mama.

i see you.


you exist in the midst of the biggest planting season of your life and it’s exhausting, backbreaking work. you know it’s important, and that’s why you show up every day, but that doesn’t make it easier. you exist on faith alone, because as you sow you don’t see the crop yet. that’s not how it works, and you know that. you might see occasional glimmers of green, but you don’t see the great work you are involved in. some days, all you see is the unending rows of seeds to be planted and the sun getting lower in the sky. all you feel is the ache in your body as once more you wake up before the sun to work without anyone saying thank you.


you don’t see how those kids will turn into doctors who save lives, moms who heal hearts, teachers who open doors, police officers who keep the peace, missionaries who bring hope.

you see endless lunch making and refereeing back seat fighting. chauffeuring the ungrateful, whiny masses to and from activities that you spin straw into gold to afford. folding piles of laundry while wondering what it all means and when it all ends.


but I see it when you don’t, just like you see it when I don’t. don’t you get it now? that’s why we need each other. i see in those children all the greatness — the courage, the leadership, the kindness, the living witness of your partnership with God.

i see you in them. i see what you do in their kindness on the playground and their student council run. see how you sacrifice, how you work, how you stretch to bend to all the winds of every season’s change in every proud recital post and desperate plea for a night off.

I hear a distant echo of your frustrated tears in my own.


mama, i see you.

you keep planting and I will too.

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