Wednesday, January 22, 2014

Dearest Mommy...

For six years I've had the privilege of co-leading a Moms group that meets monthly at my church. The blessing in this is that I'm able to share with young mothers my retrospective analysis of victories and mistakes made while in the trenches of my "child-rearing-call-to-arms" years. 

Motherhood is a unique assignment. It changes us. Volumes have been written to analyze its complexity.

A long term investment made by all who have adopted or born children, becoming a mother yields dividends in our own lives that are impossible to quantify. 

Through motherhood, layers of our soul are peeled back revealing aspects of our character that we may not have otherwise uncovered. The unconditional nature of God's love is almost comprehendible when our own helpless children rely completely on us for provision and protection. 

The most peace-loving among us becomes a warrior when her child is threatened.  

The most mellow mom morphs into super-heroine-action-figure when circumstances demand engagement.

Most of the women I know embrace the mom role with the dedication of a fine sculptor, the determination of an Olympic athlete and the devotion of a lovesick romantic. 

During last night's discussion with my group of moms, it was apparent that although their deep desire is to nurture, prepare and then launch great world contributors from their nests, in one way or another they all felt--at times--defeated and deflated.

We gauge our parental success by the barometer of other's Facebook statuses, Twitter tweets, perfect photos or perceived supremacy. This is sad. 

Mom, your babies are a gift given by God to you because no other mother is more perfectly suited to parent the unique little ones in your charge.

So...Mama, listen up ~

Dear Mommy, 
I haven’t been here all that long really, but I’ve made a few observations about you. 
Often, you choose to do without something you want in order to get me things I need or might enjoy. 
You’re tired because I wake you when I’m hungry. Or thirsty. Or sick. Or when I’m awake for no particular reason and I just don’t feel like being alone. You don't seem to mind being tired on my account though, at least not as I see it.
You clean up my messes over and over. It seems like it’s one of your favorite things to do. 
You sing to me when I’m sad -- or glad -- or mad -- or restless. Your voice is the best sound I’ve ever heard. 
You rock me when I feel like I need to be held. I feel safe when you’re holding me. 
You read to me. I love that about you, Mom. 
You teach me things I have no idea about—like holding a spoon, going potty, brushing my teeth, combing my hair and saying please and thank you. And God. I’d be quite a mess if not for you, wouldn’t I? 
I’ve noticed a lot of other wonderful things about you Mama, but what I’m trying to tell you is this: I think you’re perfect. 
No, not perfect like perfect-perfect, but perfect for me. 
You’re the best Mom in the world in my eyes and God knew what He was doing when He chose YOU to be my mother. 
I love you—even though my actions (or words) might not prove it until many years from now when I am walking in your shoes with children of my own. 
          very truly yours,
             your little love~

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