Friday, May 10, 2013

To My Children, On Mother's Day

Hey Kids,
I realize if left to your own devices I'd probably wind up opening an ill-fitting princess dress ("oh, it doesn't fit you, mommy, well that's okay, I'll wear it") and a Hot Wheels car. Or chocolate that you'd ask me to share (and of course I'd say yes).

And while I'm always going to appreciate anything you give me, I want you to know that it's not about the "things." In fact, as you grow older, it's the intangible stuff that will mean more. The "things" you can't really buy.

Like being a decent human being. That would be a great gift. Don't be lame at life. And don't be a bully either. Besides, bullying someone is just false power. Be humble. Be thankful. Be willing to turn the other cheek.

And reading. That would be another great gift. No, I don't want you to buy me books (well, okay, I do like books), but you doing the reading-- you reading every day-- that would be awesome. Life is short in the grand scheme of things. I'll never get around to reading everything there is to read. So I need you to pick up the slack and tell me about the things you read that I haven't read. Reading makes you a better person, so give me the gift of knowing you read every day.

Have faith too. Jesus thinks you're just as rad and special as I do, so trust in Him. Mommy would like nothing more than to see you grow in your faith. There will be times when you think He's distant, but I promise you He's not. I promise you He has great plans for you. Have faith.

Travel and take lots of pictures. I realize that's not something you can "give" me, but sending a postcard is something you can "give," so it counts. I birthed you into this great big world and it would be a tragedy if you didn't get to explore beyond our small, Midwestern corner of it. And I don't collect little silver spoons or thimbles, so seriously, just send a post card.

That's really it, kids. I know you can't read this and I know that none of this would make sense to you right now, at 5 and 2, even if you could read it. But it's what I want. For you to be good people who love Jesus and reading and who send their mama a postcard when they travel.

But until then, your Crayola pictures and handprints with poems and plastic bead necklaces are perfect. You are perfect. You are the reason I get to celebrate this holiday.

And I love you.


P.S. I know you'll think it's creepy one day, but I don't think I will ever get tired of watching you sleep.

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