Despite the fact that I have three children of my own, my husband still has to remind me that this holiday is for me too. I laugh because he’s right, and I forget.
I still see it as a day to honor my mom and grandparents, and sometimes I feel like I have to be older to claim a right to it. But I’m starting to see that maybe a piece of being a mom is in never really feeling like we deserve the holiday.
I just spent hours doing an annual self evaluation with my mom. Neither of us knew it would happen before the conversation started but we sure knew it part way in.
I’m introspective. Too far sometimes. I wander in the depths of my psyche to places I have no business or reason to go to. But I sometimes do, and I sometimes need a helping hand back to the light.
Tonight I needed it. She provided it. Even though she was tired and had little left to give, she gave it to me. She always has when she could see I needed it.
I’ll surprise you all by keeping it short tonight.
I’m grateful. For my mom and all the broken moms back to Eve that have raised and loved broken people. I’m grateful that God chose me, chose my husband, and then gifted me my children because He saw fit to include me in this line of life bearers, life givers. I’m grateful for all those mothering hearts that choose people who don’t share their blood to give themselves to because motherhood doesn’t always look like pregnancy and birth.
Lord, I’m grateful that wandering is not the same as growing stagnant. It just means I sometimes need someone to shout the directions a bit louder.
Your promises are true. Your love is deep and sacrificial and abiding. You have given me a mother and children so that I won’t and can’t forget.