I’m blessed to be a mother. Every day that my son toddles through our home, and with each momentous kick from the babe growing in my womb, a small voice reminds me that I am part of my children’s past. I am shaping them. Will they be beautiful inside? Full of mercy? Quick to forgive? Creative in each endeavor? Helpful? Loving? Will I be a grandmother? A mother-in-law?
As they grow, I introduce them to things I love. Or things their father loves. But how do I find it in myself to introduce them to things I don’t care much for? And what if they love it?
I would love to teach my children how to knit, crochet, sew, draw, and read. But what if my son decides he wants to write computer programs instead of poetry? Or dance instead of run?
I’m in for more learning than I could have ever experienced in a class. I don’t know anything about programming, and I feel awkward on a dance floor, but I know how to learn and I love the process.
What wonderful teachers our children are!
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