Upon my pillow, the ache overflows it's banks and pours unhindered down my cheeks. The day, all of it, was too much as now perceived in the fatigue of the evening.
This mama heart feels too much, fears too many, and, in the moments of weakness and weariness, trusts too little.
For the hearts and souls under my tutelage, how will I win them? What words, what masterful plan can break through the stubbornness in theirs to trust the love in mine? How can I prove that all that I do, all that I ask of them is but momentary ache for the sake of forever joy and eternal peace?
I remember how my own father, tortured in the moment, would tell me that giving the consequence as means of instruction often hurt him as much, if not more, than it did me. I never believed it then, doubting that this imposition to what I wanted, this punishment that prevented me from continuing in my own way, could ever hurt another as much as it was ruining my young life.
Today I believe him, a belief forged from steps walked in this parenthood way. Words I believe but never use when correcting my own children.
How could they ever know the brokenness of a mother's heart when they are yet only child? How could they see the future the way that I have lived it and swallowed the bitter end of the choices I once made?
Their innocence blinds them to the cost of their rebellion, it is my love that must gently and patiently open their eyes to the reward of obedience.
This task is heavy, the consequence and reward life-altering. It is too much for them to know now all that I do, too much for me to try it alone.
Tears remained but for the night and sweet joy came in the morning. Opening my eyes to see what my God had for me, I found this truth...
"the same Lord is Lord of all, and is rich enough for the need of all who invoke Him" (Rom 10:12)
Rich salve for the anguish of a mother's heart.
Joining (late) here.
