I don’t know if there are words to describe how much my family means to me. I probably don’t show it enough. My time is spread out between work, home, friends, and volunteer activities. More days than not, I’m tired and grouchy. I also have this strange thing of being a big talker but not really being able to verbalize the things that mean the most to me.
But these are the people who mean the most to me. At times, I’ve probably put them ahead of pursuing my relationship with God, which is not good. I wouldn’t have said it that way at the time, but looking back, I think I did.
It’s often said that having children is like having a part of your heart walking around outside of you. I would say it’s like having part of your soul live apart from you. When they hurt, you hurt. When they question, you bear the scars.
I’ve met a lot of challenges in life and I suppose on some level I’m accomplished. I finished a master’s degree after having all these babies. I have a good job. We own a home. I have amazing friends. However, if I stand before God at the end of time and don’t have all of these people with me, I will consider my life to be a failed life. I pray for them. I cry for them. I’m watching them become adults and wondering if I said enough, did enough, modeled enough or if I said too much, did too much, or protected too much.
They are my family and they are my life.