Hi, friend! I am so glad you have stopped by my little corner of the internet. I hope you’ll take some time to look around and join our wonderful community of moms here as we learn to be better moms together!
When my husband and I became parents it did not take us long to realize there was one powerful way we could show God’s love and our love to our child...and it didn’t matter that our son was one a few weeks old! We began doing this right away and it helped us love as a family even better.
Apologizing.
Dear God,
It seems as though we're all set for the week ahead. I've got all my organic, pesticide-free produce bought, washed and chopped, ready for lunches. My kids' chore chart is hung, with age-approriate chores for each of my children to do each day this week. We've got our Awana memory verses placed in strategic areas throughout our home, and our Bible on CD ready to go in the car. I'm all set to lead the PTA meeting at school, head our Ladies' Ministry Committee at church, and I think I can finally get around to making those homemade vitamins this week, too. My workouts are all scheduled into my fitness tracker and I've got the sitter all set for the fancy surprise date with a cool theme for hubby and I's date night this week.
So, it looks like we've got things pretty well under control, You and I. Only...
The days can seem mundane and chaotic. We become lost in the consistent feeding of our children, bathing them, clothing them, washing their clothes, cleaning their dishes, changing diapers.
We can get caught up in the robotic life of caring for the physical needs of our children.
Nurturing our children can become lost in all the day to day “necessities”. Which are necessary to living, but mothering is so much more than that.
Oftentimes, instead of my children being individuals, with unique personalities and interests, they are cared for as a collective bunch.
Last night I cried over a turquoise, felt-tip marker.
You have to know this 17-year-old baby of mine. The one who wears socks that have everything from tacos to moustaches on them. The one who does his homework in block letters because he doesn’t want his writing to look like anyone else’s. The one who does calculus assignments in felt-tip pen because he thinks it looks so classy.
His name means pleasant little fire.
He is my eldest, and God whispered "tender-hearted leader" over him when he was just a baby.
I sat on the subway and watched her jostle and struggle to balance her wily toddler, the sippy cup, and stuffed animal all while trying not to let the stroller roll away as the train rumbled on deep underground.
She glanced up and for a brief second our eyes met. I saw the same fatigue in her eyes as I felt in my own. I nodded in solidarity and spoke to her with my eyes, "You've got this. You're doing great, Mama." Though separated by a sea of commuters, we were - for that brief second - community to one another.
