This Lenten season, I’ve spent hours reviewing my life – where I came from, where I hope to go, and most importantly, how motherhood has shaped my journey.
From the time I was a child, my driving force was to one day grow up and have a passel of little people to care for, guide, and love. In 1981, my dreams came true with the birth of my first daughter followed shortly after by three others. It was a role I immersed myself in with a searing passion unlike any I’d ever known before. Being a mother was what I was truly born to be, but I often wondered if it was the only thing that defined me.
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When are we satisfied with who we are? Are we ever good enough?
As I child, I grew up in a home surrounded by a thick layer of oppressive testosterone that choked every breath I took. Because of the domineering nature of my three brothers, their loud and raucous behavior, I rarely spoke. Trying to get a word in, let alone be heard, was a challenge too exhausting, and in my mind, one not worth taking. What was the point? No one listened anyways.
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I woke this morning to a miracle. After nearly two weeks of non-stop rain, the sun was shining and birds singing joyfully. Now, one might say, “That’s no miracle. That’s just an atmospheric condition. Weather doing it’s job.” But whenever I wake to the sun, I know something amazing, a true miracle, is going to happen in my day.
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13 days into Lent. The sacrifice has been actually easy. Perhaps I should have given up jelly beans. Now that would have been a struggle. They come out in full force once a year and I seem to buy every bag…and eat every one.
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