Bigger-Hearted.

If I get this mommying gig right, it will break my heart. In the purest and noblest way, I will be wrecked. And remade. I will never be the same. For every little crack they leave on the tender casing of my soul, more of "me" will seem to seep out.

This very thought hurts, by the way. That doesn't mean I reject it or resist it (much). I'm TRYING, truly, to get it so right that I bear my brokenness like a prize. A 1st place, Best-in-Show blue ribbon permanently affixed to my lapel. So the other purely, nobly broken people can identify me. Can know I'm a safe place. I've felt it too, that mark will say. It undid me, too. I fall to pieces, still, all the time.

I want to own the marks of motherhood. I do. One day. But getting those marks hurts. Because, well, feeling enough love that one human heart can't hold it all in... it's a bursting, messy, painful business.

Getting to be a real rabbit is no small thing.

Of course, the more of me that seeps out, the more room for God to seep in. That's part of this gig, too. The on-the-job rewiring that's so much MORE INTENSE than any orientation you've ever sat through. So much longer than any continuing ed class.

...And so much better, too.

My heart will break at this. If I'm strong enough to keep seeing them, keep feeling what they feel, keep loving them like Jesus loves me. I will never be the same.

Thanks be to God.