And yes, my kids might do fabulous things. But I promise they will screw up too. They might offend you, they might get arrested, they might lead someone astray. And while I pray this isn’t the case, I can’t make them perfect.
In line at Target the other day I saw a young mom with an obviously autistic child – the struggle was beyond my comprehension. The fit the boy was having was painful to watch; worse still, the looks she received from those around her.
My daughter, myself, and another mom helped her with her purchase and got her and her son out to her car. She was dripping sweat and tears. And as we buckled the exasperated boy into his car seat she heaved sobs. Sobs that spoke volumes: “I am not a bad mom. I am doing my very best. My boy is my whole world…”
These children, yes, they are wholly a part of us. Still, they are wholly apart from us. They have a body and spirit separate from us. They have their own talents, abilities, shortcomings, and folly. One of them might require Zoloft. One might require a parole hearing. One might cure cancer. One might have a career at McDonalds and be happy in that role.
Apart from my hopes and what I deem a grand existence, they are an entity all their own.
So I wrote this blog for myself and the momma at Target just so you would know:
My kids aren’t perfect, neither am I.
But I am a good mom.
May your floors be sticky and your calling ordained. Love, Jami
This post originally appeared at Sacred Ground, Sticky Floors, published with permission.
