He’s the one who puts the pitcher of tea back in the refrigerator with less than a sip in the bottom. He’s the one who used to always hug me before leaving the house. He’s the one who has a stash of chewing gum in his bedside table that he thinks no one knows about.
He’s one of the few men who melt my heart. He’s at least 3 inches taller than me. He’s the child I wasn’t sure I wanted, but God knew I needed. And more times than I can count I’ve watched him when he didn’t know I was looking & cried at the hope and love I feel because of who he is.
I remember him before he came, those months when he grew within and made my head pound. I remember laying my head against a cold window in the dark of night telling God I just didn’t think I could. I didn’t know how a weary & broken girl could become the dwelling place of life.
Being a mother is anything & everything but easy. It is a commitment. It is a vocation, a calling.
We have travelled rocky roads, but we are still walking together. And for a girl who knows walking away like breathing, that is saying a lot. I know that I won’t pass this way again. And so, I recognize my hurt for all that time has taken away.
You’ve heard the story of the Velveteen Rabbit? My story as a mother is much like the rabbit’s story. Made real by the years. Just the way grace can happen to you. It doesn’t happen all at once, but eventually you become. And grace becomes you. Worn and weathered down to exquisite beauty.
It’s the threadbare simplicity, being softened and strengthened by the years. This mother keeps bending her worn knees with prayers that her child may walk straight paths. And never ceases to pray for her own crooked heart.
I remind myself of these things daily… Train up a child in the way he should go. Be ready to let him go and ready to forgive him. Extending the grace to him that has been given to me so many times.
Many times I forget that becoming the mother I want to be will hurt in a thousand ways. Today, as he left the house in the morning light for his first day of high school, I was reminded again. The weary and the wearing away is the most beautiful part.
These two children have made me sing and sob and they have made me know my sins and weaknesses. Strange, how it hurts and heals all at once.