We are not unaccustomed to new life. 4.3 babies are born every second. And with each entry into our world comes endless possibilities, hopes, and potentials wrapped up into one tiny bundle.

But every day, something else is born, and it arises and enters in that very same place in which a child is delivered.

Something powerful.
Something fierce.
Something strong.

Immediate is this awakening that quietly alters the course of civilization, society, and even life itself.

Alongside every birth, adoption, and new addition to a family unit something else is born.

Or rather, someone.

A mother is born.

And with her arrival a guardian, keeper, and protector is born.
A nurturer, teacher, and developer is born.

Much like a caterpillar’s transformation into a butterfly, the metamorphosis of a woman into a mother is momentous. Beauty, strength, and splendor already reside in the fabric of her being, and motherhood more fully draws it out.

The birth of a mother is laborsome, yet miraculous. The breaking forth of new life into HER life is disruptive though necessary. There may be pain and discomfort in the process as she stretches and grows, but this enlargement leads to the actualization of new life and of her very personhood.

Within her is power vast and endless, for her gift is this: she cultivates and shapes the very being she just took into her arms.

Her beauty lies not only in her strength, but also in her delicacy. For alongside her competency lies vulnerability. Her ferocity is matched only by her tenderness, and her strength is accompanied by love so strong it leaves her defenses down and her heart susceptible to great pain.

But she loves anyway. She can’t help herself.

And she is a miracle.

She guards the new life that she so cherishes. She is a keeper of treasured memories and milestones. She is a protector of childhood, innocence, and joy. She pours out of the depths of her soul to nurture those under her care. Every treasured morsel of wisdom entrusted to this teacher is faithfully deposited into the hearts of her young pupils.

When a mother is born, a developer emerges. And much like a gardener, she plows and sows, tends and prunes. She plants seeds she may never see bloom, but she plants them anyway.

When a mother is born, hate and fear tremble for they know full well they cannot match the uninhibited, deep, wild love that resides within her heart. A mother is the nemesis of death, for from a mother comes all life.

When a mother is born, our cities, nations, and the world rejoices.

A mother links arms with her sisters and together they are a force to be reckoned with.

Countless women conceive and bring forth a child, but a mother leaves an imprint upon the very fabric of our souls, our earth, and our time.

Humanity longs for the care and affection a mother provides.

For when a mother is born, a token of healing is offered to a weary world.

*Photo by: Tori Vandament

This article originally appeared on Her Life Is An Open Book