Hello,

My name is Momma.

Momma

noun| adjective|verb

Passion. Joy. Fear. Hope. Heartache. Tears. Laughter. Dancing. Worry. Faith. Wonder. Love–all consuming love.

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I am more than a face. More than a pretty dress. More than dinner on the table.

I am weak, and yet so strong. I fail, but I keep getting up. I am making a difference, one I will never fully understand.

And I am connected to every other mother who breathes today. And to the mothers of yesterday as well. All the way to the very first mother. You know, the one who ate the apple, just like I eat those same apples over and over again. We find ourselves connected, all of us, by the words. The words that define us, that crash through our differences–our walls, touching us at the same core. Raw and broken, and just wanting to be really good moms.

I see her so often. The other mom. Struggling with the same things I do. Rejoicing over the same victories. Holding on to the same hope.

But still we war. Still we battle with one another. And we make little issues mountains. And bottles verses breasts comparable to good and evil. But deep down we remain the same. And our words continue to bind us, even in our differences…

Passion. Joy. Fear. Hope. Heartache. Tears. Laughter. Dancing. Worry. Faith. Wonder. Love–all consuming love.

We smile at each other often. And we only share certain words. Like laughter. Yes, that’s a good one. But what about the tears? A mother’s heart finds itself so quickly filled with that word. Because all we want is to do right for them. But how often we fail. And how often we keep that word buried deep within.

How will we ever wipe the tears but with the hope of another momma’s encouraging words?

We want to have it all together. But none of us do.

We’re not supposed to have it together. We’re simply supposed to be her: Momma.

And across every tongue and nation that’s all our children want: just her. Not super woman. Or successful woman. Or slim woman. But the words. The words that will guide them. That will hold them through their own tears and heartache. That will laugh at their silliness and dance at their accomplishments. The words that will encourage when hope seems gone, and will speak faith when only fear grips the heart. Words that will love them no matter what…

We can be good moms alone, but great moms together.

Whether we chose public school, private school, homeschool, let us choose unity. Because we’re much more alike than we think. Not bound by our differences, but by that which we share. This unmatched passion we have for our children.

More than a pretty dress. Our souls breathe that which only another mother understands. Hearts beating to the same drum of all consuming love.

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