this letter is to the harried mother in all of us.
the one who scrubs, and washes, and folds, and tidies.
forgetting to even take a breath between the sheets and the dishes and the dirty kitchen sink.
the one who smooths fly-away hair and brushes tears and kisses bruised knees.
the mother, whose own tears remain hidden, locked behind a bathroom door in a stolen, quiet moment.
the one who wakes up before the day begins, and while the rest of the world dreams sweet dreams.
she grab a coffee and says a quiet prayer, and perhaps, opens the Good Book, hoping the words will remain in her heart for the day.
the woman who smiles and laughs and holds her head up high.
even when some days, her spirit feels low.
dear harried, hurried woman, I ask you one more thing.
please stop for a moment and breath between the sheets and the dishes and the dirty kitchen sink.
look at your child who smirks beneath those long, soaring eyelashes, you know, those ones she got from her father?
stop for a second while your child jumps and squeals and laughs, playing happily on her own.
watch the beauty unfold before you. the simplicity of a deep belly laugh, and allow yourself to release your own.
stop for a moment, lift up your feet. pick up that Good Book and let those words penetrate deep.
let the coffee swirl around your tongue as you drink.
finally, harried woman. please slow down. because before you know it, there will be no small children to rush around.
"He gives the barren woman a home, making her the joyous mother of children. Praise the Lord." Psalm 113: 9