I had the most beautiful morning today. I slept in a little longer because I had spent most of yesterday cooking and entertaining guests for Easter, so I was tired and treated myself to extra rest. My daughters, ages 6 and 4, woke up before me and their baby sister. They ran downstairs excitedly, determined to surprise me with breakfast in bed.
First, my 4-year-old carried a serving tray into my room — an old baking tray, but it didn’t matter. She brought a large mug of coconut milk. I love coconut, and because she knows that, she picked coconut milk even though there was almond milk in the fridge too. She also brought a plate of roasted groundnuts (peanuts).
The older sister delivered a piece of bread decorated like a car: she cut the bread into a rectangle for the body, then placed four strawberries on the sides to act as wheels. It looked lovely. They arranged everything on the tray and carried it carefully to my bed. I usually don’t eat immediately after waking. I like to read my morning devotional, pray, walk around a bit, and then prepare a proper breakfast because I take eating seriously.
I wasn’t hungry and, truthfully, my breath wasn’t at its best. I almost said, “Thank you, girls. Don’t worry, I’ll eat this later.” Then I thought, why not go against the odds and eat with them right now? They had prepared their own simple breakfast of bread and butter. So we all sat together on the bed—eating, talking, cuddling, looking into one another’s eyes, and saying a million “I love yous.” It was a tender, connected moment.
It became even sweeter when my eldest daughter, who lives with my mother back in Cameroon, “beeped” my phone to invite me to call. We had a warm conversation. She spoke with her sisters and we all laughed together. Since she lives far away, phone calls like that mean a lot.
At one point my 6-year-old said, “I want us to do this often!” I explained that we can’t make a habit of eating in bed—the bed is for sleep—but I couldn’t deny how much their gesture filled the room with love.
I’m far from a perfect mother, but I love my children, and they know it. I love them enough to run around the house with them like a five-year-old. I love them enough to choose them over the highest-paying opportunities, because being with them and raising them matters more to me than making money. I love them enough to sit with them and read Bible stories and other books. I love them enough to buy them special gifts when I can. I love them enough to listen to their endless conversations and to have meaningful talks. I love them enough to discipline them when necessary, to correct them gently, and to guide them toward the right path in a world full of distractions. I love them with all my heart, and they feel that love.
The result is that they love me back. They look for ways to make me happy because they know I care. Love in, love out.
They may not always agree with my choices, and some lessons will only make sense as they grow older. My role is to keep loving them and to show that love in the way Christ teaches.
Sometimes parenting feels overwhelming, and I grow weary. Still, I refuse to let fatigue diminish my love. I don’t see my children as burdens but as blessings. I want to love them with every fiber of my being because this season of small children is fleeting. Years from now, it won’t matter how much money I had or the clothes I wore. What will matter are the memories and the love we shared—moments like this morning.
Have a beautiful week, friends!