The gentle morning sunlight seeps through the blinds, painting golden patterns on the floor of the living room. My five-year-old, clad in pajamas, is engrossed in building a tower of blocks, her laughter filling the house. In the background, my three-year-old, exuberant as always, is making roaring sounds, tossing his socks around, and prancing like a little dinosaur every morning.
Amidst the chaos of scattered toys and a laundry basket overflowing, I pause with a cup of coffee in hand and take a deep breath, the first of many to come throughout the day. Motherhood, I realize, is a blend of messy moments, unpredictability, occasional exhaustion, and profound sacredness.
With Mother’s Day approaching, my thoughts drift not just to the love I hold for my children but also to the journey I have traversed as a mother and the sacrifices made by the mothers who came before me, starting with my own mother.
In previous years, I may have longed for a tranquil breakfast, a heartfelt card, or a break from household chores. However, this year, what I truly yearned for was presence—a chance to slow down, embrace the moment with an open heart, and let go of the perpetual to-do list. What I sought was peace, the ability to sit in gratitude rather than self-criticism, and grace.
During the early days of motherhood, I chased after perfection, believing that a spotless home, well-behaved children, and meticulously planned days defined a “good mother.” I gauged my value based on productivity, constantly comparing myself to curated online images, glimpses of others’ lives, and my own unattainable standards.
Beneath the facade, however, I was weary, anxious, and spiritually drained. I was constantly doing but rarely just being. I even criticized myself for allowing moments of rest and presence, as if relaxation and mindfulness were inadequate because they didn’t yield tangible outcomes.
One particularly challenging day, marked by toddler tantrums, juggling work tasks, and a burnt dinner, I found myself sitting on the kitchen floor, tears streaming down my face. In that moment of surrender, I realized a shift was imperative.
I needed to release not only the pursuit of perfection but also the notion that love or holiness had to be earned through performance. I needed to return to the present moment not as an escape but as a sacred offering.
My transformation commenced with small acts of mindfulness deeply rooted in my faith. Instead of diving into each day in survival mode, I began pausing with a breath and a simple prayer before rising from bed:
“Lord, I offer you my thoughts, words, inconveniences, pains, and actions today. Please take them, use them, allow me to offer them up, and be with me every step of the way, guiding me even in moments of doubt or loneliness. Please lead me on this day.”
This daily act of surrender enabled me to slow down, become more aware not only of what was amiss but also of the moments that sparkled with joy—the sticky kisses, the belly laughs, the shared giggles over spilled cereal, the touch of my children’s hands.
This awareness naturally led to gratitude. I began thanking God not only for significant blessings like health and safety but also for the seemingly mundane and overlooked aspects of life—a peaceful naptime moment, a timely hug, a sense of calm amidst a chaotic bedtime routine.
Gratitude became my anchor, not a forced positivity but a practice of recognizing God’s goodness even amidst messiness.
Mindfulness, I discovered, complements rather than contradicts my faith. The Church has long extolled the virtues of contemplation and presence. Saints such as Thérèse of Lisieux exemplified holiness through “the little way,” offering small acts with great love. Mindfulness serves as my compass, guiding me back to this path time and again.
Even my recitation of the Rosary has evolved from a mere checklist to a meditative practice. While I may not always complete all five decades at once, I carry the mysteries with me throughout the day. The Nativity prompts me to seek God in humble beginnings, the Carrying of the Cross reminds me to love amidst weariness, and the Resurrection fills me with hope, especially on challenging days.
This Mother’s Day, my desire was not for a flawless day (though thanks to the support of my husband and the joy of my children, the day was indeed beautiful). Rather, I longed for a heart more attuned to the present moment, ready to embrace whatever each day unfolded. I wanted to receive each moment with trust, relinquishing the need for constant control.
I think of Mary, the Mother of God, whose life was far from easy or picture-perfect. She lived quietly, attentively, faithfully, and lovingly. She pondered things in her heart, endured hardships, waited patiently, and clung to hope. Mary reminds me that God is found in simplicity and authenticity, not in grand displays.
To every mother reading this: You need not strive to do more, be more, or fix everything. Your sacred work is already in progress. Let your motherhood become your prayer, your presence your gift, and gratitude the key to unlocking grace time and again.
God isn’t waiting for you to have it all together; He is already here in the midst of spills, songs, and the sacred moments of everyday life. And just like Mary, ever gentle and nurturing, she guides us with each breath, enveloping us in her loving mantle one step at a time.
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[Image credit: Cbdlq]