One afternoon during my junior year of high school, my mother came into my room to ask about my college applications and future plans.

"What kind of a career are you thinking about, April? What would you like to be?"

I rattled off a couple of prestigious options that involved highly technical work and long hours away from home - careers that would easily impress anyone who ever asked.

After considering my choices for a moment, my mother gently suggested, "It might be a good idea to consider a career that would work better with raising a family."

My heart pounded heavily, my cheeks flushed red, and I fired back,

"Mom, if I become a mother, and if I raise my daughters to become mothers, none of us will ever be anything!"

She paused for a moment - this lovely, selfless woman who had always been my best friend - and then she put her head in her hands. I'm not sure if her words were actually spoken or merely felt by me, but the essence was, "What did I not teach you?"

That discussion with my mother was just a small part of a growing, worldwide conversation that brings up excellent questions about womanhood and motherhood. Why do we have children? How should we raise them if we do have them? How do we balance our financial and personal needs as women with our innate desires to nurture children who need so much of our time and energy?

Thoughtful women on blogs, in books, on talk shows, in laundromats, and alongside playground swings are participating in this conversation - women who love their children but are very familiar with heartache, frustration, and unfulfilled desires. They speak about poverty, guilt, depression, glass ceilings, birth rates, overload, and strained relationships.

Oh, it's complicated.

But what's happening is that in our desires to find solutions to life's real problems, we too often turn to an attack on motherhood.

Mothering children, in many circles, is being defined as madness. It's described as mind-numbing, menial work akin to prison or slavery. Mothers are portrayed as not having time to change the world because they're "wasting" their time in their homes. Children are labeled as detriments to a woman's personal growth, and the decision to become a mother is reduced to its impact on paychecks, freedom, and personal satisfaction.

Motherhood, then, becomes a decision based solely on logic.

What many women don't understand and what I didn't know as a 17-year-old is this one true principle:

Motherhood defies logic.

For example, logic can't explain the number of cards my daughter makes for me.

Or help me see why I everwent grocery shopping with three preschoolers.

Logic doesn't begin to touch the feeling in our kitchen when we dance to our favorite music while we load the dishwasher, wipe the counters, and scoop the leftovers into plastic containers ... together.

Or why the first day of school makes me feel like life is going too fast?

Or why I cried in the shower for weeks after each of my miscarriages?

It's just not logical.

Last week, I sat with my ten-year-old in the corner of the orthodontist's waiting room, our cheeks pressed together as we shared a set of earbuds and listened to her favorite song by the newest boy band. I wanted to freeze that moment.

The other night, I went into my 12-year-old daughter's room to say goodnight, tired from a long day and anxious to get to some projects looming over my head. My daughter is at that pivotal age, navigating the gradual transition from childhood to young adulthood, and as I quickly kissed her forehead and turned to the door, she softly said, "Mom, please don't leave me."

Logic says, "It's bedtime. Go to sleep."

My heart says, "Let me hold you, and we can talk for a few more minutes."

The world is full of deliberate mothers who spend years swaying side to side, waking up in the middle of the night, bandaging scrapes on knees, and kissing tears from cheeks.

It's personal work, very personal work, and it reminds me of this interchange from the movie "You've Got Mail," where Joe Fox (Tom Hanks) owns a large bookstore chain that is putting the small bookshop owned by Kathleen Kelly (Meg Ryan) out of business.

Joe Fox: It wasn't ... personal.

Kathleen Kelly: What is that supposed to mean? ... All that means is that it wasn't personal to you. But it was personal to me. It's personal to a lot of people. And what's so wrong with being personal, anyway?

Joe Fox: Uh, nothing.

Kathleen Kelly: Whatever else anything is, it ought to begin by being personal.

When the beautiful, essential role of building a home and family is reduced by societal forces to be synonymous with "drudgery," that's personal to me.

And more importantly, it'spersonal to them:

How I feel about myself, as a mother, impacts these children on a very personal level.

Because how society defines motherhood often shapes how mothers define themselves. And how we, as mothers, perceive our identity affects our children and our households at the most intimate level.

The logical arguments against deliberate motherhood can be printed in multiple languages, featured on every major media outlet, and highlighted within social media all day long.

But what we feel in our hearts and know from experience, is that however well-intentioned, these blanket statements about motherhood are simply not true.

We're not diminished by our children. We are infused with purpose because of them.

We strengthen the mothers of the world, we strengthen the world. Period.

Certainly, we want to use our minds and talents to thrive personally, to contribute to our family's economic stability, and to serve the broader world around us but thriving and mothering can co-exist, and our intentions for striking that balance aren't to fill a void left by dedication to family. They are to more completely fulfill the purposes for which we are here.

Each woman has the right to make her own choices, and sadly, many women who desperately want to be mothers don't always have the opportunity. But we don't tear down the women who are doing their best to provide a beautiful upbringing for their children. We unite our voices. We build each other up. We put our heads together to creatively influence humanity for the better. And we teach our daughters and sons to develop that same fierce loyalty to family.

For those of us (mothers or not) who know the power of motherhood, it is our privilege to cherish it and to defend it.

Motherhood is hard. It's demanding, painful, and often unappreciated. But the satisfaction I feel as a mother - even on the longest, most discouraging, exhausting days - far exceeds what I ever expected out of family life.

I don't know what the future holds for my sweet girls, but someday we'll be sitting together, making plans for their future. And I'm doing everything in my power to teach them what my mom knew all along: that motherhood, as illogical as it may be, is absolutely worth it.

The post Why did you become a mother? appeared first on FamilyToday.

Sometimes I have meltdowns.

The stresses of life seem to pile on top of me, and occasionally life feels too hard.

I know you know exactly what I'm talking about. Challenges are just part of life, right?

But instead of responding in our heads with questions like, "Why do I have to go through this?" or "Why am I the only one struggling here?" I'd like to start a collective movement where we consistently ask ourselves a better question:

What does this challenge make possible?

This idea came from one of my favorite leadership bloggers, and as I've been applying it to my life, my eyes have opened to a whole new perspective.

Here are a few examples:

Example #1

About a year ago, my then-eighth grader, Alia, never knew where to sit at lunch. Her friends were scattered all over the school campus in a variety of groups, and she never felt quite comfortable sitting in one place. She would hop from bench to bench during lunch - which was fine, but I kept worrying about her and hoping she could find "that group" of close-knit friends, like I had in junior high.

Well, it turns out that because she wasn't beholden to a single group of friends, she was able to meet up with a darling 7th grader named Lia who had been adopted from China one year earlier. Lia was just learning English, and because of her cerebral palsy, she was in a wheelchair and sat near her class of other children with special needs.

Alia and Lia hit it off. They spent each lunch period talking, laughing, and coloring. And every day Alia would come home with pictures of flowers or hearts Lia had drawn for her-along with the words, "Alia I love."

Before long, several of Alia's other friends started joining her and Lia as they ate, and as I watched their relationships grow and observed the impact it had on all the girls, I realized that Alia "not knowing where to sit at lunch" was one of the best things that could have happened to her.

Example #2

Five years ago, when my children were smaller, I had a series of three surgeries that basically left me in bed for months at a time.

It was difficult to walk. I didn't have the energy to clean the house. I couldn't live the active lifestyle I felt my children deserved.

Now I can see that my time in recovery made dozens of amazing things possible.

My children learned to help vacuum, cook, and clean bathrooms. Our family quiet times weren't an option, so they became a habit we continue today. We learned that we could have a lot of fun even if we didn't sign up for a bunch of extracurricular activities.

I owe the beauty of our current simple lifestyle to the principles we learned during those hard years.

Example #3

This final story is one that I think of every day.

For the past couple of years, I have been making weekly trips to Long Beach to care for my mom, who is in the last stages of Alzheimer's.

These visits are difficult physically, because it's an hour drive each way, I take all four of my children with me, and caring for my mom's basic needs (and those of my children) requires quite a bit of stamina.

But it's the emotional part that's the hardest for me. Some weeks she's stable, but other weeks I see steep declines.

Although she hasn't been able to walk or drive for several years, we used to be able to assist her into her wheelchair and go on little excursions.

Now, although her spirits are great and her smile is still beautiful, she's in bed full time.

I wish I could adequately explain how much I love her, and I wish I could say I've always been strong through this, but it often feels like a long, painful, heart-wrenching process of losing my best friend.

A recent experience with my daughter, however, reminded me to look at this challenge carefully and think about what it makes possible.

I was really sick one Sunday and couldn't get out of bed. My children (especially my 11-year-old, Grace) took such good care of me. Grace made muffins, cleaned the whole downstairs, and waited on me hand and foot. Seriously, she wouldn't let me do anything.

Later that night, while she and I were loading the dishwasher, I said, "Thanks for helping me so much today. You were amazing."

She responded by saying simply this: "If you get old and lose your memory, I want you to know you can trust me."

I guess I should have realized all along that any time spent caring for another person has a greater impact than we can see.

This includes everything that you and I are doing today as deliberate mothers

And doesn't it make life easier when we recognize a purpose in the times that are tough and step back for a moment to look at the bigger picture?

We may just realize that the situations we desperately hope will go away are the very experiences we need in order to reach our potential.

Our day-to-day struggles might still overwhelm us, at times, but we are not alone.

There's a deeper meaning to all this heartache.

There are beautiful rewards behind these frustrations.

And if we can adjust our perspectives for just a moment and look at what's really happening, I have absolutely no doubt that incredible things are possible.

The post One question to ask when life seems impossible appeared first on FamilyToday.

Editor's note: This article was originally published on Power of Moms. It has been republished here with permission.

A few weeks ago, while I was visiting and caring for my parents, my dad's heart stopped.

The first time, he fell flat on his back in the kitchen, but because he seemed pretty much fine (and we weren't sure what had happened), I had him rest in the front room and watch TV with my three younger children while my oldest daughter, Alia, and I got my mom changed for bed.

Then it happened again.

My children scream from the front room, "Mom! Grandpa stopped breathing! Come help us!"

I sprinted across the front room, frantically trying to call 9-1-1 as I ripped off the gloves I'd been wearing - not sure what I was about to see or what was going to be required of me.

Alia pulled out her own phone and said, "I'll call 9-1-1. You take care of Grandpa."

So I threw down my phone and bee-lined to my dad.

He was staring straight forward. His body was rigid. There was no breathing. No response. Only a quick gasp or a jerk every couple of seconds, like his body was fighting to live.

In that moment, I had no idea what to do. I couldn't lift him out of the chair. I didn't know if this was something related to his diabetes or not. He hadn't had any chest pains or any problems earlier (other than a fall) and he'd been totally fine when I sent him to rest.

So I did what I have been taught to do my whole life.

I wrapped my arms around him, I closed my eyes, and with all the faith of my heart, I asked God to please help us.

Within three seconds, my dad started breathing again. His body calmed, and he looked me in the eyes and began talking to me "¦ totally unaware that anything had just happened.

"Dad," I replied as I hugged and kissed him, "We almost lost you. You weren't breathing or responding. The ambulance is on its way."

At that point, Alia handed me the phone, and the emergency operator guided me to take my dad into the living room and help him lie down on the floor.

Now the short story is that my dad received a pacemaker the next day - after a frightening night of flat-lining twice at the hospital. Although he has had to go into the hospital a second time since then, he is gratefully still with us, a blessing for which I can't thank the Lord enough.

But what I need to record here is one of the most precious moments I have ever experienced. And it's the kind of moment for which we all need to be prepared.

It happened as I knelt by my dad's side while we waited for the paramedics. I didn't know if I was ever going to be with him again in this life.

I kissed his cheeks and his forehead and said, "I love you, Dad. I love you so much."

He kissed my cheek and replied, "I know you do. And I love you, too."

Such a simple moment, really. But it's one that put everything into perspective for me.

If I were to have lost my dad that night, I would have had zero regrets.

Because of my mom's Alzheimer's, I have been at their home practically every Thursday evening for years. I have been going through photo albums with him, we've had fun at the beach, we've eaten dinners together and laughed at funny memories. He's listened to each of the chapters of the book I'm writing for my mom.

In addition to all that, we have a lifetime of beautiful experiences together "¦ vacations as a family, late-night poster-making for my student council campaigns, hours and hours when I got to snuggle next to him while he read the newspaper or watched TV at night.

We obviously want to make many more memories together, but when the time comes for us to part, I have a powerful feeling of peace - because we're ready.

This idea has gotten me thinking about all of my relationships.

If the situation had been different - if I had been waiting for the paramedics to come for my husband, one of my children, another member of my extended family, or a dear friend, have I lived my life and prioritized my relationships in such a way that I would feel that same peace?

One of the biggest lessons my dad taught me was this:

"If there is something that needs to change in your life, do it now. Don't wait until tomorrow or the new year. Make it happen today."

How do you feel about that question? Is there anything you want to change?

Here are a few of mine:

(1) I'm going to do a better job taking care of my husband, Eric. He gives me shoulder massages and takes me on dates and puts me down for naps. Although he says he's just fine and that he doesn't expect more from me, I want him to know - every single day - that he's my hero and my true love.

(2) When Spencer (my 7-year-old) puts something on the "Wondering List," I'm actually going to do the research with him.

(3) When Ethan (my 11-year-old) tells me about his Lego designs and goes into detail about everything he loves in the Lego magazine, I'm really going to pay attention. These mean a lot to him, so they mean a lot to me. (I am learning a lot about Legos "¦)

(4) When I have the chance to spend time with my 12-year-old, Grace (who seems to miss me the most when she's at school), I am going to savor those moments and make sure she knows how much I adore her "¦ even when I'm feeling tired or grumpy.

(5) When my 14-year-old, Alia, asks me to help her with her book or wants to record a podcast with me, I will make it an appointment - instead of always saying, "I'm too tired tonight."

(6) When I visit my mom and dad, I will record as many details as I can "¦ especially asking my dad to tell me more stories from his early years. My children and grandchildren need to know these amazing people who came before them, and what a gift it is that we have this time together right now.

Am I going to be perfect at all of this?

Probably not.

Well, definitely not.

But the more experiences I have, the more I know that being perfect isn't the point. It's this trying - this consistent work in the midst of the "stuff" of life when we get to take care of the people that we love.

I have no idea how many years, months, or days I have left with any of the precious people in my life. But if those final moments come sooner than I expect, you can be sure I am going to do everything I can to be prepared.

The post If my dad died today I would have no regrets and here’s why appeared first on FamilyToday.

My life as a mom doesn't neatly coordinate with the ideal world painted in my mind. Do you ever feel that way?

Our rare vacations aren't exotic. My pie crusts are crumbly. Our pilates ball is mostly used for rolling up and down the stairs. Our walls have multiple chips in the paint.

And I don't always have great lighting or beautiful backdrops to help document my totally ordinary daily routines.

I ask my sons to gather the trash from the upstairs bedrooms, and they decide to hang the garbage bag on my ceiling fan and see what happens if they swing from it. (Can you relate?)

I'm not giving up on (or putting down) this ideal life I imagine, and I'm sure someday I'll have a cute kitchen and maybe a trip to Europe.

But what I need after a long day of messes, meals, interruptions, and squabbles is to feel.

I need to know that my efforts are worth it. And I need to know that all my work is enough.

Mostly, I need guidance, confidence, and tools to spend my time on what is most important.Because so much of what I yearn for—the images that please the eye and leave me feeling utterly and devastatingly inadequate—is completely unnecessary.

What is necessary are people, relationships, and family.

Far too often, however, I get distracted by superficiality, the inundation of emails, and the siren song of social media. I miss out on the true happiness that is ALREADY EXISTING right around me.

I want to live better.

I want to soak up every moment I get to spend with my aging parents—particularly with my mom, who is slipping quickly through the stages of Alzheimer's.

I want to kneel down by the couch and fold dish towels while my youngest daughter cartwheels all over the living room.

I want to ride our little tandem bike home from the school pick-up and let the wind blow in my face while my youngest son and I race down the hill—cherishing his voice while he yells, "Faster, Mom! Faster!"

I want to chop sweet peppers and celery with my older son and let him excitedly tell me all about the characters in the book he's read four times this month.

And sit cross-legged on my teenager's bed while we brainstorm ideas for her science project ... and then sit quietly and really listen when she changes the subject and lets all her concerns and insecurities spill out.

I want to savor this messy, noisy, unpredictable life.

You do, too. Am I right?

So let's share our imperfections, discuss our best ideas, and help each other to stay focused.

Big things are expected of us, and there is a Power beyond our own who will guide us toward solutions—in a way that will never overwhelm or discourage us.

Building a powerful family, with God as our Guide, makes life beautiful and leads to true happiness.

This is my goal, and I'm dedicated to achieving it. If you want to join me, it will be so much more fun to do this together.

The post Confessions of an imperfect mom: The power of a family appeared first on FamilyToday.