Motherhood’s Company Car: it’s a dream
car
pamela
spurling
If
the apron is the uniform of motherhood,
then the van is motherhood’s company
car. Now, when a mother first starts
out, she has the starter car… it’s the
two door model she attempts to “make do”
until she has to move up to the dreaded
“mini van.” It doesn’t take much time
(or brains) to conclude that getting in
and out of the back seat with a baby
carrier and all the stuff doesn’t work
well in a sports car.
You know, I’m gonna let you in on a
little secret and it is this: I sort of
cringe bristle when I
hear women talk about the “mini van” as
though it were some sort of plague or
dreaded disease. I try to figure out
what they dread so much. I wonder what
images are conjured up in their minds.
When they say the words mini and van
together, do they see thick gray-beige
elastic support hose that cover large,
dimpled legs with protruding
vericosities and imagine that the boys
in their high school senior class might
not have aged and they did? Do they see
a personal set of full dentures
magnified through the side of a glass
with fizzy cleaning solution in it? Do
they see themselves through thick
glasses, wearing hearing aids and a
light blue sweater and walking in
support shoes aided by a cane? Is it
detestable to drive a mini van because
of some misplaced value system that
relegates anyone over twenty-nine and a
half to the bone pile — or sees anyone
with a bit of aging as someone of less
value and personal worth? Or worse:
someone with more than two children as…
what?! I cannot think of words here.
I shake my head and try to figure it
out… and I think: what a messed up
society that determines the worth of a
person by the make and model of the car
they drive and the number printed on the
label of the jeans they wear. So… this
is my rant for the day.
You know… little kids never say - O,
yuck: a mini van or O, yuck: a 12
passenger van or whatever. No… they know
that mama needs a car for her babies
(and their friends), for the groceries,
the strollers, the carseats, the pack ‘n
play and all the other paraphernalia
children require. I don’t know any
little children who haven’t been
thrilled to pieces when the family moves
on to the “big car!”
Little children don’t measure their
worth (or failings) by things. Really
and truly, they don’t measure their
worth by the type or the size of car
their mama thinks is cool - no, they get
their worth by the way their mama sees
them. And believe me, when the
mama is ashamed of where and who she is:
the children know it (and their
behaviour betrays it).
So, today, as my husband was handing
my set of keys over to the mechanic and
thanked him for the work he’s done to
help us with our vehicles, I thanked the
mechanic for taking such good care of my
sports car. I love that sports car; mmm,
mmmm, mmmm, really. It’s a 15 passenger
sports car, and it’s my dream car.
Really. When I’m driving along, whether
the seats are all occupied or not, it’s
my dream car: it’s filled with all my
dreams.
I so wish women would see the
unequaled gift that children are and
embrace the gift enthusiastically and
drive motherhood’s vehicles with
delight!
When the hearts of fathers are turned
to the children… and when women throw
away the tabloids and quit measuring
their appearance, work & worth by the
women in People magazine and
when they begin to embrace the high
calling for which they were created, and
when children are brought home, and
taught and valued as the blessings God
says they are and when
children are esteemed as highly as most
esteem possessions, a law degree or some
other title, and when children are seen
as priceless treasures from the LORD,
then there will be a high demand and a
shortage of 15 passenger dream cars.
Count on it.
Look out the window, mama… if you’ve
got a van in the parking area, then you
already have a dream car. It’s not just
anyone who can drive a van… you’ve got
to be somebody pretty special to have
that privilege. And you know what’s
more? The season of this privilege is
very short. Very short.
Remember that, the next time a young mom
laments her “problems” and shares her
disdain for… the dreaded mini van.
pamela
spurling
http://www.AChristianHome.org
© 2007
