Reflections on Mommyhood

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The Presence
Time Bomb
Wolf, Wolf
Rough Passage
The Newborn
Garage Sales and Baby
Mom's Conflict
Another Battle
The Transformation
My Child
Vacation with Baby
Busy Baby
The Battle
At Thirteen and Fourteen Months
Books and Puzzles
Christmas 1984
Lookie, Mommy
Toddler Words
A is for Ark
Me, Daniel
Three Little Words
Mommy, It Hurts
Tired Again
Two Little Boys
A Father's Pride
Number Two Son
Oh, God
Too Soon



As storm clouds well up in my breast, a storm of tears rain from my eyes, making rivers across my cheeks.

I cry for all she has suffered, and the helplessness within me as I am unable to make it better
with a kiss. I cry for the days gone by when pain was but a bruised knee or a bump.

I cry for the physical changes brought on by the very things necessary to fight her foe. Although thankful for the years we have had together, I grieve for the hopes and dreams that are unfulfilled, for things that will not be. And I ask, Why? Why her?

I cry for the chasm of loneliness , the empty arms that I will soon have. I cry for myself, and for my family, torn and wounded, each in his own way.

And I try to remember, Lord, that even though the days are dark before me, you are the Light.
Heavenly father, your love for us is immeasurable.

And how much it must have grieved you to see sin entering the world, with pain and death the inheritance of disobedience and rebellion.

You paid the ultimate price for us, that someday we might be free, delivered from the penalty of sin, eternally alive in you. And you will wipe all tears from our eyes. There will be no more pain or death.

But here and now, I cry with pain and sorrow, anger and grief. Soon her struggle will cease. There is nothing more that can be done. As I look at her through the tears, I remember the words she spoke not so long ago. "Jesus is building a house for me in heaven."

Precious daughter, we love you and it's so hard to let you go. We will meet again, and will walk together on streets of gold. But for now, your Heavenly Father is waiting for you.

And I cry.

Copyright 1988 by Judith E. Garling

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