This is dangerous territory. For a mother. But, the realities of life are inevitable. Darn it.
Why do children have to eat?
Three times a day?
Why do children have to wear clothes?
Why do babies have to wear diapers?
And poop in them?
Why do children have to brush their teeth?
Why do children have to bathe?
Why do children have bedtimes?
Why do children need consequences for their choices?
In other words, I'm tired.
Sam discovered a love of cars yesterday!
As much as I love my eating-clothed-diapered-toothed-bathed (or not) children, sometimes it's hard. Plain and simple. I stood outside last night in a cool breeze and silence, thinking, Wow, this is the first time I've heard NOTHING all day long. (Well, not nothing. Nature speaks her own voice, but it's as peaceful as silence.) It felt so good.
I was reading and came across a story (click HERE for the full article) told by Ezra Taft Benson, about a young woman on her deathbed, who had sacrificed her own plans to care for her younger orphan brother. "She called for her bishop, and as she talked to him in her last moments, her held her rough, hard, work-calloused hand in his. Then she asked the question, 'How will God know that I am his?' Gently he raised her wrist and answered, 'Show him your hands.'"
I guess it's okay that my hands aren't perfectly manicured. In fact, they're a little unsightly if you look up close. A little dry, a little calloused in a couple of spots, nails of various lengths. But I've tried to do good with these hands. Some days, like yesterday, my good wasn't so great. I know by now that that's just the way it goes sometimes. Not that it makes it any easier, the knowing.
But, along the way, little moments come that make the bitter sweet. Like forgiving and being forgiven by a child, lifting him onto your lap, kissing his sweet, tan little shoulder, brushing away a tear on his little chest, and holding him as he snuggles into your arms.
"We love what we sacrifice for, and we sacrifice for what we love."
Yep. It's true.