orchestrated by God and glorifying to Him as a result of His answer to their prayers.
There is something even more magnificent about these stories than the initial miracle of each birth, however. God blessed these women with children that would make a historical and spiritual impact on the world, and through the recording of their stories in the Scriptures, men and women are still being impacted by them today. The prolonged time of waiting, which was likely a source of shame to these women at one point, became the very thing that highlighted God’s miraculous work in their lives and the meaningful story He was writing for them and their offspring.
When I think of the story of these women and their children, I am encouraged to see my story in a new light. Although my long wait was not due to infertility, it was a wait nonetheless that included tearful prayers that God would allow me to be a mother someday. And although no one would label my pregnancy as anything miraculous, I still saw God’s hand on it, blessing me in that stage of life.
I never would have chosen to become a first-time mother at an older age, just like Sarah, Elizabeth, Hannah, Rebekah, and Rachel wouldn’t have waited so long to become mothers themselves. But God chose the timing of motherhood for me, just like He did for them. He chose for me to be a middle-aged toddler mom, so I want to trust that He will accomplish His purposes in motherhood at this stage of my life for me and through me for the benefit of my husband and son.
We often may not understand God’s timing in our lives, but we can rest assured of this—His timing is perfect, and He can use each orchestrated moment to showcase His glorious work in our lives, so let these be the truths that stay with us as the years pass by. May the areas of our lives that have somehow caused us shame become the very things that God uses to highlight His mighty work in us and to write for us a much greater story—one that will have an impact for eternity.