I am a mom. Because of that I think about my kids… a lot. Pretty much all the time. I think about the cute things they have done, their needs, and their desires. I think about who they are becoming and wonder if I can ever be the kind of mother that I want them to have. I am head over heels in love with these dirty, playful, independent spirits that live in my home. I hope they know it.

I hope they know that long after they are in bed, I think about them. I plan ways to delight them the next day. I confer with their dad to make sure we are doing our parenting job to the best of our abilities, and I pray for them often and specifically. I cry for their hurts and laugh with their joy. I hope they know it.

Even more than I hope they know my affections for them, I hope they know that I love my God. I hope that they see the fondness on my face when I talk about Him. I hope they notice that when I’m hiding away in my room doing “Bible study,” I am happy. I hope they know that as important as motherhood is to me, my faith is even more important. I hope that the most accurate way they come to describe me is “in love with God.”

My children have defined my role in this life, but my God defines me. I want them to know that, to know that my love for them is endless, but my God is the lover of my soul. Motherhood is significant, oh so significant, but my God is who makes me significant by His creative word. My children give me joy; my God IS my joy. I hope when they think of me, they think of faith because they can see that it is my essence. As they grow, I hope that my excitement about a life’s journey with God spills over and washes them away into their own. I hope they know because they see it in me, that nothing else even compares to being with Jesus… not even a band of beautiful, hysterical, lovable little boys.