Originally printed in the Custer County Chronicle on 9-9-2026

If you know cows, you likely are familiar with the rather bored expression a mother cow has while her 5-month-old calf is headbutting her udder. It is eloquent. In fact, it is an expression I’m pretty sure I’ve gotten good at myself. Who knew babies could nurse standing on their heads? Or that they would wake you up in the middle of the night grabbing your teeth? The sweet infant stage is over. The exact circumstance that prompted it escapes me at the moment, but last week the sentence “Life will never be the same again” ruefully escaped my lips. I will hastily add that it was humorously rueful and not bitterly so, having something to do with suddenly having a 10-month-old toddler who is now walking, signing, expressing opinions, and getting into trouble, all while flashing me a completely toothless, very gummy smile. The meek and mild infant stage is over. Very over. Life will never be the same again.

But would I want it to be?

I’ve been struck by how much of our life we spend wishing for something different than what we have, and banking on change. Better pay, a more fulfilling job, more friends, deeper friendships, a spouse, a bigger house, a new paint job, a car with better gas mileage, more opportunities to travel or recreate. So much emotional effort is spent wishing for things we don’t have, and trying to bring about very specific change, sometimes manipulating our circumstances to ensure change.

And then I’ve also been struck by how much of our life we spend pining for what we used to have (always through rose-colored glasses, I might add), bemoaning the changes we’ve been subject to. A smaller mortgage, or no mortgage, a less-demanding job that leaves more time for other things, the emotions of dating, the emotions of the honeymoon stage, more time to ourselves, more freedom, less demands on our time and effort, quieter evenings, or whatever.

Sometimes, we waste precious effort trying to prevent change that is inevitable. Sometimes, the change we are willing to receive will come only through embracing the change we are resisting.

We are comfortable with change that is convenient. We are uncomfortable with change that is not. We are comfortable with change that doesn’t ask anything more than we are willing to give up. We are uncomfortable with change that does ask more than we are willing to give up. We are comfortable with change that is comfortable. We are uncomfortable with change that is not. Comfortable change is the kind that comes with very little demand from us. Uncomfortable change sometimes requires a whole paradigm shift. It requires bending and even breaking, healing and growing, so that ten years from now you look back and say, “I’m not who I was.”

And the difference between the two? A lot of times? Our attitude.

Do we want to change? Or are we so in love with the present version of ourselves and our lives that we can’t bear to allow change to inconvenience us?

The complaints people tend to have about marriage and family generally boil down to self. You get married and suddenly another person can place demands on your time and energy. You no longer are at liberty to do what you want when you want, or fill your schedule without considering your spouse, and then you add children to the mix? Oh, boy.

We live in a self-obsessed culture. It makes sense, then, that marriage and family, institutions that are inherently inconvenient and wonderfully change-bringing, would be at an all-time low in popularity. The marriage rate has plummeted 60% in the last 60 years, the birth rate has plummeted, and the most dangerous place in the United States right now is inside a mother’s womb. Clearly, we have a crisis in the marriage and family department.

We may be obsessed with certain types of self-improvement (i.e. comfortable change), but we don’t readily commit ourselves to things that actually change us, deep inside. If something requires sacrifice, a change of priorities, a reordering of life, a giving up of self-interest, we balk.

A challenging child? A painful season of marriage? Seemingly endless sleepless nights nursing a baby? A schedule turned topsy-turvy by the needs of a wee little one? A season of want or scarcity? Years of loneliness? Disappointment? Pain or grief?

It is exactly those circumstances we tend to do our utmost to avoid. And it is exactly those circumstances that have the ability to bring about incredible change in us at a fundamental level.

A challenging child can make you a more patient person. A difficult season of marriage can create deeper love and commitment. Sleepless nights instruct you in the preciousness of someone else’s needs. Want and scarcity can drive us to a depth of gratitude we never knew before. Years of loneliness can teach the true value of friendship. Even the pain of betrayal can teach the sweetness of loyalty. Disappointment can help us learn contentment. Pain or grief can teach compassion.

I want to be a more patient person. A more loving and committed wife. I want to have a deep appreciation for the needs of others. I desire greater gratitude in my own heart. I want to be more compassionate. And I don’t want to be the same person 10 years from now that I am today.

I watch Felicity toddle around the house, watch her explore and learn and experience delight at every turn. That toothless smile, her funny little gestures and mannerisms, her baby babble, and her bubbling laughter. Her precious love. Her sense of humor. Watching her face light up when Daddy comes home. Seeing her giggle hilariously at the dogs and other animals. It is absolutely delightful.

This isn’t the life we had a year ago, or four years ago. Our schedules have shifted, our evenings look different, my routines and productivity have changed. Can you relate?

And no, life will never be the same again. But, friend…would you want it to be?