Tag Archives: personal

A Mother’s Heart

I was never able to fully understand the true depth of a mother’s love, until I had a child of my own.  A mother’s heart carries an unbreakable love for her children and takes on the weight of their heartache.  If it could be measured, we would find the strongest thing in the world tucked inside each mother’s chest.
Her children are not just the ones that are a part of her, but every child that is abandoned, afraid, or wounded becomes hers and her heart aches for them.  It breaks for every suffering mother and longs to comfort them.  I am sure the world would crumble if mother’s did not exist.

As a child, I wanted to grow up to be just like my mother.  She was beautiful, and smart and basically still a child herself, having me when she was only 20.  I clung to her side, only feeling safe as long as I was within inches of her.

During my teenage years, I stubbornly wanted to be anything but.  Like most teenagers and their mothers, I’m sure, we butted heads constantly.  In my eyes she was no longer smart and kind, but carefully plotted out various ways to ruin my very existence.  Hateful words were thrown at her with out a second thought and many years past before I looked at her as something other than my mortal enemy.  I look back on those years and can’t help but cringe, hoping she doesn’t do the same.

Thankfully, with age comes wisdom.  (10 years in a different state than her probably didn’t hurt either.)  Now, with a family of my own, I feel much more like that little girl and want to be just like the woman who never stopped loving me.  I’ve watched her run across marathon finish lines, pursue a nursing degree, selflessly care for her children throughout countless moves and trials, kneel down in prayer for support and guidance, and never stop supporting her family.  We still have many differences, but I am inspired by her strength and hope that I inherited an once of what she has.

One of my favorite quotes is by Renita Weems, and perfectly describes my feelings for my mom.
“I cannot forget my mother. She is my bridge. When I needed to get across, she steadied herself long enough for me to run across safely”.
Happy Mother’s day!
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One moment to the next…

I sat at my desk today, staring blankly out the window of the temp agency I work at.  It was uncomfortably hot thanks to an over active heater that never seems to work right.  My sweater was itchy and I regretted wearing it like I always do.  It’s beautiful, cream and delicately stitched  but makes me feel like I’m covered in prickly hives.

The phone was ringing persistently and the lobby was full of people waiting for their appointment.  Despite a growing pile of work, I was bored and distracted by a lone leaf blowing across the parking lot.  As I watched it dance around, a cool breeze hit my face, pulling me out of my internal complaining and leaf watching, and towards the welcomed fresh air.  A grungy, old man entered and looked around before catching my eye.

The man, dressed in an over sized coat and ill fitting khaki pants, walked straight towards my desk.  He didn’t have an appointment, so I forced a smile to hide my annoyance, and he responded with his own that lit up his face, despite exposing a few missing teeth.  His eyes crinkled happily in the corners, drawing me to his brilliant blue eyes.  They sparkled under the florescent lighting, perfectly complemented by his tan, worn skin and an unshaven face.

I spent the next thirty minutes interviewing this man, surprisingly engrossed in our conversation.  He had a beautiful way of making me feel like I had been too or done the things he was describing.  I could smell the metal at the steel mill and feel the heat from working in the fields under the hot sun.  He weaved the tiny details together effortlessly, recalling the moments from his past like he experienced them yesterday.

When we were finishing up the interview, I asked him, like I do most interviews, why he wanted to work for my company.  Most respond with, “I want to make money,” or some exaggerated explanation about how great they are and why I should be so lucky to hire them.  I expected a similar, simple response, but was pleasantly surprised at his response.

He said, “I’ll tell you a secret.  Life is short.  You are young now, but one day you wake up and you’re old like me.”  He let out a raspy laugh and then continued, looking down at his worn, hard worked hands. “I wake up every morning grateful for another day and go to bed knowing a didn’t waste a moment of that day.  For me, that means working hard, loving my family, and enjoying a cold beer or two at the end of it”

We finished up the technicalities of his interview shortly after.  I found my lackluster attitude had shifted during the course of our time together and thanked him.

I worked hard the rest of the day, kissed my baby more than he cared for when I got home and now I “cheers” to my new friend and all of you.

I know I’m not the only one that is guilty of carelessly floating threw the day, but I hope to always remember his advice.

That leaves me to ask:  Can you look back on the day and know you lived each moment the best you could?

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