There is a simple tension with Mothers and Daughters. It’s sweet and complicated. Raychel is at an age of admiration and pushing boundaries, but someday she’ll try to break through some of those boundaries and she will probably think I truly don’t understand what she is going through as she navigates heavy emotions and scary changes.
She will have fights with her best friends and she won’t understand why her sibling’s chewing makes her want to scream. She will be scared and feel lonely and sometimes she may even take it out on me. She’ll question everything we’ve taught her and when she learns to disagree she’ll wonder what else I’m wrong about. She’ll feel confined in a small space as she tries to spread those wings she’ll be growing. And as the most prominent woman in her life, she’ll both emulate and resent at least some of who I am while she tries to figure out who she is.
And someday when her pudgy little hand becomes slender and coordinated I’ll have to let it go and though I’m excited for her to be a Woman, that thought breaks my heart.
But then I remember: after her perspective gets a little broader and she starts to reflect (when she has things to reflect) she’ll grab my hand for the parts of Womanhood that require a Mother.
When she meets the man she wants to serve for the rest of her life or she finds a passion she’s meant to pursue and she needs a nudge out of the nest I’ll encourage her to take the leap.
When she’s newly married and she needs the calm assurance of decades I’ll pray over her and remind her who she is in Christ and how that looks as a wife.
When she has children and wrestles with her new role I’ll wipe her tears and tell her that she’s doing a wonderful job.
And when I miss her in the everydays I’ll remember pots and pans in the living room and surprise kisses in bed. In some sense she’ll always be this little girl who lights up our home and in some sense she is already the beautiful woman who will send sparks into the world.