I was born into mothering earlier in my life than most, and at a time in my life when I was still feeling the pull to question every authority in my path. I had been raised as a church-going girl. Missing church on Sundays was just not something you did unless you had a Really Good Reason. But I found myself as a young wife and mother with no one telling me I had to go anymore.
Hmmmm…. this was interesting. I could do anything I wanted with my Sunday. The freedom opened up before me like a new frontier. In my arms, however, was a squirming new little life, looking up at me to point her in the right direction. How could I teach her what I did not know myself – how to live a full and joy filled life? How could I bring her meaning and show her what it meant to be a good person and an asset to the world?
Growing up in a christian home, I had been exposed to the Love of God from before I could talk. I learned the stories of how He prepared His people for His Coming and of His incarnation and death on the cross. At this time in my life, as a young wife and mother, though, I didn’t see myself as a particularly religious person. But I needed a place to start with my child and church seemed as good a place as any. So my baby daughter and I began to attend church together.
We did not go as a family yet – my husband and I had not come to an agreement on how to express our faith. So he went to his church and I went to mine. But we both had a vague sense of wanting to be closer to God and that kept things peaceful. Like Abram and Sarai (Gen 12), hearing the call of God to go to a New Place that He promised for them, we began to wander in the direction that He seemed to be calling us, not really sure where we were headed or what we would find when we arrived there. I’m not sure we even knew we were being called then, we just started on our way anyway.