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She is fancy. I am plain Jane. She puts her pinky out when she sips her tea. I gulp mine quickly in the morning so I don’t miss my chance. She adores tutus and frills. I am crazy about lounge pants. She isn’t some socialite in a faraway city; she is my daughter. How she arrived in this world so perfectly girly with a mama who doesn’t even know how to apply make-up, I’ll never know. But she’s mine, wild as she is.
A few weeks ago, I was complaining that I really wanted to bless a couple of women who were going through hard situations, but these women simply wouldn’t let me. “I keep sending little texts offering to bring them a coffee or a favorite diet drink, but they keep kindly rejecting my offers! What can I do?” I asked my girlfriends, exasperated. “Part of me wants to leave an anonymous note in all caps at their doorsteps saying, LET ME BLESS YOU!”
There is always something to do. As a working mom, there are never-ending demands on my time and energy, so my to-do list never seems to get done! I know the struggle is real and I know the only way to get through each day is by being alone with God.
I wasn’t sure whether I was a loving mother when I, at times, was crippled by fear of how I was mothered. I felt so heavy-hearted during these times by the thoughts of not being loved well as a child and fearing the worst—that I could be that way to my children. It left me paralyzed, not seeing the amazing ways that God was already loving through me.