The Warrior Is . . . a Mom

Lately I’ve been winning battles left and right.

But even winners can get wounded in the fight.

People say that i’m amazing, never face retreat.

But they don’t see the enemies that lay me at your feet.

They don’t know that I go running home when I fall down.

They don’t know who picks me up when no one is around.

I drop my sword and cry for just awhile.

‘Cuz deep inside this armor, the warrior is a child.

This ballad by Twyla Paris is part of my childhood soundtrack. Perhaps you have a song like that tinkling in the back of your mind, pushing its way to the front in times of stress, anxiety or utter weariness.

When God created women, he made our strength primarily interior and constant (as opposed to the exterior, brute force more commonly associated with men because of their greater strength and size. That strength is most clearly seen in adversity: that catastrophic illness, that financial blow, that unrelenting burden. We pick up that sword (or dishcloth or bedpan or syringe) long enough to beat back the darkness . . . and then, when the need to be strong is over, even momentarily, we collapse.

We cry for just awhile. And then we take it up that sword again. Because that is the source of our strength; knowing when to let go. Even for a while.

Thanks, Twyla.

Tell me . . . what’s YOUR song?

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