One of my favorite things to do is to hold my children.
I often think about my failings as a mother. The times I’m just too lazy or tired to make a home-cooked meal, when I say no to reading just one more book, or whether or not I am using the right kind of discipline at the right time in the right way. There is a neverending stream of things you need to do as a parent and the overwhelming realization that no matter how hard you try, it just isn’t going to be perfect.
But all of those things seem to stop for just a moment when I get to hold them. As if I have some kind of transitive powers, I try to make every ounce of love I have flow into them through my arms. I cuddle them close in my arms just pray that God will allow my great love for them to fill in the cracks. That they will know their mother isn’t perfect, but God is. And as much as I want to hold and love them, God wants to even more.
The fleeting nature of the time I get to hold and cuddle them in my arms is a reminder that they are not really mine, they’re His. I’m just a steward of these moments, privileged to share this great love.