I woke this morning weary bodied from a night of fitful rest,

 

and heavy hearted after receiving heart-wrenching news from a dear friend. Some days us mothers wake up completely unprepared for another go at speaking life, inspiring dreams, calming fears, and navigating tantrums.

Because sometimes we feel as though the life has been sucked right out of us.

And our own dreams seem so out of reach.

And our own fears roar loud.

And we just want to put down the dish rag and throw a tantrum ourselves.

 

 

I groggily find my way through the morning. I sip at my iced latte as if it is the only connection I still have to my sanity. 

That iced latte, it’s the one I tell myself I deserve. The one I’m supposed to enjoy in peace and quiet every afternoon while my young ones sleep restfully.

Only today they don’t.

In fact, they wail. From both ends of the house.

The big one cries of cars he could not bring to bed because he screamed at mama. And he hurt my heart. So no– no cars today, little man.

The little one’s tears come from teeth painfully protruding through his gums. I pick him up, cradle him, gently kiss his forehead. He whimpers.

“Amazing grace..” I sing softly, “…The Lord has promised good to me…His word my hope secures” I sing it mostly to myself.

 

 

Finally quiet comes, but only once I agree to let them nap in the same room, something we haven’t yet allowed because we know it will guarantee that nap time won’t take place.

But I need quiet.

My soul needs quiet.

So I lay a weary, diaper-bottomed toddler down into the crib. The big one watches me from his own bed, his eyes red and puffy. A smile spreads across his tear-streaked face. No cars, but his baby brother will suffice.

I return to my latte. I contemplate sleep myself. But there are words to be written, thoughts to be sorted through, dinner to be planned. Always more to do.

 

 

They say that as parents we should cherish every moment. But when we are in the throngs of tantrums, mess, and incomprehensible exhaustion; when we are entangled by our uncertainties and fears–we just don’t. We don’t cherish every moment.

And I’m beginning to see that it’s ok. It’s normal.

You don’t celebrate the battle, after all; you celebrate the victory.

The rainbow after the treacherous storm.

The smile, soft kiss, and “I love you, mama”, after the tears.

You fight strong and hard and patiently and graciously and lovingly and wisely–and then you celebrate the victory.

 

 

You cherish the beauty that is interwoven throughout the threads of raising these little ones.

Sometimes it’s difficult to detect it–this beauty. But it is there for the finding, around every corner, and within every nook. It is there, and it breathes life back into our souls.

I see it in his face lit up with wonder as he runs across the lawn holding a golden treasure of petals; “Mama!” he exclaims, “I found a Dandelion!” He cradles it carefully between dirt-dusted fingers, the first one of the year.

I see it in the spring’s first fruit flies intruding into my kitchen as I slice the tender flesh of bright red strawberries for him, because they are his favorite.

I see it as I rake fall’s leaves from the garden to reveal spring soil ready to birth new life, and my boys busy themselves with tractors and trucks beside me.

 

 

I hear it in his voice one night, only minutes after he turns to bed.

His voice is urgent, I run—afraid something is wrong—but then I hear it, his excitement, and oh how excited he is!

“Come quick!!” He yells. “Deer! Deer!” We open his door to a dark room, lit only by street lamps creeping their way through the window as he holds the drapes back. “Deer!” He points excitedly to the yard, where we can just make out the outline of 4 doe cautiously making their way across our yard.

We hoist him out of bed, lift his groggy brother from the crib, and stand them side-by-side in the windowsill as we all watch the deer in silence.

Beauty–I tell you. It is there for the finding.

 

 

I see it in their eyes. Every single day. This beauty defined by discovery, grace, love, learning, growing, overcoming, and simply being.

They know beauty. And in this way they are the teachers, and I am the student.

This is motherhood’s dance. All that is chaotic and busy and exhausting and terrifying—all of it graciously held together by beauty. It is a beauty that grants the power to calm my most unthinkable fears, and breathes the courage into my soul that I need each day to carry on bravely.

It’s all worth it. It is all a gift. It is all grace.

And this beauty carries us onward.