I want to be honest with you about something.
There have been seasons in my life where I wasn’t sure I deserved a day like yesterday.
Seasons where the weight of everything I was carrying made it hard to fully receive love; where joy felt like something that belonged to a version of me that was more put together, more healed, more worthy. Where even in the middle of beautiful moments, a quiet voice would whisper: do you really deserve this?
Maybe you know that voice too.
Yesterday; Mother’s Day; was my answer to that voice.
And the answer was yes. Loudly, tenderly, unmistakably yes.
A gift I almost didn’t know how to receive.
During the service; before the preaching even began; New Life North Metro gave out beautiful tokens of appreciation to all the moms in the room.
Such a simple gesture. And yet I sat there feeling both humbled and quietly overwhelmed. Receiving love gracefully is something I am still learning. For a long time I deflected it, minimized it, questioned whether I had earned it. I would smile and say thank you while somewhere inside a voice whispered: but do you really deserve this?
Yesterday I made a different choice. I just let it land. I held that small token and let it mean what it meant: you are seen. You are valued. You belong here.
That is harder than it sounds. But it is worth practicing.
The moment I didn’t see coming.
After the service, I made my way to pick up Adi from Kingdom Kids; and walked straight into something that stopped me in my tracks.
The children were already performing. And there was my Adi; up there, full of joy, full of enthusiasm, completely in his element; doing what he does best, which is taking up every inch of space in the most wonderful way.
I felt the tears coming before I even fully understood why. There is something about watching your child in a moment of pure, uninhibited joy that bypasses every wall you’ve built around your heart and gets straight to the tender part underneath. They are not performing for applause. They are not trying to impress anyone. They are just; fully, completely, beautifully themselves.
And then; before the song had even finished; he spotted me.
He sprinted off that stage and straight into my arms. “I love you, Mommy!” he said; with that breathtaking sincerity that only children possess; the kind that hasn’t yet learned to hold anything back.
I held him and I thought: this. This is what I’ve been fighting for. This is what healing is for.
Can I ask you something? When was the last time someone ran to you like that? Not because they needed something; not out of obligation; but simply because they saw you and couldn’t get to you fast enough?
We spend so much of our lives running toward other people; our children, our partners, our responsibilities. We forget what it feels like to be the one someone runs to. Yesterday reminded me. And I am still feeling it today.
The little moments that undid me.
Then Allen handed me a bouquet of tulips; my favorite. And just as he did, I caught Adi’s face scrunching into the most hilariously serious expression of jealousy I have ever seen in my life. He looked genuinely offended. As though the tulips were a personal attack. As though he was seriously considering intervening on behalf of himself.
I laughed; really laughed; and that laugh felt like medicine.
I want to stay here for a moment; because I think it matters more than it seems.
We are always looking for healing in the big, profound moments. The breakthrough. The revelation. The dramatic turning point. But sometimes healing arrives in a toddler’s jealous scowl over a bouquet of tulips. Sometimes it’s in the laugh you didn’t see coming. Sometimes restoration looks less like a breakthrough and more like a giggle you couldn’t hold in even if you tried.
Those moments count. They count so much. Don’t let them pass without noticing.
A table full of belonging.
We ended the day at Victorino’s Restaurant; a place woven into the fabric of our family story. We ordered our favorites. We lingered. We had ice cream long after we probably should have, and nobody rushed anyone, and the conversation flowed the way it only does when people are genuinely glad to be together.
I sat at that table and thought about how different I feel from the woman who used to sit at tables like this; hollow-smiling, going through the motions, present in body but somewhere far away in spirit.
Do you know that feeling? When you’re physically in the room but emotionally you’re somewhere else entirely; rehearsing a worry, replaying a hurt, already halfway into tomorrow’s anxiety?
Yesterday I was just; there. Fully there. Tasting the food. Hearing the laughter. Feeling the warmth of the people around me and actually, genuinely letting it in.
That is what healing looks like from the inside. Not a dramatic transformation you can point to; but a quiet, growing capacity to be present in your own life again. To stop watching your life from a distance and actually inhabit it.
If you’ve been feeling like you’re going through the motions lately; I want you to know: that capacity to be present again? It comes back. Slowly, gently, in moments you don’t expect. But it comes back.
What motherhood is teaching me in this season.
Motherhood has always been my greatest gift. But in this particular season; a season of rebuilding, of forgiveness, of learning to love myself as fiercely as I love my children; it has become something else too.
It has become my mirror.
When I look at Adi and Snowy, I see people who love me without audit. Without a checklist. Without needing me to have it all together first. They don’t love the healed version of me or the future version of me. They love me; right now; exactly as I am.
And I am slowly, slowly learning to see myself through that same grace.
Here is what I keep coming back to: if my children think I am worthy of being sprinted toward; maybe I should start believing them.
Maybe we all should.
“She is clothed with strength and dignity, and she laughs without fear of the future.” (Proverbs 31:25) I used to read that verse and feel the gap between who it described and who I was. Yesterday; for the first time in a long time; I felt just a little bit closer to her.
That felt like progress. And I am holding onto it.
For every mother reading this:
Whether yesterday was everything you hoped for; or whether it was one of the harder ones; whether you were surrounded by people or you spent it quietly; whether you felt celebrated or overlooked; this is for you.
You are worthy of the love being offered to you. Not the future version of you who has healed completely. Not the you who has everything figured out. You; right now; in the middle of whatever season you are carrying.
Let yourself receive it. Let the hug from your child land fully. Let the kind word settle in your chest. Let the small, ordinary moments remind you that you are deeply, undeniably, extravagantly loved.
And on the days when that quiet voice asks whether you deserve any of it; remember:
Love doesn’t wait for worthiness. It just shows up. Like a child spotting you across a room and sprinting off a stage straight into your arms.
That is grace. And you were made for it.
Happy Mother’s Day; a day late; to every woman reading this who is doing the sacred, invisible, irreplaceable work of showing up for the people she loves. 🌷
How was your Mother’s Day this year? Magical, messy, or somewhere in between; I’d love to hear from you in the comments. 🤍
My Brightest Light 
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