“Being responsible for someone’s childhood is a big deal. We not only create our own memories, but we create our child’s memories.” ~ Rachel Macy Stafford
Here’s to the mom who makes the memories. Who teaches the songs, kisses the hurts, watches the cartwheels, pins the artwork, furnishes the lemonade stand and fashions the rich fabric that is childhood.
Here’s to the mom who keeps all the plates spinning – lunches packed, dinners served, birthdays planned, orthodontists visited, pictures made, school work checked, church clothes ironed and endless forms turned in.
Here’s to the mom who shows up — on the field trips, to the practices, at the parent meetings, to the recitals and bake sales and out of town games. And not just shows up but steps up to bring the game snacks, host the slumber party, manage the fundraiser, be the room mom, drive the carpool.
Here’s to the mom who stays up long after the rest of the world is asleep wrapping carefully chosen Christmas presents, setting out Easter baskets, finishing the costume. And in those moments when the work feels unglamourous and overlooked, know that mothering and making a home and growing kids is a significant and holy calling for our audience of One.
Here’s to the mom who has learned what it is to share — sips from her straw, time on her phone, part of her closet, her side of the bed, some of her jewelry — the hidden stash of chocolate — and always her lap, her tears, her love, her hard-won wisdom.
Here’s to the mom who may not get to the gym but who can lug groceries, wrangle toddlers and push a sit-and-stand while training the 5-year-old on a new 2-wheeler that would give Cross Fit a run for its money.
Here’s to the mom whose time is not her own – who has spent nights up tending a fever, who said she was awake when the college girl called late, who stopped her world to join the game and listen to the story and bring the forgotten uniform.
Here’s to the mom who heads out to work each morning; who has learned that balance is elusive but connection is real, that moments should be lavished and that each one can hold extravagant life.
Here’s to the mom who has advocated long and persistently for her child, who has struggled through and asked questions and researched possibilities and found resources that offer help and hope; whose heart is bigger and stronger and softer for the struggles.
Here’s to the mom who sees another face at the table, who has prayed and waited and sought answers and taken tests and read books and done treatments and cried into a pillow on countless nights. Our hearts hurt with you, dear one, and we lift you up to the One who alone promises comfort and peace and life abundant.
Here’s to the mom who is mothering without her own mom, who would give anything to share her day over a long phone call or tap some of that collective wisdom; who feels the deep missing at every holiday, every celebration, every growing up story told around the dinner table.
Here’s to the mom who lies awake praying for God to hem her child in, captivate her heart, draw her heart home; who has rescued and let go, who believes when everyone else has given up and who shapes her worry into persistent stubborn prayer.
Here’s to the mom who has a child waiting in heaven, who knows what it is to die and go on breathing, who has buried not just her child but hopes and dreams; who has learned that time quiets only the sharpest edges of pain but never dulls it altogether and who bravely keeps putting feet to floor to laugh with and love on and pour out to the people who still need her.
Here’s to the mom who has seen firsthand that mothering stretches her, chisels her, challenges her, unmasks her, teaches her beyond anything she could have imagined, who has spent nights despairing her weakness and mornings praying for strength.
Here’s to the mom who has seen why she so desperately needs a Savior.
Here’s to the mom who has felt the sting of release earlier than she ever thought it would come, who began letting go on the first day of kindergarten and loosened her hold at every milestone: away summer camp, a missions trip, the driver’s license, junior prom, high school graduation, a move into the dorm and a dash through waiting wedding guests and into their own family.
Hopes that dawned into memories that stretched into years that raced.
Here’s to you mom. You are celebrated, honored, needed, adored.
Behold, children are a gift from the Lord, the fruit of the womb is a reward. Psalm 127:3
*Special thanks to the readers who sent in these precious snapshots of them with their children. More and more I’m learning not to just take the picture but to get IN the picture.
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