Leaving the Haunted House

Call me a party pooper.

Halloween is not my favorite. I don't know the last time i really looked forward to Halloween. I know my children love it, so I pretend to. Actually, up until today when one of them heard me tell a friend I don't like Halloween, they all believed I thought it was as fun as they did.

When my due date for my oldest was announced to be November 2, I told my former husband that if the baby was born in Halloween instead, I would change the date on the certificate. I also told him that I would hold the baby in as hard as I could if I was in labor that day just to avoid it.

Fortunately, my oldest son was induced the morning of November 1, and born that evening.  Problem averted.

In 2011, my son was an elephant and his best baby friend a rhinoceros. In 2012, I had a Woody (from Toy Story) toddler, and a baby dragon/dinosaur, and the aforementioned friends was Buzz Light-year. In 2013, we brought Spider-Man and Superman to (the much overrated, in my opinion) Zoo Boo.

In 2014, I had an almost four-year-old, a two-year old, and a six month old.

And we celebrated Halloween by living out a nightmare.  Two weeks prior, on my birthday, we were served a short-notice eviction because my now former-husband had bailed on his wife and children, not paying any bills like he had promised, while he insisted it was okay for me to continue being a stay-at-home-mom.

I have never been angry at our former landlords.  Let me say that outright.  They did what they had to do for the good of their own family, and I've never had any ill thoughts toward them.

But, for me and my children, it was a nightmare.  It was brought on by my own naivety, trust in my husband, and mother-to-three-littles-in-survival-mode blindness, as well as all of the ways my childrens' father abandoned us, lied to us, and screwed us over.

For two weeks, I tried as best as I could to figure out what to do and where to go.  He wasn't worried at all, couldn't be bothered or concerned to help us.  It was awful.  For two weeks, I tried to keep the children's heads above water, the children fed and clothed and healthy, and start boxing up, and sorting out the pieces of our broken lives, dividing things between their dad and I, and trying to stay breathing while I felt like the world was closing in on us.

Halloween came, and it was our last day in the house.  The house that I thought we would spend years in, raising our family, happy, together.  But instead, it was dreary and cold, and while I was surrounded by a handful of caring friends and family who were helping us pack up, move into a storage shed that some friends gifted us, and into our other friend's small apartment so we had a roof over our heads while I found a job... I felt abandoned, alone, and haunted.  

I felt haunted in my own house.  Haunted by the promises, haunted by the joy, haunted by the love, haunted by the memories, haunted by the vision of the life I had for all of us... watching it silently play in my mind as I walked around the house like a zombie trying not to feel so that I wouldn't cry.  I was being assaulted by the betrayal, the lies, the letdown, the heartbreak, the manipulation, the confusion, the worry, the wonder, the... everything.  

And he was there, haunting me too.

He too was walking around, room to room, putting things in random places, barely making eye contact, not really saying a word, pretending I didn't exist.  We all walked on glass and eggshells as we moved along, trying to figure out what in the world was going on.

And then, just like that, we left.  I had all I needed and did all that I could before I couldn't do anything else anymore.

We walked out of that haunted house for the very last time.  My friend and I, wanting to let the children still celebrate and have some Halloween "fun" amidst all of their own confusion, went to the mall. That year, the boys wore those "skeleton" t-shirts as their costumes, because I just didn't care.  We didn't have the energy or the desire to really dress up, so that was that.  Norah wore a similar pajama.  Truth be told, then and to this day, I despise those shirts and dresses and pajamas that make it look like you're a walking x-ray.  I don't think I'll ever be on board and I still can't stand seeing them to this day, partially because of the trauma of the year my children walked around wearing on their clothing how I was feeling inside my soul.  

On Halloween 2014, we left that haunted house and headed for the mall

.  But the haunting remained.  For four years.

Since then, we've made new traditions for Halloween that have helped to veil the haunting.  Three years in a row, we went to our church trunk or treat (but unfortunately, it is not occurring this year) with our new, adopted and beloved church family, as well as the children's aunt and uncle here in town.  Then we go to their aunt and uncle's house, trick-or-treat the neighborhood a bit, before staying at their house a while to celebrate Spencer's birthday a few hours early.  This year, we will still be doing most of that, with a Storm Trooper, a Ninja Turtle, and a pretty purple butterfly.

Four years from this Wednesday will be the Halloween we left the graveyard of our life as we knew it behind.  I didn't even realize that it was still haunting me at all, until this evening, when talking with my sister-in-law about how fortunate we are that we have these new traditions that we all love and can look forward to.

That's when I realized how much I dislike Halloween, and what the deeper, hidden reasons behind that are.  It's not just that I personally don't like dressing up, going to strangers' homes, getting random candy (that my children rarely eat all of because I hide it and then throw it away around Easter), and all that. 

Yes, it's that.

But it's also that it's just another milestone, one that brings me back to walking out of that home, that house, the one I walked out of while being haunted by everything I thought my life had been, the confusion surrounding what was real and what was not real, feeling like I had lost my mind, and feeling my heavy heart smashed into the wooden floor while the air was being sucked out of my lungs.

It brings me back to being terrified, but having to remain calm.  Saying goodbye, and trying never to look back.

This year, I've leaving the haunted house.  Tonight, when I go to bed, I'm praying to break off the lingering trauma and the haunting that's still in my heart, surrounding that night four years ago.

This Halloween, I pray that when I lay my head down in my bed at night, I won't see the walls of the other house in my mind at all.

However, don't let me fool you.  More memories and thoughts of that house and our lives there are good.  They're joy-filled, beautiful memories of our family growing.  I can picture things like a movie in my mind, so many wonderful things, hilarious things, as well as the terrifying things toward the end.  The house itself isn't all bad, and certainly not an entirely negative memory.

But on Halloween, yes, yes it was a terrifying, haunted place.

But on Halloween, it will not be that way anymore.

Six in the Center

Mister Collin,

Tonight, you are still five.

But six years ago, at this time, I lay in the hospital, wondering just who I was going to meet in the morning.  At 2:11am, I found out that my second little miracle birth was a second little boy.  Born with a tightly cinced, stacked, undetected double-knot in your umbilical cord, it was decided that God and his angels had clear protection over you.  From the moment God created you, you were a warrior.

I see that more and more each year.

This past year has been a rollercoaster ride on many levels.  You and I have had our struggles, you've had your own struggles, our little family has had struggles... but we have had SO MUCH JOY.  We have laughed until we've wheezed and cried.  We have loved until our hearts might explode.  We have sung as loud as we can over and over again.  We have made so many memories, both a little terrifying, like just a few weeks ago when I thought I lost you, and a couple weeks later when I saved you from drowning, and jubilant like when we pet sharks and held snakes, or did cannonballs into the pool together, just to name a few recent ones.

You, my little man, are incredible.  You have overcome so many things the world has thrown against you, and you still walk tall with eyes filled with light and joy.  You don't let anything get you down for too long. You're quick to apologize, and quick to forgive.  You take your mistakes, and you try, most of the time, to learn and move forward.  We all struggle with this, so I understand how sometimes that's just too hard.

You've been working hard at managing the huge emotions in your little heart and mind.  

You are so smart. Sometimes, I feel like you've taught me more this year than I have taught you.  You are always filling our days with random facts, especially about animals.  It never ceases to amaze me how you hold information so well.  

I've learned just how highly you think of me, and it has come in perfect times when I felt like I might be failing you.  I've been told by sources you confide in, and it gives me such strength.

I know we've had tough times.  I won't dwell on those, though.  We strive to choose joy, day in and day out.  

I've felt, since you were a baby, that you would be a big brother, and therefore, a middle child.  You're in the center of your siblings, and it's a perfect fit for you.  You're a fun little brother, a little ornery at times, but you're also a fun big brother too.  You're a protector to both of your siblings, and you don't hesitate for a moment to stand up to anything coming against them when you see that it's wrong.

I know that five was a heavy, busy, fun, difficult, brilliant, joy-filled year of growth and challenges.   I know realistically that six may be similar.  But the best part is that we face each day with hope, with joy, with love, with grace, with God, family, and friends.  Six is going to be amazing.

This year, you've experienced the finality of death and end of life.  I know that it weighs on your heart sometimes, and we have been talking about turning six, which brings conflicting emotions.  I know you struggle with realizing that you won't live forever, and turning six tomorrow makes you feel like your life is flying by.  I feel the same.  It's gone way too quickly, and will continue you to do.  I know it scares you.  I promise to try my best to help you overcome those fears, to pray with you, and to have answers to your questions.  I pray for peace in your heart when you worry.

I pray for joy- an over abundance of joy.  I pray for laughter that echoes in our minds forever.  I pray for strength. I pray for courage.  I pray for peace.  I pray that each and every day you see just how wonderful you are.  I pray that when you feel like things in the world are against you, you remember who is always FOR you.  I pray that you feel comfort in my arms every day, and love enveloping your every breath.  I pray this for you, and I pray it for your siblings too.  I know how lately, you like things to be equal like that.  *wink*

I love that time keeps passing and your looks keep changing, but some things haven't changed at all- like the pure excitement and joy, and reckless abandon in which you embrace the people you love after you haven't seen them for a little while, whether it be hours, days, weeks, or months.  You're basically famous for your full-contact, full-force, full-body hugs, whether it's at home, daycare, church, or family settings.  There's not a doubt in anyone's mind when you love them.  It may catch us off-guard sometimes if we aren't quite ready, but it's a beautiful, wonderful thing to see just how fully you love.

You have great, wonderful, amazing, untold things in store for you, my little miracle in the center.  As much as I hate that time keeps passing by so quickly, I cannot wait to see what God has in store for you.

I love you.  You (and your siblings) are the best thing that's ever happened to me.

And, I don't know if I've told you this recently, but I will never grow tired hearing you say that right back to me.

As you laid down tonight, with your new stuffed Rex in your arm that you let my friend autograph today, then flexed to show us how cool you were, I watched the juxtaposition of little-big drifting off to sleep before my eyes.  Please stay little-big just a little-lot longer if you can.  

You make me so proud, Ollie Bear.

Love,

Mommy

Joy to instant Terror

I love to take photos.  I especially love to photograph my children and to document our adventures together.  Having a cell phone makes that incredibly ease to do and to share.  I know that some people wish we weren't taking so many photos and living solely in the moment.  I strive as best as I can do have a good balance of both.  

Today was a busy day filled with adventures.  We started out with an oil change and a bouncy house for the kiddos.  Then, on a whim, we decided to head to the Outdoor Campus for the Outdoor University 2018 event.  We have never participated in it before, because my kiddos have been so young, and there's three of them and only one parent in our family.  This year, we've experienced the freedom granted with them being slightly older, more focused, and willingness to stay together as a group most of the time.  We don't usually do big, overcrowded events by ourselves, though.  This was a first, and it was simply because I hadn't researched it more than a cursory glance, so I did not know just how big and how busy the event would be.

We could hardly find a parking space, but I had talked up the adventure and the children voted 2 over 1 to still attend.  So, we parked far away, had a talk in the van while finding the spot, and then again while waiting for the shuttle van to take us to the campus, about staying together as a group at all times, listening well, and being able to see each other at all times.  If we couldn't see each other we were supposed to call out for mom and the other names.  They all understood, and I felt fairly confident, and off we went.

And truthfully, they did great.  We spent three hours together doing various activities, taking photos, having laughs, giving each other compliments, using manners without prompting, and just having a good time. 

I took lots of photos, but I also did lots of activities with them.  We mined for treasure, we touched pelts and skulls and identified creatures.  We played with toy fishing rods and rifles and we went fishing.  What I didn't truly enjoy, I faked enjoying for the kids sake to make it the best experience possible.  Then, we excitedly hurried over to the touch tanks, which were filled with frogs, toads, salamanders, snakes, turtles, and fish.  It was a very crowded and excited area and we ALL loved it.  We held all sorts of creatures.  The kids squealed with delight.  We took photos.  We passed snakes back and forth.  We spent over half an hour in that one spot just having a great time.  We nearly came home with a pet garter snake.  It was wonderful.

After about half an hour of that, though, Collin, my second child, was ready to be done, and he politely asked me if we could head back into the main building and see the rest of the amphibians and reptiles inside there, which I had promised we would do before we left.  I told him that would be fun, but that I had to tell the other two that we were going to do that, because they were still standing in front of us all hunched over the tanks.  He said that was okay, and I told him to wait right there and I would get the other two.  

I walked about five feet away from him and tapped Spencer and Norah on the backs and told them it was time to say goodbye to the frogs and snakes because we were going inside.  It felt like five seconds that I had my back away from Collin.  It could have been thirty.  I really don't know.  It was quick, that's all I know.

Quick in a crowded space where there was a slip of mind.

The joy we were feeling turned into sudden panic when I turned around and Collin wasn't standing by the pole anymore.  I said to the other two, "Collin is gone, let's go NOW," and they followed me as we walked around that tent full of people looking for Collin, thinking maybe he went back to the frogs quick.

But he wasn't there.

I thought to myself that maybe when he saw us stand upright and turn toward him, he decided to start walking to the main building, so that's where we headed next, walking as quickly as possible with little legs.

As we walked, a security officer was in the path, smiled at us, and asked if we were enjoying our day.  I said, "Yes, but I've lost my son."

It was the craziest thing to say aloud.

He immediately walked with us, asking about him.  How old is he? What's his name?  What's he wearing?  I answered all his questions as we walked, looking around as we did.  Where did I think he was heading? Where were we?  Why did I think he was headed that way again?

Because he said he wanted to go there.  I really thought that was where he was going.  And when he's determined, he is determined.

We got into the main building and he went to one side and I went to the other with the kiddos, calling out Collin's name.  But he didn't answer.  We gathered again quickly, and walked to the main desk, where he asked the volunteer at the desk if she had seen Collin.  He pulled out his phone when she hadn't, and had me type in my number.  He called me quick to save it.  Then he got out a paper and pen and asked me the questions again.  Name? Age? Hair? Eyes? Clothing? Size?  As I answered, I pulled up his photo on my phone.  He took a picture of the photo with his and said "we have our own Amber Alert system here, I'm going to send this and my team will all be looking."  He took a photo of the description and sent it off with Collin's photo to his team, and all I could see in my mind was this photo on a MISSING Child poster.

Instantly, as I know many who read this might think, I began doubting myself a mother and protector of my children. How could I let this happen?  What was I thinking turning my back on him?  I know he's strong willed and an occasional wander.  I knew it was crowded and crazy busy.  Why did I trust my five-year-old to stand still in an exciting place?  When will I learn better?  

And then it went to things like... Why is he not in this building?  Where could he have gone?  He loves people and is too friendly... what if someone took him?  What if he fell in the little lake?  What if he's scared?  What if what if what if what if?

On the outside I was calm, but on the inside, I felt like I might crumble, and I felt like it was 100% totally my fault for being the very worst and least competent parent in the entire world.

I've never professed to be perfect at parenting.  Most of the time I wonder if I'm a good enough mom, even though my heart knows God knew I was the perfect mom for these three children, because he chose ME to bring them into this world and lead them through all our hills and valleys.

But in that moment, I was sure that I was quite literally the most wretched mom on earth because I trusted by baby boy.

The security officer said that everyone would start looking for Collin, and that he thought it would be best if we just stayed in the building in case Collin did show up and was just being pokey.  He said he would call me as soon as he was found.  He was confident he would be found safe and was just fine, and I placed my trust in that and just prayed that they would find him soon.

I told Spencer and Norah to go play in the play area and I sat there staring at my phone and looking up as they played.  It had been 15 minutes since I looked at the clock when Collin asked to go inside.  I sat there, trembling with tears in my eyes, a slew of terrible things going through my head, mostly belittling myself, if I'm being completely honest.

After 8 minutes, the phone rang. 

"Nicole?"

"Yes."

"We found him by the pond.  He's okay and wondering where you are.  We are bringing him to the front door."

"Thank you!" I squeaked and hung up.

I told his siblings he was found, and we ran to the front door to wait.

As soon as I saw him walking alongside a security officer, I began sobbing.

I was mad at myself.  I was a bit mad at him too, truthfully.  But, I was just overwhelmingly grateful that he was found and he was completely okay.

I hugged him and squeezed him and his siblings did the same.  And then, I looked him in the eye, and I told him what I have in the past, "We HAVE to stay together. ALWAYS."  I told him how I thought I had lost him forever.  I told him that I love him WAY TOO MUCH to lose him.  I told him I was scared, but I was so glad he was okay.   

"I'm so sorry mommy," he said as he teared up in front of me.  "I thought you were lost."

We had lost each other.  It was a terror.

But, God had us all under his protection.  Again.  Like he has so many times before.

The guard I first met who took the information and my number showed up and told Collin how happy he was that Collin was okay.  And then he told me that he was grateful that I had that photo of him, because in a place that busy, there's lots of red shirts, and sharing that with his team made it easy to spot him and know exactly which child they were looking for.

When we arrived home, I posted photos of our adventure online.  They showed a day full of joy.  But they didn't show how it turned into terror.

As I said before, I love taking photos of my children to document our adventures.  And tonight, I'm thankful that I did for a different reason.  I choose to believe that no matter how many minutes it could have taken to find Collin, he would have been found safe and sound today.  In a calm mind, I really believe that.  But, because I had taken a photo of him just minutes before, I had him in the outfit he was wearing, his favorite red sweatpants and his church shoes, his brown eyes and now sun-bleached hair holding a frog.  They knew him as soon as they spotted him, and we only had to wait 23 minutes to see him again.  Only.  23 minutes that felt like forever.

While we had been playing with frogs I saw another child across the way with a phone number in permanent marker written on his arm.  I thought to myself, "huh, that's pretty smart. I might have to do that next time."

Go figure.

I know that I'm capable, overall, to take my children on adventures by myself.

But, I think that for now, when it comes to these busy, overcrowded activities, I'll gladly go back to begging someone else to join us.

Tonight, while I battle the demons trying to keep me from posting this, knowing I could be ridiculed for being a terrible mom and for being unobservant or failing my son, I also know it's important to share stories like this, because it's something that I will learn from, and I know others can to.

It's so easy to make an absent-minded mistake such as turning your back for one minute, based on three hours of children doing exactly as they were asked in a crowded place.  This world is a scary place, and there's so many reports of predators out there, and it's always in the back of my mind.  But I stopped paying attention for a minute.  And then he was gone.

And it happens so quick.

And I really believe it can happen to anybody.  Or almost anybody.

I apologized to my children for letting this happen today.  They forgave me.  Collin apologized for wandering off.  I forgave him.

I still am battling the demons that are beating me up for it, though.

I pray it never happens to any of you.

But know that if it does, I will not judge you.  And I will pray alongside you if you need me to.

Another Dad-less Father's Day

Here we are again.

Father's Day.

My children... still without their earthly father in their lives.

I thought it would get easier, going through yet another Father's Day with my children longing for their dad, but somehow this year was harder.

Their dad was "around" last year for Father's Day, sort of.  He had spent roughly six months seeing them multiple times a month after a year-and-a-half-ish disappearance.  But by Father's Day, he was slowly fading out again.

It's now been nearly a year since the kids have seen or heard from their dad.  I am holding onto hope that progress is being made, after finally talking with their dad again, that they will see him again soon, and that he will be a positive in their lives.  But, when you've had your trust violated hundreds of times by the same person, even when you believe with your whole soul that God can and does perform miracles, and can redeem anything and everything, you're very skeptical and guarded even when things seem they may turn around.

This year, the children are all older, obviously, and each one of them understanding Father's Day now, makes it harder on them.  In turn, it's harder on the mom who is also pulling the weight of the dad.

This morning, we woke up for church, the kids were excited as they are every Sunday.  Then, the oldest mentioned it was Father's Day.  The middle one laid back down with the covers over his face and proclaimed he was sad.  He missed his daddy.  He never sees his daddy, and his daddy is rude because his daddy doesn't make good choices.  I never have told them any details of their dad's abandonment or betrayals, just that he's not making good choices.  I started crying, unable to hold back tears, and told them all how sorry I was that their dad is still not making the choices that lead him back to them, and that I know they miss him, and that I miss him being in their lives too.  We regrouped and moved happily on to church.

While at daycare, the children made their gifts for me, or for their Papa.  They were all thrilled to do so.

At Sunday School this morning, two out of three of them made pictures for their dads.  It was either an oversight or perhaps the teacher had no idea.  The kids handled it well, though.

I sobbed at church.  I often cry, because worship moves my soul like that.  But today, I just felt the pain my children have been expressing over the past week.  I have been weighed down with their burden, knowing that I cannot understand what it must feel like to be rejected by their dad.  I cannot imagine being so young, and feeling like my dad doesn't care enough about me to see me.  Or call me.  Or send a card.  I just cannot wrap my mind around that, and to know they have pain I can't understand breaks my heart.

They're all so strong, though.  Truly.

At daycare on Friday, someone kept asking my oldest son repeatedly, "Is your dad even gonna be there for Father's Day?"  My son said nothing.  He was so strong.

The message was obviously themed around fatherhood, fathers of all kinds, including spiritual fathers.  I am so blessed to be able to look around the sanctuary, right around my own seat, and see men who have stepped up as spiritual fathers in my childrens' lives.  God placed me in the perfect church for my children for that reason.  They are loved there.

The message was hard, though, as I sat, knowing that their dad was somewhere across town, not embracing his God given role to be a father to his own children.  I felt the burden of a father, pulling as much as I can of the weight of both roles.  But I'm not a father.  I'm a mother doing as much as she can in the absence of a father.  It's obviously not the same.  I wept.  I'm so grateful for the support I have in church, as my dear friend whispered she had already placed tissues under my chair, because she knew it was going to be a hard day for me.  That's love.

We came home, and the kids all were silent for a while.  We talked about missing their dad again. They watched a cartoon and I hid in my room for a bit, crying again, just thinking about how much they miss him, and how I hope with all my heart he will follow through and be reunited with them.

I decided that we would leave and enjoy the park and the sunshine and fresh air, laughter and memories together, because we are good at that.  But, of course, being Father's Day, the park was filled with big gatherings and lots of kids with their dads.  My children noticed too, and we each had separate moments together under the tree where I filled them with God's Truth about who they are, their value, and my love for them.  Every single one of them told me I was the best mom in the whole world and that they loved me so much.  And I stopped crying.  Because I knew they were really okay, even though they were hurting.

Because God's got us, as he always does.

But, like I said, this year was harder.  I also believe it was harder, because it's yet another year, another milestone, another holiday, where their dad is consciously choosing to be absent.  Yes, he's contacted me with interest in seeing them.  But he hasn't followed through completely, has stalled out some, and we aren't where we thought we would be by now.  And I know that's on him, and I know that I am doing what's best for my children in giving him steps to follow through and not a free pass.  But that doesn't make it easy.  It doesn't mean it doesn't feel like I'm hiding things from them.

I have to just keep praying.

Even when it's hard.

Especially when it's hard.

But hopefully, this year will be the last year where my kids have a dad-less Father's Day.

The good news is, we WILL make it through, no matter what, stronger, happier, more resilient, and filled with boundless joy and love.  It has been our testimony since the day our world started crumbling.  God's mercies are new every morning.

A Mother's Message

Part of my Mother's Day gift this year came a week ago.  I kept it to myself for six days,  and now it's time to share.

It was a message.

Last Sunday, I was in church, as I am almost every Sunday morning.  Worship is my favorite part of the week, but last week, I was struggling to be in the right space with my heart and my mind open and free.  I didn't realize it on my own until a gentle hand from beside me came, followed by loving guidance and prayer, commanding the enemy to flee.

And just like that, the tears began, as they often do, as I suddenly found myself in worship, really in worship.

And seconds later, I realized what was hindering me.  You see, the week before was tough in momma-land.  I struggled through it almost every day, having been sick for multiple days with a nasty stomach bug, the kids and I both feeling the strain of it mentally and emotionally.  Each day was fraught, on some level, with challenges between my children and I, my children and each other, or myself and myself.  And I had, on multiple occasions, doubted myself as a mother.  More than once, I was wondering if I was a good mother at all, if I was really able to do it all as the only parent involved in my childrens' lives right now.

Much of the time, I believe I'm a good mom, because I know that I've got God with me in it all.  I always know God is with me, even if I don't feel him, but I'm not impervious to the self-doubt that seems to plague most all mothers at some point.

But, in that moment, I was given a message.

"You wonder if you're a good mom, and you fear you are a bad mom.  You fear you are not cut out for the job.  But, you KNOW and you BELIEVE that I made you perfect in MY image.  You know that I called you to be mother of those children.  So, if you believe that you ARE perfect because I SAY you are perfect, then you must KNOW and BELIEVE that you ARE THE PERFECT MOTHER for your children.    You are perfect."

Oh goodness, did I cry.

There was the answer to my doubt and my struggle.

Am I always a great mom?

Of course not.  I struggle. I make mistakes.  But, I try to learn from them, and I try my best (almost always) to be a good mom.  I've prayed countless times, asking God if my purpose really is to "just" be a God-loving mother to my three children, raising them in the Spirit, and He seems to tell me that it is my job now, in this season, to focus on them.

So, I know that I'm called for them.  But, I've doubted anyway.  I'm human, after all.

But here I was, weeping, as I felt the Father telling me, so clearly, that I'm not good.. I am PERFECT.

Up until tonight, I hadn't shared this word with anyone.  I've been keeping it in my secret arsenal as I began the week leaving church, thrown into battles and fires as a momma always is.  But this week, it was different.  I didn't doubt myself. I didn't doubt my parenting.  I saw each battle as a lesson in growth, grace, mercy, persistence, and patience.  Yes, I am sure I was imperfect in parenting.  But, I AM the perfect parent for my children.

Tonight, in silent meditation on a two hour drive home, with the children sleeping in the back seats, I felt the pull to share my personal message.

Tomorrow is Mother's Day.

And I realized, this message isn't for me alone.

No.

This message is for all women out there in mothering roles- biological mothers, adoptive mothers, foster mothers, aunts, grandparents, sisters, close friends, mentors, teachers... and anyone else I may be unintentionally forgetting.

YOU are PERFECT.  God made every single one of us, whether you accept Him yet or not.  And knowing He made you, the Bible says that we are each fearfully and wonderfully made (Psalm 139:14), and we were made perfect in God's image (Genesis 1:27- because God is perfect).

Each child you are given is a blessing from God, and if you accept your calling to be in the lives of child (young or grown, really), then you need to know that you are the perfect one for them.

Yes, you're going to make mistakes.  You're going to be imperfect as a person, but you ARE perfect for the job.

In being imperfect and simultaneously perfect, it is your duty to embrace the imperfection, to learn from it, grow because of it, and share it.  Because we are made stronger and we are formed more beautifully when we do.  And, it's a blessing to others when we do.

Each of us is going to struggle.  It's a given.  But, knowing you're made wonderfully and specifically for the purpose of being a mother of any kind to any child in your life, you can carry on when you do fall short.

But, you have to be willing to accept God in it all, to live up to your true perfection's potential.

With God, you are renewed each day (Isaiah 40:31, Lamentations 3:22-23).

With God, all things are possible (Matthew 19:26).

With God, you can do hard things... like what I believe to be one of the hardest things of all- being a good mother. With God, you can keep on when you feel like giving up.  You just have to ask Him to guide you, lead you.  You have to abandon your need to have everything in control, and let Him be the one to help you.  And it's easier said than done.

I have to do it, personally, every single day, and often more than once.

I believe in you, Mommas of all kinds.  God believes in you, too.  It's why He placed children of all kinds in your life.

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I apologize if this read was a little difficult to understand or decipher as I am quite exhausted and about to fall asleep. I just couldn't go to bed without getting it out there.  I hope it makes at least a little bit of sense.

(This entire message also very much applies to every kind of father figure out there, too.)