Mothers & Missionaries

I have two topics looming in my mind, completely unrelated, nevertheless pressing...mothers and missionaries.

Mothers. More and more I am coming to realize the serious value of a mother. I may be stepping on toes here, maybe I am just young and inexperienced and don't really understand yet. But right now I believe that you should not bear children if you are not prepared to be a mother. A mother and a woman who bears children are not the same thing! You may have youngsters with the same DNA, but you may not be their mother. I am observing firsthand the effects of the absence of a mother. When children are abandoned to raise themselves, chaos reigns...and usually the mother wonders why her children don't respect her. It seems to me that it is better for a family to live simply and the mother to fulfill her role than for both parents to work and the children raise themselves. I may be being brash here, but I believe a true mother stays home to cultivate her own children. I do not mean that I think every family should homeschool, etc., but that a mother needs to be active in the upbringing of her children, and acutely aware of what is going on in their lives so she may know how to properly direct them. God help me, I will not surrender my motherhood to someone else or my children to destruction because I cannot foresee our financial stability.


(Note: I understand that every situation is not cookie cutter. Especially in this generation, with so many broken homes, being a stay-at-home mom may not be a feasible option. I don't have all the answers. I can only speak my convictions from the viewpoint of how things should be.)

Missionaries. Since I have not been a mother, but I have been a missionary, this topic perplexes me even more. If a mother feels helpless to change or confused about how to do so, I can understand those feelings when it comes to being a missionary. Unanswered questions still fester inside...a sense of failure on my calling. I just saw a news video online about a white man living in the war zone of Sudan. Why wasn't I strong enough to stay? How could a lifelong dream be crushed by discomfort in a matter of months? It may be wrong, but the hungry and lost people of America don't capture my heart...Africa does. People always told me that I would go places where people haven't gone and do things people haven't done. But the thirst for living on the edge that once drew me now causes me to shrink back in fear. What do I do?