I was sitting in the parking lot of Target with tears streaming down my face. And these weren’t happy tears because I knew I would go in for one ordinary item and come home with a bag (or two) of glorious finds that would fill my home with beauty and unnecessary trinkets. These were tears of grief. Of loss. Of friendship.
“Here’s what I know about Heaven’s daughter: She is lovely, intelligent, and capable. Her life is connected rather than isolated. She is loved by God and hated by Satan. She is oppressed worldwide by both subtle and obvious means. The question remains: What might she be collectively if she was supported and strategic?” -Lisa Bevere
To every new mother who has or is going to have a daughter, this is for you.
Do you ever wonder if what you are doing as a mother is truly significant? While I know the responsibility of raising children is significant, there’s something about the daily tasks of changing dirty diapers, preparing multiple meals, and picking up toys constantly scattered around the house that leave me struggling to find significance in the mundane responsibilities of being a mom.
“I wish I had faith like you and Dad. I wish I could experience God like you guys experience Him.” My oldest daughter confides in me, with tears welling up in her eyes.
With each child in my home comes a completely different personality … and a completely different way of experiencing God. I love seeing Jesus through their eyes and watching their eyes light up when they read a certain scripture for the first time. However, one thing I wasn’t expecting was insecurity regarding their relationship with God. From all my kids, I’ve heard statements like …
“It's been over ten years since my wife and I have had sex” confided the humble, albeit distraught man to my husband, hoping for some Godly answers to his marriage predicament. What once had been a marriage of mutual passion had dwindled to a cohabiting couple, sharing daily chores, bills, church services, but sadly void of any warmth behind closed doors.
Sometimes the one-upping I hear from mothers isn’t about how great their little miss did in their dance competition, but rather how much their child is driving them crazy. And I will be the first to admit I have jumped on that bandwagon more than once.
Looking back at what feels like a lifetime ago, I stood around a kitchen island with a bunch of friends, newly married, complaining about our husbands. It. Was. Awesome!
It was like this deep itch I wanted to scratch and releasing these words did just that. It felt so good to share about all of the dumb things my husband did and hear other women contribute theirs. It was like I was suddenly part of this exclusive club and these women “got” me.
An unexpected tragedy knocked on the door of my life early December. It left heart break and devastation on the front porch, wrapped in a ‘not-so-glamorous’ bow of questions and statements that sounded like, “How did this happen? This doesn’t make sense.” What I thought was going to be a joyful season in my family’s life, turned out to be one of mourning and loss; as for me, the loss of our baby through miscarriage put me in a state of grief that had shame and guilt associated with it.