ann kiemel

Michelle Meiklejohn

freedigitalphotos.com

soldiers.

marching.

marching.

when our babies are

laid in our arms, there is

nothing like it. so tiny. cooing.

the smell of burped milk .

gifts of God's, to us. we

are MOTHERS!

paint our dresses yellow.

hang the flags on every post.

celebration begins!!

yet..her baby suddenly

gets more attention than ours.

or one gets the croup. nights of

walking the floor. exhaustion.

husbands and babies and the world

to impress and please and nurture.

our children go to kindergarten

and others hurt their feelings.

my oldest was in first grade.

a rainy day. i had my other three

in car seats in the back.

mommy, will you please walk me to class?

please?

and another quiet

please.

finally i took

his sweet, little hand and we

ducked the rain, and dashed into

school. i suddenly could see that

he had tears streaming down his cheeks.

i fell on the floor beside him.

i began to weep. i had not

imagined that this was such a painful

day for him. i wonder why, i thought.

and even as i type this,

my eyes are filled with tears.

every mother has some sad

memories. and somehow,

when it comes to our children,

those don't fit.

scratch them out.

wrap them in paper.

color them black, and

throw them into the river.

i wanted us to be HAPPY!

no troubles. no yelling. no spankings

by dad. warm cake at bedtime. adven-

tures. the bigger world where we all

stood on some higher level of peace

and wholeness than those around us

with all their problems.

however.

along. the. road.

every mother hits the wall

of hardship and pain and worry

and imperfection and concern.

babies become toddlers, and

toddlers grow and end up in

junior high school where hormones

start going crazy. all kinds of

things can begin happening. at eighteen,

they are supposedly adults, and making

their own choices. and NONE of us

EVER always make the right and per-

fect decisions.

my children are my rising sun and setting

sky; my moon and stars and quiet, evening

breeze. my four sons are my everything.

and i believe every mother reading this feels

the same about her children.

but they aren't perfect. don't always make

right choices just as we didn''t and don't.

motherhood has thrown me on my face.

across the carpet of my bedroom floor, and

taught me to PRAY. a mother weeping over

her children.

i love the line,

forgiveness is an act of worship.

mostly forgiving ourselves.

forgiving all the tense moments

when we could have handled our

children better. forgiving all our imper-

fections when we started out sure we

would be perfect. forgiving our children

when they step into some deep hole,

and we don't know how to pull them out.

louie giglio was talking about how inconceiveably

BIG our God is. how He spoke the universe into

being and breathed stars out of His mouth that

are huge, raging balls of fire. our God who knitted

our human bodies together with amazing detail

and wonder. we can trust the God who has the

power to hold us all together when things seem

to be falling apart.

held together,

one cell to another,

by the Cross.

mothers are soldiers.

marching. marching.

always striving to live with

forgiveness as our act of worship.

i throw my arms around you.

i especially dedicate this column

to all the single moms who have

marched on turf most others cannot

understand.

marching as to war!

the enemy cannot have

us or our chilldren.

I corinthians 13

"Love never fails...

and now these three remain:

faith, hope and love.

But the greatest of these is love."

~I Corinthians 13:8, 13