I don't remember how my thoughts found their way to this realization, but they did. I have been a living sacrifice to my children, as of yesterday, for 15 years. In these 15 years of mothering adventures, there have been maybe 3 years (total) that the provisions of my body have not been given to my children.
So often I feel unaccomplished and unvaluable, yet, thinking about this time of service and all it has entailed, I glimpse the fact that I am wrong. (Yes, I, a woman, just admitted to being wrong.) It is true that I have failed at something everyday. However, I have succeeded in positive ways every day, as well, even if it was simply that I loved my children openly, through the little things I do.
It is not easy being a mom. It is the only instance when a part of you comes to life and separates itself from you, gradually, over time, like peeling off a bandaid. It is an emotional roller coaster. A constant give and take. A war zone, to be quite honest. A daily battle for one of the greatest causes.
Many days, I feel as though I'm losing the war. I'm battered and beat, tired and drained. Yet, in it all, there is joy. I still believe that each of my children, even on their worst days (or mine) is a gift and a treasure. I'm thankful to be so richly blessed and thankful for all the ways I've been able to grow, learn, and even heal through my journey.
Some may never notice, acknowledge, or give credit to me for all that I have achieved in being a mother, but I'm thankful for those who remind me that in the end, I will be victorious. I'm thankful for my children. And I'm thankful that God has opened my heart and mind to see and believe, that I might have the strength to persevere, even when I feel like I can't go on.
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