You, sir, are a liar and a thief.
You lie about the quality of my mothering and you steal the joy of time spent with my children by making me worry about the time we spend apart.
You are self important and self involved.
You trick me into thinking that I can control the well being of my boys. You make me out to be god and center of the universe of my family. And that when I am absent the earth stops revolving and the sun struggles to shines. You whisper, deserter.
You are sneaky sneaky, setting yourself up where the God who built my children shin-bone-to-thigh-bone-to-hip-bone should be.
I will call you out.
And when the crackly static of your nagging dies down I can hear the voice of my Father. And He whispers, provider.
He sings over me.
He is waiting for me in the morning as I struggle to wake up. When the glare of the bathroom lights blind and tired eyes fight the lenses they need to face the day, He is there.
She gets up while it is still dark;
she provides food for her family.
I cling to that chorus all day, five days a week. Here, listen, you lying, stealing guilt. I will spell it out for you:
I love my sons deep.
I love my sons wide.
I love my sons enough to sacrifice what I want so that I can give them what they need.
I am no less and no more than the mothers who get to stay home. God did not give them a pass and me a punishment. I do not need to apologize for the fact that I work. I do not need to be embarrassed.
I practice dying to my own desires every day with each good-bye, each desperate hug, each meal prepared and left to be eaten in my absence. I walk the hard path of trust. Trusting that the God who built my boys will parent them in my absence, will grow them in courage, and teach them over time that this is what love looks like.
Gritty, committed, and determined to do what is necessary.
So, take that Liar.
And if you come back tomorrow, I will be ready to read this to you again.
mother to her boys in every way that matters.