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How are you feeling? No really? Are you worried about anything? Anxious? Sad? Angry? Or maybe just have that underlying feeling of being overwhelmed? April flowers are supposed to bring May flowers, but what if your May looks gray, withered, or dark? What if you’re experiencing stress, anxiety, grief, worry, or depression? What if you’re just feeling restless or on edge?
The first smile. The first time sleeping through the night. The first tooth. The first word. The first step. Becoming a new mom more than two decades ago, I anticipated all the firsts. I’d poured over books, joined new moms’ groups, and sought our advice from older moms. While a lot of the tips and suggestions were helpful, I often felt like I was still having to blaze a new trail. Success never came as easy as promised, and our situation presented some distinct challenges.
When I was approaching my high school graduation and the decision about where to go to college still loomed, I remember feeling overwhelmed by the seeming enormity of what lay before me.
There was a time when I’d stand in front of the mirror and struggle to see anything beyond the dark patches of my congenital satellite nevi—birthmarks scattered across my skin. Instead of noticing the rich sable tones of my hair, the warmth of my coffee-colored eyes, or the wide curve of my smile, all I saw were imperfections.
“I believe the Bible,” Jesse said as we sipped tea at a local coffee shop. “I love Jesus’s teachings about being kind to one another and doing good deeds.” She smiled. “The world would be a better place if we all did what He said.”
I love Sundays. It’s my favorite day of the week—getting to worship God and learn from His Word, then picking up coffee on the way home to spend the afternoon cooking, writing, taking a walk, and resting. As a little girl, our family’s tradition was going to church, getting a donut at our favorite local bakery, and having Grandpa come over in the afternoon with pizza. My dad did yard work, my mom cleaned, and my grandpa listened to my sister and me play our instruments.
The siren signaling the start of the second half of my daughter’s college soccer game sounds exactly like the sirens in Pac-Man. You know the ones: woo woo woo.
I remember the first time I heard my daughter make the promise she’s repeated to her children many times. Lauren, her toddler, clung to her as she attempted to leave.
When I first heard Bill Russell’s words, “There’s no such thing as other people’s children,” it felt like someone had finally captured what had been in my heart all along.