Since we are coming upon Mother’s Day on Sunday here’s a vintage post for you . . . Old post, still-relevant message . . .
I see you. Oh, yes I do. You look like me.
You’re doing your best but your minivan still smells.
Your kids don’t always listen (as in very rarely) and you often feel like that clanging gong mentioned in 1 Corinthians 13.
There are far too many socks without mates in your house but you know if you throw them away, their partners will be found tomorrow so you don’t. You live cautiously like that.
Almost always Sometimes you feel like if you hear anymore bickering between your offspring, you just might take off running out the front door and never look back.
Your fuse for drama is unpredictable and often depends on how little sleep you’ve had the night before because, of course, there are varying degrees of our deprivation.
There’s the usual night of not enough hours which now equates to decently well-rested. Then there are the nights when we are interrupted a few times.
And then there are THOSE.
I am certain I don’t need to describe THOSE nights to you, mama.
I see you in your yoga pants, hair in a ponytail because you haven’t showered in two days. I know what you’re thinking when you fold your tenth basket of laundry this week.
No, this isn’t all there is.
But some days it feels that way, doesn’t it?
Being a mother is the most under-recognized job I’ve ever taken. This position in not for those who need verbal affirmation nor is it for those who place their identity in positive immediate gratification.
Our reward isn’t always seen here on earth and if it is, it’s so fleeting and so very personal, it’s only recognized between God and you.
It’s the random note left on the stairs after a girls night out that reads “Mom, pleese com kiss me good nite when you git home.”
It’s the call back into the room of the little boy who is looking more grown up these days for one last good-night kiss.
It’s the inquiry from a four year old with chocolate eyes and a dimple asking “when will you be back?”
This mamahood thing is not for the faint of heart. It aint ever easy, sister.
Yet ask me if I would I make the same decision to become a mother again?
Absolutely. Without one shadow of a doubt.
These children are my redemption.
They’re proof of God’s grace and mercy even on the days when I want to pinch them really hard.
And while I have moments in which this simple fact is often forgotten because there’s just so much involved in this mothering gig, deep-down I always know.
His cleansing waters poured over me in the form of those three and their daddy.
Mama, you are seen. You are known. You are loved. You are chosen. You are treasured and heard and appreciated – even when you don’t feel like it.
Happy Mother’s Day to you, Mama. I see you but most importantly, HE sees you.
And mothers? He is well-pleased with us.
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