Just a Blink

A mama tries so hard not to blink.

A mama tries so hard not to blink, because she knows just exactly what that blink means . . .

. . . just a blink.

. . . just a mere breath.

. . . just another beat of her bursting heart.

But, to a mama, a blink is so much more . . .

She blinks . . .

. . . and nights of nursing turn into days of chasing.

She blinks . . .

. . . and wobbly legs become strong and steady.

She blinks . . .

. . . and a boisterous home slowly becomes quieter.

She blinks . . .

. . . and being so incredibly needed gradually fades.

She blinks . . .

. . . and getting a driver’s license turns into driving away to college.

She blinks . . .

. . . and playing dress-up becomes the “real” thing on a wedding day.

She blinks . . .

. . . and she now fully understands the phrase,

“the days are long, but the years are short.”

She blinks . . .

. . . and she realizes that never has God created

an experience both so very fleeting and so very enduring than that of motherhood.

A mama knows she has to blink . . .

. . . she just wishes she didn't have to blink quite so often—because deep within her slowly-breaking heart, she knows—those blinks are just so beautifully bittersweet.

Shared with permission from Gracefully Woven by Elizabeth Spenner