The Loaves and Fishes of Motherhood

Sometimes I want to be alone.

I’m not sure if this results from being an only child, but sometimes, I just want to be by myself.

I’m a worrier by nature, and I often feel overwhelmed from juggling all of my different roles. I struggle with uncooperative children who put me on edge. I worry about finances and the health of the people dearest to me. I wonder what the future holds, whether on a global level or just within the four walls of our home. And during these times, I want to sit in the quiet.

This has been more apparent to me in the last decade or so, which has been a very trying ten years for our family in many ways. It has also revealed itself more as I’ve traveled this journey of motherhood. I am told in different places that my children really ought to act in a certain way. That they should be respectful and obedient. That I should use some prescribed method to get them to act this way if they’re not doing it already. And for the most part, they are respectful and obedient. But when they aren’t, I struggle.

Sometimes, these struggles, coupled with the times of trial and tribulation, get to be overwhelming, and I want to be alone. I want to be able to sit and have a complete thought. I don’t want to be interrupted or hear a door slam or have to think about what to have for supper or break up a fight….again.

I want some peace.

[Herod] sent and had John beheaded in the prison, and his head was brought on a platter and given to [Salome], and she brought it to her mother. And his disciples came and took the body and buried it, and they went and told Jesus.

Now when Jesus heard this, he withdrew from there in a boat to a desolate place by himself. But when the crowds heard it, they followed him on foot from the towns. When he went ashore he saw a great crowd, and he had compassion on them and healed their sick. Now when it was evening, the disciples came to him and said, “This is a desolate place, and the day is now over; send the crowds away to go into the villages and buy food for themselves.” But Jesus said, “They need not go away; you give them something to eat.” They said to him, “We have only five loaves here and two fish.” And he said, “Bring them here to me.” Then he ordered the crowds to sit down on the grass, and taking the five loaves and the two fish, he looked up to heaven and said a blessing. Then he broke the loaves and gave them to the disciples, and the disciples gave them to the crowds. And they all ate and were satisfied. And they took up twelve baskets full of the broken pieces left over. And those who ate were about five thousand men, besides women and children.

Matthew 14:10-21

I read this with my children during our Bible lesson time last week, and it is a story that most people know well. Jesus feeding the 5,000 (as well as the 4,000), probably one of the best-known miracles from the Bible, is a story I’ve not only read myself many, many times, but I’ve also shared it with my children often in the past as well. There’s a difference, though, between reading and really taking it in. A few years ago, when I was sitting in my green chair and going through my morning liturgy, this passage came up in the daily BCP office, and for some reason, several parts of this story suddenly came alive for me that morning.

The first was that Jesus was sad. The Bible doesn’t flat-out say this or even really imply it. But that first line, “now when Jesus heard this, he withdrew from there in a boat to a desolate place by himself,” caused me to pause and put myself in his position.

I felt sadness for Him.

John was probably the only man on earth who could even remotely understand what it was like to be Jesus. He was the eccentric, desert-dwelling, grasshopper-eating prophet who announced that Jesus was coming and that everyone should get ready! He leaped in Elizabeth’s womb when a pregnant Mary came near! He baptized Jesus. He was Jesus’s cousin. And he decreased so Jesus could increase.

Jesus wanted to be alone with this news. Jesus wanted to mourn.

But then, even while he was trying to have a little time for his grief, the crowds caught wind of His self-imposed exile, and “they followed him on foot from the towns.” And I was suddenly hit with a vision of myself in our bedroom with the door shut, trying to have a little peace after some bad news has come or life is just particularly difficult, needing to take just a few minutes for myself. Then suddenly, there’s a not-so-small-anymore person who I love with all of my being but don’t have the capacity to respond to in that moment knocking on the door or yelling from downstairs, asking what Mama is doing in there? and what is for lunch? and how many pages do I have to read for science? and are we going anywhere today?

And in that moment when I read those few simple lines from Matthew, I felt that even in my struggles with motherhood and being constantly “on” for these precious people in my life, I have a High Priest who can sympathize with my weaknesses. He knew, even more so than this tired mom of two with a lot going on, what it’s like to be sad and tired and not have time to address either of these issues because of the needs of others who mean so very much to us.

Then there is also His response…, “and he had compassion on them.” He did not sigh and close His eyes, hoping they’d find something else to do, at least for a few minutes. He didn’t come out of the boat full of “righteous” anger and start bellowing about how He couldn’t have two seconds to Himself (this doesn’t sound like me….at all). He had compassion on them and healed the sick. He stayed with the crowd. He was patient and kind.

And then He thought about what to make for supper.

This is where I felt this passage acutely that day. He did not look around, wondering what in the world He was supposed to do with all these people. He didn’t send them packing to the nearest town because there just wasn’t enough for everyone. He took what he had – just five loaves and two fishes – blessed it, and fed a crowd of at least 5,000 people to fullness. And I can do the same.

I can take the few, broken hours of sleep I got last night, offer it up to God, and allow Him to get me through the day without feeling completely overwhelmed.

I can find the limited amount of free brain capacity I have left after agonizing over whatever Very Big Things are happening in my life right now, offer it up to God, and allow Him to bless my family through it.

I can cling to the last two ounces of patience left in my whole body, offer it up to God, and make it to bedtime without demoralizing anyone, including myself.

I do not have to carry the burden of the world on my shoulders every day, and in fact, I’m not supposed to. This is most likely not profound for most people who have read this passage (or any part of the New Testament, for that matter), but in that moment, it was profound for me and something I needed to hear.

I am decreased, but He can increase.

Enter your email address here to get updates and exclusive downloads, including a free Picture Study Aid!