The Winters of a Mother's Heart

My weeping willow signifies much to me every spring. Not only are 3 of my babies buried here but watching it's long dangling, barren branches come to life in the sunny, warm days of spring remind me of the winter seasons of a mother's heart.

Young mommas may find themselves full to brimming with love for little ones but all poured out flailing like long, dangling limbs in the winds of so much everyday sacrifice.

Mommas in the trenches with new everyday challenges, lots of commitments, overnight attitudes and behaviours that seem to have creeped up on their burgeoning wonders. They are grasping, intentional and yet feel lacking. At times it can be overwhelming to hold it all together.

Then mommas like myself whom feel barren like those straggly, empty branches. In the transitioning season of loss where precious memories of smiles and cuddles, house full of laughter and togetherness fade as children raised move on to new adventures, stages all their own.

All of my little and not so little branches left behind fly lonely and distraught in the winds of change. I look at all of those weeping, looking for strength faces and know that this empty vessel needs to lead them to the spring of water that never leaves or moves on without them.

Growing their roots deep into him will bring them through every trial, disappointment, heartache and "winter" that life takes them through.
Like our weeping willow, we wept. Our bare branches hung, broke, felt whipped around in the harsh, cold winds of change and yet spring is here.
Green buds and leaves abound, branches are fuller and look less lost.
They have found their places amongst each other and fly gently in warm breezes of hope and happier days.

Spring is a season of new. It's not complete.

Young mommas know that all of these everyday dying to self moments culminate in their little seeds growing and bringing new joys as tender new shoots.

Mommas with seedlings to care for, stake and prune know that the fruit is yet to come.
And those mommas whom have seen the beautiful fruit and have tasted of its sweetness? They file those precious memories away, thank God for the gifts they were given and look with hope to the future and much more fruit to come.

Winter is just one season.

It may feel harsh, unrelenting, cold and dark but it breaks way to spring. Our roots dig down deep and we find the nourishment our soul and the little souls whom we care for seek.

One life.
Live it well.
One shot.

What does that look like amongst the crazy that is mommahood?

Kids grow. Messes made. Lessons learned.
Life doesn't stop all around you.
Painful experiences leak into the crevices of our day to days,
and we feel fragile.
It affects our every hour and frustration, grief, loss, it cripples us.

We look into beautiful trusting eyes and they plead momma... be here.

Be here.

I keep learning this.

A few years of painful difficult experiences that left us jaded and weary.
Then like pilgrim we crawled out of one fire only to be met with a new one.
Painful transitions and more rejection that found us bewildered and broken.
The mountain, God said, can be moved with faith the size of a mustard seed.

Ours smaller still and voices hoarse, our feet bleeding, we kept climbing.

And climbing still. The mountain changed terrain and now just feels unhabitable.

In my journey more times than I wish I have forgotten to look up.

I'm so busy counting and lamenting every painful, ardurous step.
I only look down.

My Saviour. He beckons me,

Look up.

Yes, I see you. I see your suffering.
I see the trenches, the pits you fall in and the bleeding torn feet.

Do you remember my sons bleeding torn feet?

Why is it that to us our pain feels oh, so all consuming that remembering the walk of our Saviour is far from our minds?

When we identify with him in our suffering we have opportunity to be like him.

I don't want to be like him. Not right now. I want to feel my justified pain and focus on the unfair misery.

But mommas when this state we dwell, little hearts wane.

They flourish in joy, new days, fresh moments and abundant love.

So look up, we must.

Suddenly the sky is blue, the trees point heavenward, the sun feels warm.

You can find that elusive hope.

The breeze finds its way onto our faces and hope it blows too.

Courage is found.

Grab little hands in ours, rub backs of young hearts, smile full at teenage faces longing for you to connect.

"Be here".. I hear him whisper to my soul.

Mommas, we can't stop our worlds from spinning out of control.
But we can be a constant.

They can look to us because we look to him.

We keep climbing our painstaking journey but we no longer watch our feet and the path ahead.

We look up instead.

Jesus from his brutalized body, heart and mind looked up.

He said, it is finished.

Your will, your purposes all completed in me, my death.

So we women, mommas of courage look up and relent to the finishing work.

I must die in this moment.

My consuming emotions, my grief, my "whys" all need to be put to death 

Courageous mamas build strong children

When they see our joy despite our circumstances they learn to trust

Trust the one whom is always waiting for us to look up.