Or should I title this post "Perfect Imperfection?'
As I plunge into 2015, I find myself treading the waters of parenting with trepidation, doubt, and a bit of cynicism.
Does it matter? As a leader of the three human beings put into my care, I wonder how much my influence matters... the hug and the "I love you, mama" validates my efforts... the eye-rolling and the "Mama, just let us listen to the song without your constant analysis" makes me question my power.
Here I stand. Wondering.
To love so intensely and deeply is a scary and humbling thing. To realize the powerlessness of my power is all at once liberating and terrifying to me.
Saying, "It's out of my control," is a universe away from believing it.
So, my children are all at once perfect. Then imperfect.
And, isn't that human nature? In one moment, we are changed from a reflection of our Creator into making clothing out of leaves to hide our shame. This is the struggle. Keeping it all in perspective. Loving through it all.
Being a mother is a tightrope walk in the circus tent where every seat is full.
Balance. Focus. Calm strength.
Will I make it to the other side?
Or will there be a gasp from the spectators as I fall...
Thank God, there's a net.