Motherhood, to me, is a divine call—to steward one of God’s creations.
To nurture a space where a soul can bloom. To fiercely protect, guide, and equip a human being with the tools they need not just to survive this world, but to conquer it by standing fully in the essence of who they are created to be.
In my first year of motherhood, someone asked me what it was like. I remember describing this deep familiarity with my daughter. Even though she was new to me, she didn’t feel like a stranger. She was part of me. She always will be.
I think of the Bible; those long chapters full of lineage. The way kings and prophets are introduced not by their titles, but by their origin: “Son of…” Their identity was always anchored in legacy. That hasn’t changed.
When I look at who I am today, I see the fingerprints of my parents all over me. Their presence, their prayers, and even their imperfections were part of the assignment. Now, I see that same divine assignment reflected in my own motherhood: A call to raise and to release. To pour and to prepare. To love deeply, but also to let become.
My mother, in particular, was intentional in raising me. She wove life lessons into everyday moments. She trained my mind while tending to my heart. She told me the truth, even when it was inconvenient, and made sure I understood who I was and where I came from. She prayed for me and empowered me to pray for myself. When you see me worship unashamed, that is evidence of my mommy’s influence.
One of the greatest gifts she gave me is that she allowed me to see her, not just as my mom, but as a woman.
There are parts of her I’ll never fully know. But I’ve had a front row seat to how she moves through the world. I’ve learned more from that than she may ever realize.
My mother is my best friend. One of my favorite people. She is fierce and often underestimated. She is the force you don’t see coming because she leads with kindness. She loves with everything she has and has not allowed anyone or anything to dim her light. My mother is an unending well of wisdom, care, and love that seems to know no bounds. She is so so so so so gracious, but I had to let God know, I need to keep part of my daddy’s personality in that department, lol.
I often tell people this: If I were a sculpture, the raw material came from my father. But the artist who shaped that material into form? That was my mother. I carry the fire of a mighty man, but the finesse of a visionary woman.
I’m not sure of the makeup of my own child, but, I am always watching, studying, listening to see what time will reveal. I leave room for myself to fulfill different roles in different seasons. But, I know that at it’s core, my duty is to love and let my children know, they are loved.
My grandmother passed last year. While she walked this earth, my mother gave her her flowers. To this day, she speaks of her with such reverence that it sometimes brings her to tears. I feel that same reverence for my own mother. And I pray—truly pray—that I will deposit such an overflow of love, wisdom, and presence into the life of my children…that they too will feel that way about me.
