On Treasuring The Trundle


The past few years since the explosion of the iPhone camera, I have taken copious pictures of my girls and now little boy. I have tried to the best of my ability to soak up these little years with them.

 
I’ve heard many people say things will get easier as my children become more independent. These comments have come more often now that I have three children instead of just two. And in many ways I am glad to hear it because I wouldn’t want my children to stay ever dependent on me.

 

Who knew a search for a matching shoe in a hurry or pouring everyone’s milk in a non-favorite color sippy cup all while teaching them the world does not revolve around their little lives could be such a challenge?

 

And while I am joyous about each coming stage of my children’s lives, I never want to wish today away.

 

Years from now, I will look back on the pictures I took today and yesterday, and I will want to travel back in time for just a moment and hug and kiss their baby and toddler faces. The eager eyes, the dramatic expressions, the way they say “mama” and “will you lay down with me?” And “you’re the best mama ever!”

 
I am smiling at the future, but I don’t want to miss today. I don’t want the dirty dishes and crumbs and daily training to ever get the better of me.

 

 

Moms of little ones, let’s ignore the voices who tell us to long for an easier time. Let’s not allow longing for tomorrow rob us of the goodness of today (Psalm 118:24). Let’s hold on to what we can never get back.

 
We have been given a precious gift this Christmas – hearts who need us. Of the many lessons of the incarnation, may we never forget that a mother caring for a needy babe has cataclysmic significance.

 

Tomorrow will come soon enough, for now let’s treasure the crib and the toddler bed and the trundle. And let’s pray for the young men and women who will one day need them no longer.

 

 

Woman, how divine your mission,

Here upon our natal sod;

Keep—oh, keep the young heart open

Always to the breath of God!

All true trophies of the ages

Are from mother-love impearled,

For the hand that rocks the cradle

Is the hand that rules the world.

-William Ross Wallace (born in Lexington, KY)

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