You may only remember your child throwing a tantrum, but I remember you lovingly calming him down and teaching him how to share with others.
You may feel like that family trip was a complete disaster, but as you talked, what I heard was the sacrifice you made to visit those who were important to your children, despite the physical and emotional exhaustion it caused you.
Maybe you’re tired of still getting up in the middle of the night. You thought you’d be done with these 3 a.m.feedings by now, and you’re not. Yet you don’t complain. You do it anyway. You give of yourself, no matter how weary you feel.
You, mama, the one overwhelmed by a high-risk pregnancy. You feel frazzled, but I see the diligent hours you put in researching doctors, hospitals, and treatment plans. You want to know what you’re in for so you can prepare as best as possible. You feel anxious, but I see incredible love for that tiny baby in your womb.
You, mama, dealing with extra doctor visits for your child, medical equipment taking up formerly empty space in your home, the harsh reality of whatever diagnosis your child has been given – you, mama, have a strength I cannot fathom.
I see you, mama. Too much of your motherhood experience has been spent grieving the loss of your child. I see you, graciously loving on your friends’ children while simultaneously feeling a pain that will never go away. You, mama – for you will always be that – are allowing your torn up heart to feel. And that takes incredible courage.
You mama, you didn’t expect to be taking care of your children and a chronically sick spouse. But you do it. You wish you weren’t so. freaking. exhausted. That you could go back in time to days when life wasn’t quite so hard. I know you didn’t expect it to happen like this. You didn’t plan for your children to have to witness what “in sickness and in health” meant so early in your marriage. But you are demonstrating an incredible, beautiful, sacrificial love that they will never forget.
You mama, dealing with things on your own. Having to be mom, dad, grandma, and grandpa to your children all at the same time. You are resilient.
You, mama, who haven’t yet experienced having a child of your own, but your deepest yearnings for a son or daughter cause you to weep. I see you and I weep with you.
I see you, mama, filling out reams of adoption paperwork, trying to do life in this vague waiting period and never really knowing your “due date.” You have taken on an amazing, selfless task that will no doubt bear fruit, even if you feel like every road leads to a dead end right now.
You mama, having to figure out this parenting thing when you’ve had no good examples in your own life of what a parent should be. You feel inadequate, but I see your determination to give your child a life better than what you had. Your work, your heart, your love will not be in vain.
You, mama. Whatever you are going through, whatever your motherhood experience has been, whatever dark valleys you’re facing at this moment, I see you. I rejoice with you and I weep with you as we stumble through this heart-wrenching, life-altering, beautiful journey together.