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Beauty so ancient, so new.

Only a mother can know how tenderly she soothed with her own heartbeat. Etched forever in her mind is the tiny face of one whose every moment belongs to her. Only a mother can know the grace she saves for Hers alone, while she fails to recognize.

Only a mother can know the yearning for a strength she already possesses as she bravely faces. What once seemed whole now forms a million tiny pieces. Only a mother can know the monument of longing she fabricates each time a piece is lost to her, while she fails to recognize.

Only a mother can know how fiercely she rises to become whatever is needed. Boundaries become invisible and challenges are sport as she determines to remove every hurdle. Only a mother can know the drowning of her Self to save Hers, while she fails to recognize.

Only a mother can know how the brightest of light dims but never goes dark. Furrows form while she's tending elsewhere but fears stay constant, disrupting her thoughts and sleep. Only a mother knows how she rallies and redoubles, while she fails to recognize.

Only a mother fails to recognize that babies come through her and not to her. She elevates herself as watchman and stays awake in vanity, eating the bread of toil. She intercedes for their rest but won't accept her own, failing to recognize that Hers are created for His Glory and not hers.

As His Beloved, they are a reflection not of her works but of His grace.

Only a mother can know how firm a grasp it takes to let go.


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