Chasing Superwoman Page 8

  Did Eve’s curse mean that I had to forget law school loans, courtroom aspirations, and my desire to serve God in the marketplace? I wasn’t convinced. Eve may be the mother of all, but shouldn’t we learn from her mistakes, rather than use them against women? Come to think of it, Eve was really at a disadvantage since she didn’t have any female mentors. I can’t imagine the pressure of going first. She couldn’t call her mother to ask her how to know you’re going into labor, or what to do when your newborn won’t stop crying, or how you know your baby is getting enough milk. And she couldn’t ask her grandmother to babysit the kids for the evening so she could get some rest. She had to learn everything the hard way, herself. And she must have had more heartaches than most mothers, especially when Cain killed Abel. She probably said to herself, “If I hadn’t eaten that rotten apple, Abel would still be alive.”

  So when I hear Christians pulling out the “Eve” card, I think to myself, “That wasn’t exactly the way God intended the family to function in the first place. Have you read Proverbs 31 lately?”

  Proverbs 31 paints a beautiful picture of the wife of noble character, the epitome of a working mother. She burns the candle at both ends—she arises before dark, and her lamp doesn’t go out at night. And in addition to completing the traditional tasks of feeding and clothing her family, she buys a field out of her own earnings, plants a vineyard, engages in profitable trading, and feeds the poor. All in a day’s work.

  It didn’t sound easy, but at least it was possible. Maybe I could be a top-notch lawyer and a devoted mother.

  I started to ask some of the young mothers in the church if they could help me make sense of how the world of law and motherhood might fit together. Reactions were mixed.

  A few told me that “It will just be a few years while your kids are young,” and “Maybe you can work part-time and still practice law while you have a family.” One woman even told me about a woman in the church who had a law degree. She decided to edit legal books in her spare time so that she could maintain her skills while staying home with her family. After all, “What’s more important, your career or your family?”

  It didn’t sound promising. Apparently, I had to choose between my family and my career. Spiritual women obviously put their families first. Selfish woman put their kids in day care, putting their careers before their children. Was I that selfish? Maybe my heart was not the heart of a mother. The bar seemed higher than I could reach.

  I wanted desperately for other women of faith to tell me that I’d be okay. That they had walked a similar path. That they too had doubts, but in the end their children turned out just fine. But like me, everyone else had questions, but no real answers. So I decided to leave the church that told me I had to choose between being a lawyer or a mom. I just didn’t want to argue about it. And I didn’t want to be judged. It was easier to walk away.

  Role Models

  Don’t get me wrong. I had wonderful role models growing up in the church. But all of the esteemed women in our church spent the best hours of their days with their children, and when the children were in school, they had time to volunteer, engage in community activities, and otherwise manage the affairs of their homes. A few of them worked full time outside their homes, for financial necessity, and we all felt sorry for them because they “had to” work.

  Even outside the church, none of my close friends had mothers with careers. Some of our moms had jobs, and my own mother went to work for a retail clothing store when I was in grade school. My father always joked that she spent her entire paycheck on clothing (and it cost her more to work than to stay home) but she helped put five kids through college and found some independence in the process, even though she continued to maintain complete and sole responsibility for the domestic affairs of our home.

  It’s been almost twenty years since I’ve heard the church denigrate working mothers so passionately. But sometimes I wonder how far we’ve come.

  Lots of women in my church work these days, but most of us still feel the guilt. It’s one thing to work outside the home, but being a partner in a big law firm is a little much, even for me sometimes. Maybe I shouldn’t be working in such a demanding career, and I should be spending more time at home. But please save that debate for another day and another book. The fact is, I’m working. I’m working a lot. And while I love my church, I also love my work. But I still can’t seem to get connected to other like-minded women. Lots of us are in desperate need of mentoring, but we don’t have the foggiest clue where or when we will find the time.

  I thought about contacting my church’s support group for working moms. Then I realized we don’t have one. The last time I looked at the church bulletin I saw a bunch of play groups and daytime coffees. Of course a few Bible studies meet after my workday, but try telling three small kids you haven’t seen all day that you are leaving again to go to church. It doesn’t go over well.

  That’s probably why our church doesn’t have a support group for working moms. There’s just no good time to meet. I know I’m not alone; sometimes it just feels that way. Try billing over two thousand hours a year while maintaining a healthy marriage and family of three small children, not to mention a relationship with God, friends, and extended family. Who has time to get connected?

  I used to be involved in women’s groups and discipleship. And I had lots of mentors. Before I had kids.

  Nonjudging Jane mentored me in college and we still keep in touch, although I don’t see her very often. We live in different worlds. I live between my home and my office; I start my day early and try to wrap up by 10:00 p.m. Jane lives among college students, and her day often begins at 10:00 p.m. She devotes her life to helping college women know and follow God. I can barely follow God myself, let alone help three kids on the path to faith. But Jane and I still maintain a deep connection. She’s always understood my heart, a rare gift in a friend. And while she’s one of the most conservative women you will ever meet, she doesn’t have a judgmental bone in her body. Back in college I had little if any desire to be a mother or raise children. I was bound and determined to head straight for law school. Jane cheered me on every step of the way.

  Maybe you are blessed to know someone like Nonjudging Jane, someone who is ten times more spiritual than you and lives out a faith that you could only dream of. More often than not, no one wants to be around these kind of people. Why? Because whether it’s intentional or not, they just make you feel like a spiritual minnow. Not Jane. Jane has a special gift—even though she is more like Jesus than any person I’ve ever met, she never puts anyone else down or acts like she’s Super Christian. In simple terms, she’s humble. Which is why she’s so easy to be around.

  Another thing I love about Nonjudging Jane is that I can be myself around her. I’ve told her how much I struggle, that I blend in with the Jerk Lawyers, that my language becomes more foul every year, and I’m hardly the model Christian mother for my children.

  She still loves me and believes in me.

  Nonjudging Jane always asks me to come and speak to her students about serving God while working as a lawyer. As much as I love speaking to college students, I’ve turned her down the last few years. Why? I don’t have the time. The kids are too young to come with me. I hate to travel on the weekends. And most importantly, I don’t claim to be the best role model for college students aspiring to live out their faith. What am I going to tell them anyway? Reach for your dreams, but don’t be surprised if they suck the spiritual life right out of you in the process. And if you’re planning to have children and work full time, brace yourself for the guilt, the stress, and the isolation that you will feel inside the church. I could lie and tell them that I have it all together, but I’ve never been very good at lying. So I’d have to tell them that I still haven’t figured it out and regularly fall flat on my face.

  It wouldn’t be a very inspiring message. What would I do with Lady L
awyer? She moves left of center every day, and I’m not sure I could shut her up, especially if we’re going to talk about the law. She’d probably go off on a tangent and offend everyone, and I’d get Jane in trouble for inviting some militant crazy woman to speak to a group of impressionable college students at a Christian conference.

  So I’ve been staying home.

  Lady Lawyer tried ministry once. It didn’t last. Shortly before I had Nick, I connected with a group of women in my downtown who wanted to meet, pray, network, and bring in inspirational speakers. It seemed like the perfect plan. I chaired the group for almost two years and met some incredible friends. We were organized, energized, and had about fifty women meeting every other month for lunch. After about eighteen months, the group flopped while I was out on maternity leave. In addition to my role as chair, I had taken over the responsibilities of the secretary and treasurer. After having Nick, I just couldn’t do it anymore. The group soon disbanded. So I gave up.

  I learned a lot in the process, and I know that, despite my fear of failure, I should probably start a new group for working moms with the support of my church. I’ve already had a handful of women approach me. One thing’s for sure, the next time around I’ll pray first, put other people in leadership roles, and make sure it’s not just about me.

  Coming Full Circle

  I know God has a sense of humor because He keeps trying to speak to me out loud when I’m in my office. No kidding. Lady Lawyer was sitting at her desk trying to bill some hours when I received an email from a former church leader I’ll call John. Yes, this is the same church that proclaimed over ten years ago that day care would usher in the second coming of Christ. Sure, it probably didn’t mean to link Armageddon and working mothers, but I certainly hadn’t forgotten its words. I felt a lump in my throat as I began to read the email. It included an apology. Totally unexpected. John told me he was very sorry for having a negative reaction to my professional goals. Not only did he apologize, he went on to say that his black-and-white thinking was wrong and a misrepresentation of the Lord. He finished the email by proclaiming, “I’m sure you had the wisdom to ignore a fool. I thank God for His grace once again!”

  I was completely dumbfounded. Why me, and why now? Doug and I hadn’t been part of that church in over a decade. We had left behind some dear friends and had many good memories together, but when we left, our friendships became a thing of the past. While we were hurt by the rejection, the experience had made us stronger in many ways, and time has a way of healing old wounds. Even back then, no one really knew how much I had been hurt. I probably should have told John—Doug and I were close to him and his wife and he would have listened and maybe even understood—but I just wasn’t strong enough. I certainly never expected him to apologize. Especially not now. But somehow, God knew that I needed to hear his words. Like me, John hadn’t figured everything out either. Like me, he needed grace.

  I closed my door and wept. With my luck, one of my colleagues would knock on my door any minute and find Lady Lawyer in a puddle of tears. I just wanted to be alone and escape from my office, at least until I could pull myself together. This was just too complicated to explain to Harvard Bill or even Jock Jill and I longed to be in the privacy of my own home. I thought I was over the rejection I had felt from the church so many years ago, but the truth is, I wasn’t. I had been carrying it with me too long, and I had to let it go.

  I’ve come to realize that the church is full of imperfect people, just like me, who are trying to give their best to God and haven’t quite figured out what that looks like day by day. I’ve also come to realize that pulling away from the church isn’t the answer. Working mothers need to be part of the heart and soul of the church, and the church needs to be part of the heart and soul of working mothers. The fact is, we need each other, and God created us to live in fellowship, not isolation. Yes, it’s going to take some patience and creativity—like late-night Bible studies and early morning email prayer chains—but no working mother should feel that she’s not welcome inside the church. It’s going to take more people like Nonjudging Jane—people who don’t draw lines in the sand, but instead stand beside us as we try to be excellent workers and devoted mothers. And it’s going to take more of us who are working mothers—mothers who have celebrated successes but have learned from failures—to share our experiences with other women and encourage each other as we grow and learn together.

  Working mothers have much to learn from the church. And yes, the church still has much to learn from working mothers.

  EIGHT

  Adventures in Shopping

  Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

  Matthew 6:19–21

  Most of us have too much stuff. As a result, our kids have too much stuff. Sure, we try to be thankful for what we have and not hold our possessions too tightly, but it’s still tough to keep things in perspective, especially for those of us who like to shop. Material possessions are not bad in and of themselves, but as Matthew 6:21 points out, hearts tend to follow treasures. As much as the kids and I enjoy shopping together—and have created some memorable and entertaining experiences in the process—I try to teach them that life is about much more than accumulating more things, and we need to be content with what we have and help those who are in need. This doesn’t stop us from venturing out on our weekend shopping excursions. Starting with the grocery store.

  Adventures in the Soup Aisle

  I used to enjoy the grocery store. I would cut out coupons in advance, have a neatly organized list, shop the specials, and leisurely drink my double-tall, nonfat latte while strolling through the aisles, planning my next gourmet dinner. At a comfortable pace, I would get my shopping done in less than forty-five minutes. Sometimes, one of those annoying mothers with screaming children would be in the aisle next to me.

  Can’t you control your children? I would think to myself, Better yet, if you can’t control them, just leave them at home.

  I have become the annoying mother in the grocery store. I get those disapproving stares on a regular basis, and it’s not pretty. I know the shoppers around me must wonder, Why on earth is this woman dragging three small kids to the grocery store on a Saturday morning? It’s a fair question. Unfortunately, I don’t have the leisure of sitting at home and drinking coffee on Saturday mornings while my kids watch cartoons. Don’t think I wouldn’t like to. Weekend Mommy doesn’t have a spare moment before she has to run off to baseball practice, birthday parties, and gymnastics, so she has to get her shopping done early. And of course the kids want to come with me. They haven’t seen me all week.

  I tried to delegate grocery shopping once. It lasted about two months. Nanny Jill would come home with avocados that weren’t ripe or meat that wasn’t lean. Then I gave Doug a shot. He would get everything I didn’t put on the list—chips, beer, ice cream, frozen pizza, nacho dip, and bacon. The perfect diet for a healthy family of five. Unfortunately, if you want some things done right, you just have to do them yourself. Especially when it comes to food. Now I really don’t care if you put my sheets on backward or fold my towels in opposite corners. And I couldn’t care less if my piano isn’t perfectly dusted and I can even live with a little clutter. But don’t mess with my refrigerator.

  The four of us head to the grocery store on Saturday mornings like clockwork. I always tell Nick and Anna not to hang on the cart because it makes it terribly heavy to push with the weight of three children, but they never listen. If I’m lucky, all the child-friendly carts shaped like cars will be taken by other customers, and I can snatch a normal cart that doesn’t have a steering wheel and swinging doors and the turning radius of a semi. My goal is to strap Abby int
o the child seat, at least for the first ten minutes, until she inevitably escapes and then we play the chasing game all over the store. She throws stuff in the cart faster than I can put it back on the shelf, and it’s always the stuff that’s not on my list. Nick and Anna usually can’t stop laughing, which only encourages her to put more food in the cart. Her favorite? The soup aisle. We have more cans of Dora the Explorer soup than I can count.

  I try to give all the unwanted products back to the cashier at the checkout, but I always end up with a few surprises when I get home. Last week, the only surprise was a bag of raw, unsalted almonds. They’re actually quite addictive. I single-handedly ate the whole bag myself because it’s a sin to waste food and no one else would eat them. I had a stomachache for three days. The raw almonds still beat the multiple packs of fruit snacks or those awful colored marshmallows that are so miniature you can’t even roast them over a campfire. At least the raw almonds are on the low-carb diet.

  By the time I check out of the grocery store, we are pushing ninety minutes and everyone, including me, is ready to go home. Nick is complaining he’s bored, Anna is doing gymnastics on the railing at the checkout line (the one that has a sign that says “no swinging on the railing”) and Abby is trying to open and eat just about everything in the cart. If I’m pushing the car cart, it usually doesn’t fit through the checkout aisle because the wheels are too big, so it takes me twice as long to unload the groceries, and then I have to back up the car and push it around the checkout lines and through the exit just to reload my groceries. Abby is behind the wheel, steering, and she’s howling with delight. I’m ready to have a meltdown, and I swear to myself I am going to sue the makers of these carts as soon as I have the time to pull together a class action suit. I’m sure I can unite mothers of young children who, like me, have experienced the firsthand consequences of the cart and related emotional distress.