Our Keepsake Journal is Here! 🎉

Truth is, I’ve been mothering now for about 18 years. In the womb, or out, as soon as new life is fresh knit together, we become mothers. Mothering for the past 18 years, yes. But this past decade just traveled has taught something new.

We mother our sons, you see, as they bold-faced take on this world. Chaos reigning, voices loud, chests puffed out. Tenderness too, but fleeting, as adventure beckons at every turn. To mother sons is to fuel themtheir bodies first, as those never stopthen their hearts, their souls which sometimes seem almost untouchable, unreachable but we know . . . oh, do we mothers know, how they’re not.

RELATED: Mothering Boys is a Work of the Heart

Sons are magic in their keen way of knowing when a lid needs spun open, or a gas tank needs filling when the wind blows so bitter, or when a laugh is needed to replace a mother’s weary brow.

To mother a son is to mother the one who will one day be your protector.

Who will stand in the face of anyone or anything who threatens safety, or happiness, or otherwise. We muster this boy-necessary energy up over and over because it is worth it. This is worth it. They are worth it.

But daughters.

Daughters are different as I learned the very moment they passed her tenderly to me. The world outside was harsh and white, but inside that small room, grace was born and all went still. And say I’m wrong, and say it shouldn’t be so, and say no, no they should be the same, feel the same, act the same, be treated the same. My heart told me different that first day, still tells me different every single day since.

In mothering our daughters, we dance a delicate dance. One of questions to and fro, feeling foreign in this journey we thought we knew so well. The questions towe are oh so familiar with . . . Did you sleep well, baby? Do you need a drink? How are you feeling? Those questions we have mastered in our journeys as moms and seem to tumble off our tongues as effortlessly as the loving thoughts that put them there in the first place. But the questions frothese are the ones that make our breath catch in our throats, if only for a moment, as the unfamiliarity gives way once more to the knowing.

The knowing that this is mothering now. A sacred space where there is suddenly room for the questions fro . . . How did YOU sleep, Mom? Do you want a tea, Mom? Is your headache gone, Mom?

And the years, they go, and as they do the questions to and fro develop into their own natural rhythm. One that creates, day by day, this dance that only mothers and daughters share.

It dawned on me as of late, that this dance, this very dance, is the one that blooms all on its own as we mothers, learn to mother future hopeful mothers.

Young daughters who are watching, looking, waiting to nurture another. Young daughters who sense needs before needs are seen. Young daughters who splay open their own hearts in the hopes of knitting another hurting heart closed.

RELATED: Mothering Daughters is a Work of the Heart

They practice on kittens, and baby dolls, and stuffed animals tattered. They practice on new puppies, and insects, and a baby bird’s egg shattered. They practice loving, they practice caring, they practice giving until they are wrung right out. They practice . . . on us.

Sons are a gift of their own spectacular variety. One I would never trade for a million miles of the rarest gems. To the mothers of only sons, feel blessed, because you are. Oh, how you are.

The gift, however, in this past 10 years of learning this new form of motheringnurturing the heart of the very one who nurtures you right back and then some. That . . . that there is a sweetness no one can quite scribe. Perhaps, it’s a gracious gift so intricate, one shouldn’t even try.

Originally published on the author’s Facebook page

So God Made a Mother book by Leslie Means

If you liked this, you'll love our book, SO GOD MADE A MOTHER available now!

Order Now

Check out our new Keepsake Companion Journal that pairs with our So God Made a Mother book!

Order Now
So God Made a Mother's Story Keepsake Journal

Rachel Gossen

I am a mom of 4. 3 teenaged sons (send help and also food) and one 8 yr. old blessing of a daughter. My husband and I have lost ourselves in the raising of them in the past 16 years...but we're perfectly fine with that. It won't last forever....we're learning this more quickly than we could have ever guessed. I'm not really a writer, just a mom who loves her kids, and loves words on the side. Find me on Facebook!

Raising Daughters is a Work of the Heart

In: Motherhood
Four sisters walking on grass

Sugar and spice, and everything nice. That’s what girls are (supposed to be) made of. But, what about grit? Determination. Perseverance. Diligence. Hard work. And bravery? What about sass? Leadership skills. Intelligence. Fierce. Bold. And fiery ice? What about compassion? Kindness. Grace. Integrity. Humility. And empathy? Raising a daughter is a swirling whirlwind of skinned knees, glitter explosions, bossy looks without a word said, and tenderheartedness. A beautiful concoction only made possible by the intricate handiwork of her Father Above. Raising girls is a work of heart. And nothing less. It’s nursing her through her first weeks and months, only...

Keep Reading

A Prayer For Daughters

In: Child, Faith
Mom holding baby girl

My sweet girl, I pray for you always. I pray you’ll know a friend in Jesus. That you’ll bring Him with you wherever you go and share Him with everyone you meet. I pray you’ll be strong and be the type of girl who does things that scare her. I also pray you’ll know it’s OK to ask for help when you can’t do it on your own. I pray you’ll surround yourself with good friends and that you’ll be a good friend to others. I also pray you will be kind to the people who are not good friends...

Keep Reading

God Gave Me Daughters

In: Kids, Motherhood
God Gave Me Daughters www.herviewfromhome.com

I am a mom of daughters and only daughters.  By “only” I don’t mean there is anything missing or lacking or incomplete about our family. I just mean that all the children given to my husband and me are of the girl variety. I don’t know what it’s like to have little boys running around the house, yelling and climbing on things and jumping off things and tackling things and wrestling each other and having bodily-noise contests. I’ll never know what it’s like to have a strong, strapping son who’s protective of his mama and who walks me down the...

Keep Reading