The Holidays are right around the corner. Holidays that bring both the possibility of joy and tumult. The more people in a room the greater the web of interactions and the more likelihood of misunderstanding and hurt feelings. We live in a culture of polarization. If someone does not agree with you on every point, that person is considered the enemy. Thoughtful debate is unheard of. Sadly, what is happening in the town square has become acceptable at the dinner table.

When a good thing - motherhood-  becomes the ultimate thing, we become idolaters.

This confusion over the basis of identity has raised many questions for mothers. What does it mean to be a mother? Is it only a role I play? Is it a part or all of who or what I am? What happened to the me that was me before I was a mother? Am I good at it? Will I find fulfillment in it? Is this why I am significant? 

I can’t read these words without feeling squeamish. The path from faithful steward to demanding owner is well worn and littered with casualties.

It wasn’t their fault, but it felt very unfair. It would be another two years before everyone was together again. I was pouring out this story along with all my hurt as I clutched the handles of the shopping cart. 

What is the hardest act of sacrificial love that is asked of a mother? To let her children go.