O N B A B Y J A C K A L S

I tell them to hold hands, and go— go! run out across the field— I want a picture. They do, and I get it, sure enough, I get it. And that is… all I get. How didn’t I see this coming? My children are gone now, and gleefully. Off and away! They are departed, all four. And to think our pilgrimage had come so close to to its sweet end at the beckoning car! I mutter, I chuff, I holler across the way, before my mouth opens, already annoyed at myself in so-doing (Who hears you now, woman? The children? No not them. Well their ears may, but their hearts are already long gone at play. Who hears you is just yourself only, and of course the passers-by, your forlorn soughing offered up to them— a symphony telling how this disgruntled old mule has been crossed, ringing out for everyone in the world except, of course, for whom it’s meant). They have scattered now like dandelion seed, thistles on the wind, carried to the farthest reaches of the field, I watch them disappear over the ridge. I hear their howls rising in the air, like feral children, like a pack of baby jackals, like intoxicating wildlings. I settle, I simmer, I sigh, I smirk. And what is it that irks me? Dinner can wait. What does it matter if it’s already late? Isn’t it always late?

In an instant my chagrin dries up, it shakes out like dust— I don’t know just how, but gone! like little drops of dew immaterialized suddenly by a ray of golden sun. I almost forgot how perfect that sun is, dropping there near the horizon. I almost missed how merciful the moment is, the one where I hear my tiny tribe pounding out the sound of happiness on this bright, good, green earth. I think this might be worship. And is this all of motherhood, consolidated on the head of such a tiny pin? The things I get to see, the things I miss seeing for my fogged-up eyeballs, crossed with busy and work? The way I rile and calm, I startle and stew, the two ways I can go as the ones who make up my life crash into my plans and predictions over and over? I can always see them two ways, I know— our ill-fated ambitions for “first-time obedience” have been relinquished, begrudgingly, fingers pried off, and I tell you, ne’er has a ship ever sailed off into the sunset so brazenly, I am still aghast. With all our intentions. And who are we now? (frankly at this point I send up a hallelu for a third or fourth-time obedience, I receive that meager lot with thanks. How the mighty have fallen!) Oh and I can see them that way, do not doubt me now— eyes-narrowed to slits, watching the wayward steps trot those naughty little bodies right away from the clanging of my gong, this futile mother-summons fallen on deaf ears.

But I can go another way, too. I can see them full of goodness, and when I do I see me there, too. I was told we were born broken, but I wonder, are we not split open along the way? Motherhood has broken me, that’s true, cut me down right across the middle, splayed open, I’ve been halved. Or am I doubled? All of us fractals— self-similar, self-repeating— just look at the shapes we make together, the way our spirits fill the space between the borders of our bodies. I think about God, in whom we live and move and have our being. I turn my head to the skies and I see them fresh, engrossed in the wild thing that’s living, compelled to run for the sheer pumping of blood in their perfect pounding chests, storming the heavens because joy exists! and waits in the grasses, and this is what the children know, mirthful and silly and wild and free, unafraid (of either the river yonder or my chiding), bold and brave— yes sometimes at the wrong times— but ready for the unknowns that await them over the ridge, propelled out from my safety and into the great glaring wide open, perfectly at home in being alive. What more could I ever hope to teach them in this life? And what more can they teach me?

I’m learning to take all the breaths I need til I can be gentle with God’s creatures. And that includes my children. And that includes myself.

About the author: Liana Stone writes from beneath a sometimes literal pile of the most delicious tiny humans you ever saw. She and her effervescent husband, Jason, currently call Oregon home, having moved back from Zanzibar in 2020, where they served with All Nations. Liana had the privilege of not only attending the first Capetonian Church Planting Experience (CPx) in 2008, but attending a second CPx in Cape Town with Jason in 2012 (Double graduate here, people). Both Liana and Jason have a deep love for the All Nations family and are grateful for the way their time working within All Nations has shaped and impacted their life.

Staying Connected or Learning More

Help share this and other blogs with your friends and ministry leaders! It would also be a huge help if you could please follow us on social media via the links below! Thank you!

If you would like to receive leadership updates, link here to stay current on All Nations International’s news and prayer efforts! To learn more about All Nations today, visit: www.allnations.international!

Are you wondering if you are wired to go? This area on our web site will help you!

We have plenty other resources (devotion, book club, events) and a monthly global prayer for the neglected! You are welcome to join us.

Give today to see the neglected globally reached — the least, the last, and the lost!

www.allnations.international

Reaching the neglected globally — the least, the last, and the lost since 1993.