U R a Momma So …

U R a Momma So:

You are a vessel to the future.

Jennifer and Daughter

You are a molder and a shaper, a giver of gifts and grace.

You signed your name on the dotted line the day she was born.

You carried her home in fresh blankets and lace.

You became her source for snacks and juice and tissues and tears,

For whispers and sweaters and boo boos and fears.

In the dark of the night you caressed her skin, sunk into her eyes,

held her close, rocked away her cries.

Yet today you wake up on the edge of 13, and there’s a jagged edge seed

in your heart, not seen.

It feels like all these years of giving,

and there’s so much more to gain.

She’s scared, she’s hurt, she’s alone, she cries.

She questions, she wishes, she dreams, she tries.

And you keep failing though you try and you try,

Your words bounce off her; inside pieces of you die.

You want her to be ALL that she can be,

to know the things she can’t possibly know now.

That love is sacrifice and giving isn’t free,

But even you don’t know how.

So you pray until she sleeps and then pray some more.

You wish she could touch her dreams like toes kiss shore.

Only God sees how your heart aches,

How you cannot bear for the seed of your womb to kick against you this way,

How it hurts to pour out your heart like wax, to beg change, to splinter your hands trying to build a life you can’t,

how you walk away cut and bleeding when you thought you’d find grace.

It is in being a Momma that you realize, only God is farmer best,

You can till, Momma, you can break ground, you can run your hoe today,

But up to Him is the rest.

You plod, you set your seed, you water, you feed.

But her heart’s soil, her life’s dirt, will some day be her own.

The sun will set and she will walk away like she is grown.

Only for you will she still be a babe, who upward you lift;

And you will know as you always have she is evermore a gift.

Not yours to make, not yours to take, just Momma’s ground to till and rake.

Season by season, year by year, you are Momma, steward dear.

Keep planting, Momma, keep watering still,

Keep trusting that He made her by His will.

Her life is in His hands.

Keep it there; He holds her near.

You can love like a river that never runs out,

You may scream, you may cry, you may beg, you may shout,

but you are picked, you are chosen, you are able, you are willing.

With your eyes fixed on Jesus, keep on mowing and tilling.

Never give up on the field of her heart.

Kneel low, plant seed, stretch tall.

Knowing who she is now is only a part

Of who she shall be;

It is not the All in All.

One day, she will see God, walk free.

As long as you love, as long as you live,

You are Momma, with grace to give.

Door always open, heart never shut,

You are His vessel, no matter what.

So if today it’s sippie cups and pacifiers

or teen hormones like raging fires,

believe in your heart you are the farmer’s best hand,

to mow this field, pull that weed, take care of this land ….

that is your child’s soul.

It is worth the sweat, the thorns, the whack of the hoe,

For some day those seeds of peace, that planting love,

will bear fruit by way of God above.

U R a Momma, So.

Happy Mother’s Day to all you precious Mommas out there!

Always,

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