March 12

Oh dear Lord, you have sent me a hurricane in this budding spring.

What started as a little rain turned into the fiercest of storms,

with the pitter-patter of little feet thinking it's funny to slam doors.

The wind howls and I cannot help but cover my ears from it's jarring sound,

but my God, I am so blessed by every other sound that comes around.

It is not easy navigating these valleys and hills,

I often doubt if I have the skill.

Yet at the very heart, I see the beauty in it all.

In the way these waves have grown so tall,

yet still come crashing down the hall

where rest can be found in the arms of a mother,

hoping these moments continue on, one after another.

But the birth of this storm will be celebrated year after year,

and I will shed a few tears as everyone cheers,

and I silently pray that you will always know,

how much your mother loves you so,

even if it feels like I'm in survival mode.

But I survive for you,

so that all of your dreams may come true,

because that's just what mama's like me live to do.