Being a momma has been the thing my heart has craved for so long.
Long before I was “ready.” Though if I’m being honest, I feel less “ready” now than ever, feeling my sweet babe wiggle and kick in the depths of my belly.
I’ve always taken care of people by nature. It went from my little sister, to my grandma, to my profession, literally for years, as a caregiver for different families and people, and finally to youth and kids ministry. I’ve always fallen into that “nurturing” role, all the while feeling a vacancy inside my chest each time I had to say goodbye to the kiddos I watched and so easily fell in love with.
For so many years, I felt like a mom without children. A hurt that didn’t feel like it belonged to me, yet somehow ached just the same.
Maybe that’s what happens when you spend years raising other people’s children and have none of your own. When countless hours go to rocking them to sleep. Comforting them when they cry. Celebrating their little victories with them. Bandaging every bruised knee. Listening to them talk about their day at school and their hurts and wants and hopes and dreams.
Maybe it’s just who I’ve always been. My deepest calling.
For the first time in as many years as I can remember, I’m not feeling that ache anymore.
And in its place is hope. This deep wild beautiful hope that can only come from Him. Even in the midst of a pandemic, and fear, and uncertainness, God has sent me so many sweet reminders to have hope, and to keep my hope in Him.
I’m beyond grateful for everyone who has reached out this week. People I’ve known for years and people I’ve never even met in person, reminding me that I am loved, and everything is going to be okay. God has used you all more than you could even know and I can’t say thank you enough.
Whatever the future holds, I know for certain who holds the future.