I have a moment. A moment of silence. A moment to sit, reflect, and hear my own thoughts. Typically, I come to this space in the late night hours after foreheads have been kissed a final goodnight and darkness settles over our house. However, at this moment, the sun is casting its brilliant rays through every window in the house. Outside there is a picturesque scene of freshly fallen snow bearing its weight down on tree branches. I can hear the faint sound of Meadow’s breathing as she naps beside me and the aroma of a crock pot meal is just beginning to fill the house.
As much as I love a house full of voices vying for my attention, the constant activity that comes with having three children, and time spent gathering with good friends, I equally love silence. I crave solitude. I need it almost as I need food and water. A little time alone serves to energize my soul like food and water nourishes and sustains the body.
I love being a Mom. . . but I am more than a Mom.
Recently, I read these words by Mitch Album from his book, For One More Day. . .
“But there is a story behind everything. How a picture got on a wall. How a scar got on your face. Sometimes the stories are simple, and sometimes they are hard and heartbreaking. But behind all your stories is always your mother’s story, because hers is where yours begins.”
At first his powerful words stuck me with sadness. . . wishing that I really knew my Mom’s story. All of her story. But then it hit me that my story matters.
My story will intertwine with their story. And what I am understanding more and more everyday is that my story is not finished. Right now my story is still being written. The things that I choose to do (or not to do) today will have an impact on their tomorrow.
There are so many things I want them to know. . . so many things I want them to understand. Yet I understand that the words I speak mean little, if not backed up what they see in my life. Sometimes, that scares me, but most of the time. . . it empowers me.
I hope that they will see that their Mom lives her life with passion. That at any time in their life they have the opportunity to learn, grow, and change. I hope that they will understand that the unfolding of life is one of the most beautiful gifts life has to offer. I want them to understand that if they find themselves on a path that doesn’t quite fit, they can chose another. That not knowing what the future holds is what makes life so very exciting.
I want them to see that courage doesn’t mean that you are never afraid. Not at all. I want them to understand that courage is about moving ahead in spite of fear. Courage is, simply, not being afraid of being afraid.
I hope they they see evidence in my life that laughter is truly the best medicine. That it is so important to not take yourself too seriously. I hope they never lose the ability to play, to sing, to dance, to dream.
I hope that they when hard times come, and they will, that they will see an opportunity to grow. I hope that as they grow they come to understand that wading through the dark times will be some of the most precious they will ever know, for these are the times they will dig deep and find what they are really made of. . .
. . . and what they are made of is DNA that is stocked full of perseverance, strength, tenacity, courage, and a survival instinct that runs like the Energizer Bunny. I want them to understand that so much of their experience in life will be how they choose to see it.
And there are not even words to express how I long for them, Charlie, Chanelle, and Meadow, to be exactly who they are. To hold their heads up high. To be proud of the people God made them to be. Oh, how I hope that they will always fit perfectly into their own skin.
I hope that no matter where they are or what they are doing our story shows them that integrity and class never go out of style.
Oh, there is just so much. More than I could ever record right now. Truth is, the daylight sun has withered away and darkness has settled in. My brief reprieve this afternoon was just that. . . brief. Meadow’s wails beckoned me and I kissed the silence good-bye as quickly as I had welcomed it. So goes this season and really, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
When I picked my baby girl up and held her close to my chest I smiled to myself knowing that she has no clue just how much I love her. I realize that until she holds her own baby in her arms someday, she will not fully understand this kind of love. . . The kind of love that has helped me to understand that my story really isn’t just about me. My story is about them, too.
And when I look at it that way, I see it clearly. . . this beautiful story is always being written.