Epiphany: (noun) a sudden intuitive leap of understanding,
especially through an ordinary but striking occurrence.
Warning: I think this might wander a lot, because it's kind of hard to pin down my exact thoughts.
So, Justin was sick last night. I'd gone to bed a little bit earlier than usual, like ten o'clock as opposed to eleven thirty. I was relishing a good seven hour stretch of blissful slumber. Don't know what I was thinking. A few hours later I was awakened by my little man, next to my bed. He indicated that I needed to follow him, so I did. He showed me the mess in his bed. I sighed heavily and set about changing his sheets, finding fresh blanket, finding him a towel and a big bowl to puke in should the need again arise. All the while thinking to myself how it seems that these sorts of things happen when I need the most sleep (He is ok by the way. Just a little too much post nasal drip I think, and he choked on it. You know how the little ones do. No more occurrences. Keeping my fingers crossed).
So I got him all squared away and climbed back in bed, hoping that would be the only incident of the night. Thinking how abused and picked on I am as a mother. My thoughts turned to what a pitiful excuse for a mother I frequently end up being. What kind of mom is as selfish as me? What kind of mom is as impatient as me? How on earth am I ever going to learn patience? How do I fix all the wrongs I've already committed? How do I become a better mom? I'm hopeless. I just can't get this mothering thing right. What was Heavenly Father thinking, giving me four kids when I'm so obviously inept at mothering?
Then it came to me.
I am whatever I make myself to be and God has faith in me. The key word there is MAKE. To make something requires work and effort. It doesn't just happen. I have to consciously make the effort each day to be a better mom. And praise the Lord, there are a lot of fresh days to start anew. We know Heavenly Father will give us nothing we can't handle. He knows our limitations. I just have to figure them out. If God believes in me, then I should believe in myself. I can do this.
Today as I was driving to pick Haley up from school, I was pondering the love of my sweet children. My how they love me! Each one of them is hungry for my attention. Hungry for my love. I get hugs and adoration from two little boys who I'm constantly yelling at. Hugs from my almost twelve year old when she comes home from school. The same one who is starting to roll her eyes at some of the things I say or do, but she still wants that hug when she sees me at the end of a long day. More hugs from my eight year old, (whom I also nag and yell at alot), any time of the day. She still wants to sit next to me, will fight with her brothers and sister over any opportunity to sit next to me. Each of them craves my love.
Why?
Why do they love me so much? I'm cranky and angry and it seems like I'm always yelling.
Because I'm their mom and moms are just special. Every child ever born just wants to be loved by their mom. Every child ever born just wants to know the warmth and safety and comfort of their mother's arms. Every child ever born wants to know that they are special.
My job really is so easy. Just love them! Just love them and the rest just comes because as long as they know you love them, nothing else really matters.
