I grew up without a mother. Well … let me rephrase that. I grew up without my mother. My dad married a total of six times and had plenty of girlfriends and mistresses in between and during his marriages, so there was never a shortage of mothers in my life. Yet, none of them were my mother. My mother was killed when I was only a year old. Consequently, I was left to be raised by my dad and a string of less-than-desirable mother figures. Through the years, I convinced myself that if my mom had been alive, my life would have been completely different. You see, no one else on earth loves you quite like your mom.
When I found myself pregnant at only 17 years old, I was determined to be a great mom. I had no idea what that looked like (or how I would do it), but my children would never have the hurt, lack and disappointment that I had experienced. I can’t even remember ever having held a baby before giving birth to my first-born. Twenty-one hours of labor and a few parenting books doesn’t quite prepare you for the challenges of parenthood, and certainly not single parenthood!
The next several years brought great struggle. I moved into government housing, worked a full-time job and attended college full-time at night. I added a second child to the mix (because I wasn’t busy or overwhelmed enough) and many nights, wondered how I would ever make it. The exhaustion, disappointment of a failed relationship and financial burden became too much to bear. At only four years old, I found myself slapping my sweet, innocent boy across his little face in a moment of parenting frustration.
It was in that moment that I realized almost everything I had vowed my children would never experience, I had duplicated in my home. They weren’t getting a great mom. They were getting an exhausted, overwhelmed, overworked, faithless mom who was struggling just to get up every morning. I made a decision that night that I had to fully surrender to the King of Kings and stop “dating” Him.
