To whichever one of the seven of you made me doubt today (don’t worry, it was someone else’s turn yesterday)–
Mommas are superheroes. With all kinds of powers. But according to you, maybe sometimes my powers aren’t working quite right. Yesterday you told me you thought I was being “hard on you”.
Hmmm. I guess that is true. I can’t help myself. Because you see…that actually IS my superpower:
I am your mom.
And there are all kinds of weird things that happen when you are someone’s mom which you actually can control exactly none.
Like that I love when you come running for help And I ache when you don’t.
When you try something new I’m your biggest fan- win or lose; And when you are too scared to try, it takes everything in me not to reach out and do it for you. (Maybe sometimes just a tiny pinky push.)
When you find your strengths and are proud to use them, a surge runs through me as I see glimpses of what you’ll become. And when your strengths are overshadowed by your self-doubts I wonder if you’ll ever know how amazing you truly are.
At moments when you trust me fully, obeying not just out of respect or fear but out of a pure unity of spirit, I think I can hand you the world. And when you dig your heels in and struggle against me, fighting to do it your own way, I remember: someday you’ll have to choose whether you even want the world.
So if that’s being “hard on you, then: “Yep.” You are right. I am being hard on you.
But not nearly as hard as I am on myself.
Because my cape is a little ragged. And while flying was clearly the first power to go…it was shortly followed by patience. And being slow to speak. And um, well, whatever good power is the opposite of sarcasm.
I am imperfect.
I forget to ask for help.
Sometimes I don’t want to try new things.
Self-doubt threatens my God-given strengths.
And my heels get about as dug-in as any heel ever has.
That cape of mine. Well.
Some days I think I must have ordered the wrong size.
And occasionally I even question the One who thought I’d ever be able to figure out how to fasten the darned thing.
The shimmer and glitter were all lost in the first spin through the never ending laundry.
Wearing it is 0% what I always dreamed it would be.
Then there comes a day like today. As I sat in your school performance every time your eyes met mine, stage to audience, we connected. I felt the weight of it. Your smile lit up the room. You knew. I am here. I am your mom.
Same thing happens nearly every day in my super mom world. This juxtaposition of “so mean mom” being the very person you want to see most in all the world sitting and smiling up at your on stage.
Which is why…
Each evening after you are in bed, I pull what is left of my cape up off the ground (honestly, just collecting it so I don’t trip over whatever is lurking underneath). I think I should probably shake off the crumbs from dinner, iron out the creases from being sat on a hundred times that day in the most awkward positions, or shoot it with a gallon of fabreeze. I wonder if a few stitches or a trim around the edges, maybe a new patch, would help that tattered cape of mine.
Problem is: each stain, smell, tear, crease they all reminds me of you. Reminds me of us. Reminds me of home.
So each day I decide the same thing. I like it just the way it is. Partly because I need none more work. But mostly because it is mine. It fits just right. Albeit slightly cattywampus .
The tattered cape also reminds me to pray. Sometimes I’m muttering prayers acknowledging the mess I made when I locked my cape in a drawer for the afternoon. On purpose. But mostly prayers of hope. For you.
May you always know where home is. In some seasons it will be the place you securely lay your head. And in others home will be a light far in the distance. Whichever. May you always know here, wherever I am, you are welcome. Wanted. You belong.
May you always know your smile melts me. And that I can read it in an instant, like a thousand paged novel absorbed at a glance. But sometimes I need a little help with the inferences.
May you know that my “I love you” means a million things that equal one very simple thing: I’ll never give up. I’ve promised you forever and forever I will be yours. You and me. We.
May you always know that you have a Momma and Daddy who love you. Deeply. But a Heavenly Father who is far more. Who never falters or waivers in the actions that flow from His love. You can trust Him. Implicitly.
I have prayed a million such prayers for you. To Him. I rub your head at night while silently crying out to the ONE who can count every hair- “make him yours, Lord. Give her heart clarity“
I see Him at work in you. Your growth and strength and perseverance are inexplicable. An inexplicable miracle to which I cling when I wonder if I’ll make it out of these years with more than just a tiny string of my cape left.
If that’s all there is, I hope you know that’ll be my very favorite string in all the world. Because you also are my very favorite. Even when I sometimes forget for just one tiny minute.
And that. That’s my superpower: Being your mom.
I love you times a million. All of you,
Momma
