Of course you know I have four children, and there were many years when I had at least two preschoolers at home. Often one of them had not slept well or was sick or whatever happens when you have small children. At any rate, whenever I left the house, I felt like #1 It was a small miracle, and #2 I looked like hell. I mean, I'd catch a glimpse of myself in a store window downtown and realize I hadn't brushed my hair. Or I'd look down at my legs as I sat on the park bench and honestly not remember when I'd last shaved them. Or worse, my socks wouldn't match, my pants wouldn't button, my breasts were leaking milk, or my face had a look of terror from the possiblity that I was pregnant, yet again (because once you've had three kids, you just figure you can get pregnant from washing your underwear together in hot water). Anyway, lately I've noticed a curious thing.
As I drive or walk through my small town this spring, I notice a LOT of park-bound young mothers with babies in strollers, toddlers on tricycles, and so forth. And guess what? These women look beautiful. I mean, stunning, with a radiance that is almost indescribable. And I think that while these woman are attractive, it's something much more.
I've begun to realize that the very art of motherhood is beautiful. It's what inspired all the great artists to paint the mothers and children. And the beauty is something that comes from deep within, that rises beyond varicose veins, stretch marks, and unbrushed hair. It's an aura, a glow, that God uses to smile down upon women during this tough yet precious time of their lives. But they don't know it. It's like those teen-age girls who look fantastic in a bikini, but they're too scared to wear it. These young mothers have no idea how truly stunning they are. So join me in telling them, or share this entry with them. Because it's true. There may possibly be NOTHING more lovely than a sleep-deprived, diaper-changing, ABC-chanting, bedtime story-reading, prayer-saying mama. Who'd have thought it?
I can't believe that I ever had that glow, but I must have. Perhaps it's God's way of keeping our husbands from leaving during the insane early years (ha ha). But I'd rather think of it as the glow of angels watching and protecting us, so that we're there for our children no matter what. And that would explain why all our children, when they're little, pronounce their mothers beautiful. Because they are.
My Mission Statement
I write to serve, to unite, to educate. I write to share literature and flesh out ideas that may be of interest to others. I write to document an emotion, experience, or a blip in time. My mission is to write in such a way that the reader is reminded that we can find humor in all situations. It's one of the great blessings of life.