This body of mine has carried three children, all born with tiny round faces full of pink cheeks and bright eyes. Over these years those weighted warm bodies have stretched out over the time and grown gangly legs and wispy arms and wills that declare what they simply will NOT do.
I am teetering on the edge of the preteen years; tumbling toward all that beauty and pain save for a certain four year old in my life.
I still have the gift of little nubbin fingers. And it is those nubbin fingers wrapped around a plastic cup that are the all remembering I'll ever need.
Our youngest slips his small and warm hand into mine and my heart aches for all the good and stinging healing motherhood has made in me. The chasm between that young thing with a full, round body impatient to hold our first tiny thing and who I am today is so wide it seems impossible. It's ground that can only be covered by a God who has declared impossible possible and who makes a way to whole where there wasn't one.
Only God could have made these new paths in my heart and I learn to lean into what He will teach me in motherhood. How to heal so that my girl will know her worth. How to rejoice always (even through tears) so that my boys will see God is good lived out. How to stand under grace so that my children will not know the soul hunger of perfection chasing. How to apologize so that they will not fear facing and sharing their own messes.
It's the best thing I can do as a mother. To rest under what He will teach me through wispy arms and bobbed haircuts and shimmery eyes and willowy eyelashes and nubbin fingers.