All suffering is hard. But not all hard things are suffering. The Oxford English Dictionary says that to suffer is to “experience or be subjected to (something bad or unpleasant).”
Conversely, a challenge is a “task or situation that tests someone’s abilities.” That’s a crucial distinction to make, especially when I’m seeking, first and foremost, to tackle the question of how to find the good in those testing circumstances rather than to solve the conundrum of why some of us suffer more than others.
A Biblical Response to Hard
Thankfully, the Bible has much to say about what our response to difficulty should be. Take, for instance, how the Lord tells Joshua to “be strong and courageous” no fewer than three times in as many verses (Joshua 1:6, 7, 9) as He gives ol’ Josh the daunting task of driving the pagan peoples from the Promised Land. God requires similarly valiant and trusting responses from Noah, Esther, David, Ruth, Abraham, Isaiah, Hosea, and so many more. You could even say that booting His children right out of their comfort zones is a bit of a biblical theme.
My goal is always to return to the truth of Scripture, no matter how far into the weeds of worldly culture we have strayed. So if you opened this book hoping for encouragement that even though motherhood is hard, we can do hard things in Christ’s strength (just like the ordinary people I’ve mentioned above!), with His Word as our guide, then you are in the right place.
One of the reasons I feel compelled to lay out so clearly the differences between hard things and suffering is that popular motherhood messaging hammers us with the assurance that much of what we encounter from our children on a daily basis is not merely a challenge but instead true affliction.
I get it! I coined the term “emotional terrorist” in our home for those moments when the three-year-old is leveraging every bit of his lung capacity, his mess-making prowess, and his iron will to intentionally torpedo my day.
Or at least that’s what it can seem like he’s doing when my focus rests solely on the disruption to my peace, the injury to my feelings, and the upending of my neat little plan for the day. But regardless of how hard my emotions work to convince me I’m justified in my disdain for this pint-sized impediment to either my productivity or my relaxation, Scripture tells a different story.
A Manifesto on Contentment
In one of the most quoted yet least understood verses in the Bible, Paul says, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me” (Philippians 4:13 ɴᴋᴊᴠ). Athletes tattoo it on their bodies. College students scribble it at the top of their final exam papers. But this is not a verse about impressive feats of brains or brawn. It is, instead, a manifesto on contentment. Sure, Paul can do “all things” through Christ. But what “things” exactly? Well, having money. Or not having money. Eating well. Or going without. Lacking nothing. Or lacking everything. I’m paraphrasing, of course, but this is the exact quote that sums it all up: “I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation” (Philippians 4:12 ɴɪᴠ). So that means when the baby sleeps, or when he wakes up seven times. When the teenager participates with a helpful attitude, or when he drags his feet and mutters under his breath. When the nine-year-old cleans up after her muffin baking, or when she drops a flour grenade on the kitchen floor and walks away.
Well, shoot.
You mean, we’re not victims of our children’s tendency to upchuck an entire lunch of undigested chicken quesadillas an hour into a road trip? Of their propensity to embarrass us in public with the way they parrot our impatient tones? Of their fondness for smashing that one heirloom dish we asked them never to touch?
Short answer? No, we’re not.
A Motherhood of Martyrdom
Our children are not “something bad or unpleasant we are being subjected to,” to borrow from the above definition of suffering. And yet when we view dealing with their more challenging traits as suffering rather than as a hard-but-good opportunity to grow in Christlikeness, we gravitate toward a Motherhood
of Martyrdom—an attitude sure to bleed into the way we treat our families.
As one reader so poignantly put it, “My mother made sure to let us know we were a martyrdom she barely survived. It has been really depressing for us children.”
I don’t doubt it. Few things crush my spirit as an adult more than being made to feel like a burden, and I’m so glad my own mother understood the importance of regularly speaking to my brother and me with the kind of language that let us know just how wanted and loved and unburdensome we were.
Maybe you’re thinking, “But, Abbie. I don’t think of myself as a martyr. I know that children are a blessing. I rarely watch TV, much less the trashy kind. And I don’t need alcohol to make it through the day. Is this really something I need to hear?”
Perhaps not. But I do have a couple of questions for you: Do you respond to your children’s constant use of the four-letter word “Mama” with a huff sometimes? Do you feel offended when you walk into the laundry room to discover the chaotic evidence of little hands rifling through clean clothes in search of that favorite threadbare T-shirt? Do you “mention” the overflowing trash bin to your fourteen-year-old in a less-than-patient tone?
Confession: I chose these examples because they are all things I have done in the last week. And this despite the fact that I don’t watch junk TV, don’t drink, and do believe children are a blessing. (Sidenote: Though a teetotaler myself, I have no problem with alcohol consumption in moderation, but I have concerns when I see it touted far too often as the means by which we “cope with life.”) So far, so good, I suppose. Problem is, it doesn’t really matter how many doing-it-right boxes we tick if our heart attitudes are still ones of resentment or impatience. To paraphrase a line from M Is for Mama, the ultimate issue with our mothering struggles is not our bad days or our hormones but instead our inability to be anything other than mediocre without Christ.
We Do Not Lose Heart
Without a biblical perspective on hard things, we will default to a cheap contentment that only sighs with relief when our circumstances match our desires (which, let’s be honest, is no contentment at all). Or we will chafe at even the barest suggestion that we do not deserve to begrudge the really gnarly parts of motherhood. You know, the stuff we simply don’t enjoy one single bit.
Not only that, but the more we muddle true suffering with hard mothering days, the less likely we are to find comfort in verses like 2 Corinthians 4:16-18, which says, “So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal.”
As a breastfeeding mama, I couldn’t help but giggle at that “outer self wasting away” part. Anybody else ever weaned a baby, only to look down at your sad, deflated chest and think, “RIP, perky boobs—it was fun while it lasted”? Motherhood has very real, very obvious “wasting” effects on our bodies. And
yet when our attitude is one of joyfully looking for the good, not one stretch mark or varicose vein (of which I have plenty) is, well, wasted.
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All suffering is hard, but not all hard things are suffering.
Hard Is Not the Same Thing as Bad, by Abbie Halberstadt, helps women see how God can use the everyday trials of motherhood to radically transform how they view hardship and grow them to become more like Jesus. Filled with scriptural wisdom and lessons learned from her own challenges as a mama of ten, Abbie shares how to view your struggles as a necessary part of God’s plan for your spiritual growth. In turn, you will discover supernatural peace and purpose, even when you’re down in the deepest trenches of motherhood.
Learn more about the book and how to purchase here.
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