Lessons in Nursing

The other day my friend Sara, from Living Classical, and I were chatting and discussing all things baby, she was sharing some sweet thoughts about nursing and I asked her if she would be willing to write them down and let me share them with you here. I’m sure her thoughts will resonate with anyone who has ever nursed their baby.

 

As I sit here and nurse my third baby, my precious bundle, my littlest, I ponder on the lessons that nursing have taught me- those precious pearls of wisdom God bestows on us through the beauty and bounty of motherhood. I’ve gotten to see how my father, my comforter has created me in his image to do the same for my young. I have learned while nourishing my infant with God’s amazing baby formula called mother’s milk I am also teaching her to be a loving mother and calling her to her privilege of being wife and mother. I also learn that being still is not only a gift but a practice that should be mastered.

“For you will nurse and be satisfied at her comforting breasts; you will drink deeply and delight in her overflowing abundance.” Isaiah 66:11

When I nurse my beautiful baby God is personified through me. As I am created in God’s image I see this illustrated through nursing. I am God’s bosom to my child as He is to me. He takes me and comforts me, I can drink deeply and he fills me abundantly. I feel an intimate closeness to my Master for He has created me to be like Him, to comfort like Him. I comfort my Little as I hold her close, bring her to my breast, she stares at me with those big beautiful eyes. She lets me know she feels safe, I can see she is delighted. She coos and smiles with her mouth full. What a lesson I need to hold dear for there will be a time when she will be too old to nurse, I will have to point her to the True Comforter, the one whose bosom never runs dry.

Rest…what an art, an art I am not good at perfecting yet I long for it so and when I sit with my infant I realize it is now that I need it the most and it is now that God offers it mercifully, He beckons me saying, “Be still and know that I am God.” I say, “Yes Sir.” I look into the eyes of this brown-eyed beauty, this wondrous creation and I know this could only be the handiwork of a skilled potter who knows his clay. He knows me too. I need rest and I get it here, on my couch. I sit, I nurse, I stare at her, she stares back, she grunts and coos, I grunt and coo, I copy her and add an intonation of a question. She smiles and gets it. We are talking, I am resting. Now is not the time to teach not to talk with her mouthful, this is way too deep. I can not stop chatting with her. I love resting, I love admiring God’s beauty, His idea of my husband and I mixed into one.

Then my first born walks in and she wants in on the love. She gently snuggles with Little’s head, kisses her forehead and grins at me. She asks, “Did you do that with me too, as she stares at my breast. I say, “Yes.” She smiles. She loves knowing that I love her like I love her sister- and that she and I bonded like this too.

She watches me nurse and she is learning to love her children. She sits and rests with me and we watch God’s little miracle stare right back at both of us.

My oldest leaves and goes back to playing and to prove that I have just taught her to love her children without my knowing it, without words, this biblical wonder; I peek in on her while she plays with her dolls. She mothers 5 all together-she is a better manager of children than I am-she is nursing one, feeding another with a spoon and speaking kindly to the rest of the bushel of perpetual infants. I have inspired her to love.

One day when my infant is grown she will not remember these days that we sit together grunting and cooing at one another but I will make sure she hears the memoirs and she too will be become a woman who loves her children, comforts them, finds rest in it and passes down the legacy of holy motherhood.

Sara E.

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One Response

  1. I am crying! That is all too precious and beautifully said. Thank you! I feel the same. What a precious season.

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