Recently I watched A Nun’s Story, a 1950’s Audrey Hepburn movie. I have been chewing on this movie since viewing it, especially on the themes of sacrifice and obedience. For those who have not seen the film, Audrey Hepburn’s character was a smart, intelligent, independent, free-spirited woman who joins the convent, voices her vows, and thus makes what was intended to be a lifelong covenant with the Church. In her process of becoming a nun, she learned about sacrifice and denying herself. Her life dream was to be a nurse in the African bush. She excelled in her studies of tropical medicine. And then she was asked to make a sacrifice – to intentionally fail her medical exam in order to tame her pride. She was unable to make this sacrifice and because of this, her talents were “wasted” and she spent a year working as a nurse in an insane asylum. She is eventually sent to be a nurse in Africa where she continued to wrestle with sacrificing her natural personality and talents in order to remain obedient to the Church. I was left with the question, would I be willing to sacrifice who I am, my personality and natural talents, in order to be obedient to the covenants I have made?
Two days ago, this question became very real and very personal. I saw a lot of myself in Audrey Hepburn’s depiction of the nun. I have always been free-spirited and independent. Even when not intending to be viewed this way, others have been quick to point out I have a rebellious streak in me. I am a good, responsible citizen with a strong work ethic, but I have never felt I fit into a particular mold. I am not a stereotypical image of the feminine. I like dirt on my hands, riding on tractors, and doing manual labor. I feel truly alive when I am backpacking in the woods, cooking over fires that I built, and digging a hole for a toilet. I feel alive riding in the back of a pick-up truck across dirt roads in third world countries. I take pleasure from mixing concrete by hand and building outhouses to help prevent disease. I love landing in a foreign country and embracing the mystery of new foods, new language, new smells, and a different pace of life. This was my life and my identity until 2005.
On May 22, 2005, I entered a lifelong covenant with my husband. Independence was replaced with interdependence – my decisions are no longer about what I want but about what is best for both of us. Sometimes that means sacrificing what I want or think I need. In September 2006, I became pregnant with Saris. I learned first hand that my body was not my own – no glass of wine with a great steak dinner, and always carry a plastic bag to combat the nine months of vomiting. In October 2007, I had an ultrasound because I was again pregnant. It was then that I first saw Jakob AND Maddie just six weeks after they were conceived. Pooping in the woods has been replaced with changing thousands of diapers and trying to convince a two-year-old that pooping in the potty is really the best choice. And the pick-up truck . . . it is now a seven-passenger mini-van complete with three car seats and toddler tunes loaded in the CD-player.
I love being a mother. I love watching Saris, Jake, and Maddie come into their own personalities. I still get excited at each new word spoken, motor skill developed, and as each new spark of their individuality emerges. I love being “mommy”, but I find that I do not fit the mold of stereotypical mother. I did not dream of someday becoming a mother. I preferred building forts and exploring the backyard over playing with dolls. I still hate Barbie. Up until 2004 when I met Bill, I was fairly settled on the idea I would be single forever. I am grateful to Bill and would not trade the life I have now.
Two days ago, I came face to face with the sacrifices that come with being a wife and mother. I got a phone call – “we need you and your unique skill set to got to Haiti for five days.” An old fire quickly rekindled. I pictured myself getting dirty, hugging orphans, and riding along dirt roads. I saw a glimpse of my old life and parts of me that have grown dormant were suddenly alive and feeling very excited. I was going on an adventure. And then as quickly as the fire lit, I remembered I am a wife and mother – I could not make this decision on my own. It was not faced with the support I had hoped for, “You have three babies. You cannot just up and leave for five days.” I grew angry. No one was going to tell me what I can and cannot do. If I were a husband needing to go on a business trip for work, this would not be an issue. While I could justify this as a very important business trip – it was my expertise and unique skills that were needed, others saw it as optional and not necessary. I was reminded again and again, “You are a mother of three small children. How could you just leave them for five days?” I began to mourn and grieve the loss of Heather, free-spirited, independent, and adventurous woman. I faced the sacrifices that accompany motherhood. I am now in the process of trying to fan out the flames and once again squelch these aspects of my personality. But like the nun, this does not come easy.
I think of the Blessed Mother and her humble obedience and faithfulness to the Covenant. I think of Christ, giving himself fully even to death. Something in me truly believes that as I mourn the loss of my independence and natural personality I will only find more life. But if I am honest, this lesson is not pain-free.
Two days ago, this question became very real and very personal. I saw a lot of myself in Audrey Hepburn’s depiction of the nun. I have always been free-spirited and independent. Even when not intending to be viewed this way, others have been quick to point out I have a rebellious streak in me. I am a good, responsible citizen with a strong work ethic, but I have never felt I fit into a particular mold. I am not a stereotypical image of the feminine. I like dirt on my hands, riding on tractors, and doing manual labor. I feel truly alive when I am backpacking in the woods, cooking over fires that I built, and digging a hole for a toilet. I feel alive riding in the back of a pick-up truck across dirt roads in third world countries. I take pleasure from mixing concrete by hand and building outhouses to help prevent disease. I love landing in a foreign country and embracing the mystery of new foods, new language, new smells, and a different pace of life. This was my life and my identity until 2005.
On May 22, 2005, I entered a lifelong covenant with my husband. Independence was replaced with interdependence – my decisions are no longer about what I want but about what is best for both of us. Sometimes that means sacrificing what I want or think I need. In September 2006, I became pregnant with Saris. I learned first hand that my body was not my own – no glass of wine with a great steak dinner, and always carry a plastic bag to combat the nine months of vomiting. In October 2007, I had an ultrasound because I was again pregnant. It was then that I first saw Jakob AND Maddie just six weeks after they were conceived. Pooping in the woods has been replaced with changing thousands of diapers and trying to convince a two-year-old that pooping in the potty is really the best choice. And the pick-up truck . . . it is now a seven-passenger mini-van complete with three car seats and toddler tunes loaded in the CD-player.
I love being a mother. I love watching Saris, Jake, and Maddie come into their own personalities. I still get excited at each new word spoken, motor skill developed, and as each new spark of their individuality emerges. I love being “mommy”, but I find that I do not fit the mold of stereotypical mother. I did not dream of someday becoming a mother. I preferred building forts and exploring the backyard over playing with dolls. I still hate Barbie. Up until 2004 when I met Bill, I was fairly settled on the idea I would be single forever. I am grateful to Bill and would not trade the life I have now.
Two days ago, I came face to face with the sacrifices that come with being a wife and mother. I got a phone call – “we need you and your unique skill set to got to Haiti for five days.” An old fire quickly rekindled. I pictured myself getting dirty, hugging orphans, and riding along dirt roads. I saw a glimpse of my old life and parts of me that have grown dormant were suddenly alive and feeling very excited. I was going on an adventure. And then as quickly as the fire lit, I remembered I am a wife and mother – I could not make this decision on my own. It was not faced with the support I had hoped for, “You have three babies. You cannot just up and leave for five days.” I grew angry. No one was going to tell me what I can and cannot do. If I were a husband needing to go on a business trip for work, this would not be an issue. While I could justify this as a very important business trip – it was my expertise and unique skills that were needed, others saw it as optional and not necessary. I was reminded again and again, “You are a mother of three small children. How could you just leave them for five days?” I began to mourn and grieve the loss of Heather, free-spirited, independent, and adventurous woman. I faced the sacrifices that accompany motherhood. I am now in the process of trying to fan out the flames and once again squelch these aspects of my personality. But like the nun, this does not come easy.
I think of the Blessed Mother and her humble obedience and faithfulness to the Covenant. I think of Christ, giving himself fully even to death. Something in me truly believes that as I mourn the loss of my independence and natural personality I will only find more life. But if I am honest, this lesson is not pain-free.
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