when our babies are
laid in our arms, there is
nothing like it. so tiny. cooing.
the smell of burped milk .
gifts of God's, to us. we
paint our dresses yellow.
hang the flags on every post.
yet..her baby suddenly
gets more attention than ours.
or one gets the croup. nights of
walking the floor. exhaustion.
husbands and babies and the world
to impress and please and nurture.
our children go to kindergarten
and others hurt their feelings.
my oldest was in first grade.
a rainy day. i had my other three
in car seats in the back.
mommy, will you please walk me to class?
and another quiet
finally i took
his sweet, little hand and we
ducked the rain, and dashed into
school. i suddenly could see that
he had tears streaming down his cheeks.
i fell on the floor beside him.
i began to weep. i had not
imagined that this was such a painful
day for him. i wonder why, i thought.
and even as i type this,
my eyes are filled with tears.
every mother has some sad
memories. and somehow,
when it comes to our children,
those don't fit.
scratch them out.
wrap them in paper.
color them black, and
throw them into the river.
i wanted us to be HAPPY!
no troubles. no yelling. no spankings
by dad. warm cake at bedtime. adven-
tures. the bigger world where we all
stood on some higher level of peace
and wholeness than those around us
with all their problems.
along. the. road.
every mother hits the wall
of hardship and pain and worry
and imperfection and concern.
babies become toddlers, and
toddlers grow and end up in
junior high school where hormones
start going crazy. all kinds of
things can begin happening. at eighteen,
they are supposedly adults, and making
their own choices. and NONE of us
EVER always make the right and per-
my children are my rising sun and setting
sky; my moon and stars and quiet, evening
breeze. my four sons are my everything.
and i believe every mother reading this feels
the same about her children.
but they aren't perfect. don't always make
right choices just as we didn''t and don't.
motherhood has thrown me on my face.
across the carpet of my bedroom floor, and
taught me to PRAY. a mother weeping over
i love the line,
forgiveness is an act of worship.
mostly forgiving ourselves.
forgiving all the tense moments
when we could have handled our
children better. forgiving all our imper-
fections when we started out sure we
would be perfect. forgiving our children
when they step into some deep hole,
and we don't know how to pull them out.
louie giglio was talking about how inconceiveably
BIG our God is. how He spoke the universe into
being and breathed stars out of His mouth that
are huge, raging balls of fire. our God who knitted
our human bodies together with amazing detail
and wonder. we can trust the God who has the
power to hold us all together when things seem
to be falling apart.
one cell to another,
by the Cross.
mothers are soldiers.
always striving to live with
forgiveness as our act of worship.
i throw my arms around you.
i especially dedicate this column
to all the single moms who have
marched on turf most others cannot
marching as to war!
the enemy cannot have
us or our chilldren.
I corinthians 13
"Love never fails...
and now these three remain:
faith, hope and love.
But the greatest of these is love."
~I Corinthians 13:8, 13