Cheaper by the Dozen
This past weekend I took in the movie, Cheaper by the Dozen, with my good friend, Milly Vanilly. It was an enjoyable, not terribly deep, movie of life with a large family. Milly comes from a large family and I have a large family, so we had an advantage that most movie goers don't have -- we have lived this chaos.

I learned a long time ago that if you expect a movie version of a book to be faithful to the book, you are in for a big disappointment. Since I didn't have that expectation, I wasn't disappointed.

Several things struck me about this movie. Despite the fact that it was mostly a positive portrayal of life in a large family and the love and loyalty that family members experience for one another, the message that our society views children as largely an encumberance and annoyance to be endured in limited numbers came through loud and clear. Even the couple who had all the children sort of apologized for the fact that they had so many because they lost their head one night after a few too many beer, and a set of twins snuck by before the vasectomy took effect.

In this movie version Dad takes a demanding job in a prestigious coaching position with a college. Mom writes a book and has to promote it on a book tour leaving Dad to manage the house alone. Things were chaotic enough as it was, but with Dad in charge, it rapidly got worse. The main conflict of the story was the question, "Can they do it?" Could a mother of many have a career outside the home and still have a family to come home to? Was a father of many able to hold down a demanding job that required more than typical hours of his time and still be available to his children when needed? In the end, the answer was no. This is pretty realistic. In the end, they chose the less tangible rewards of family life over the approval of the world. (Sorry if I have spoiled the ending for anyone who is intending to see it.)

You really do need a different mind-set and values if you raise a lot of kids. My kids have taught me not to love things any more. This is because things constantly break or get broken. I don't think I have a single intact knick knack in this house. I used to be quite sentimental about my knick knacks and special dishes that may have been gifts to me. Well, I have learned to keep the sentiment that prompted the gift close to my heart even as I sweep up the remains of the gift. I endure clutter a bit better than I used to. I doubt I shall ever completely overcome the neatnick monster that lurks inside of me. It is merely waiting to leap out in all its glory once the last child leaves home. And even then, it will probably be only a modified and fore-shortened leap as I expect I shall have grandchildren all too willing to beat it back in.

In a roundabout way, this sort of reminds me of that puzzling verse in I Timothy 2:15:

"Nevertheless she [a woman] will be saved in childbearing if they continue in faith, love, and holiness, with self-control."

Some scholars say that this should read, "THE childbearing" meaning it refers to Christ's incarnation. Others say that this means that women are saved in their duties as mothers. I think there is a sense in which both are correct.

Women are saved through the only Son who was born who was and is capable of saving them. But there is a real sense in which the trials, tribulations, and sheer mundane tasks of motherhood have a real way of working out our salvation with fear and trembling in the lives of mothers.

Babies, toddlers, children, and teens have a way of demanding attention and needing care that requires a great deal of self-sacrifice on the parts of mothers if they are to be met at all in a competent way. Women give up their bodies and endure many discomforts during the gestating period. Then there is the pain of labor and delivery, afterpains, breastfeeding discomforts, sleepless nights, teething, dirty diapers, potty training, temper tantrums and childhood illnesses to get through, followed by the awkward hormonal teen years when a challenge to authority is likely to happen. Just when you get them to a stage where they are actually competent enough to be of material help to you, they either decide they don't want to cooperate, or they flee the nest.

Some of the worst pain one endures as a mother has nothing to do with physical trials or lack of sleep. It comes from holding your breath as you watch a child you have loved, taught and prayed for teeter on the edge of moral ruin in the face of your warnings and tears.

Sounds pretty grim, doesn't it? No wonder most of the world doesn't think children are worth the pain.

These petty annoyances (and they are petty in the grand scheme of things) are the means that God uses to strip away the self-centered, naval gazing tendencies in the lives of women. If we react badly to these common occurances, it is only evidence that there is a lot of sanctification that still needs to take place in our lives. We have layer after layer of ego and sinful pride that needs to be ripped off us as painfully as Eustace shed his dragon skin in C.S. Lewis' Narnia chronicle, and very often our children are the means that are used for doing this.

Being a mother is an exercise in humility. It is knowing that despite all the best that medicine has to offer, a child won't survive or get well unless the Great Physician intervenes. It is knowing that each time your children deliver papers on their paper routes could be their last time if they are hit by a careless driver. It is knowing that unless the means of grace are made effectual in their lives, our efforts were in vain. In short, we are completely helpless despite our best attempts and we are driven constantly to the throne of Grace to find mercy in times of need.

Saved in childbearing? You betcha.