(Six years ago, I wrote a similar blog story. I revised and improved it for Mother’s Day week, 2019. I’m amazed how much I’ve changed in my life, and in my writing. This is somewhat of a free verse poem or story. These are some situations I’ve experienced being a mother of two sons. Maybe you can relate to some of them.)

Moms walk through many doors during motherhood.

One day the evidence is conclusive. You run through that door to exclaim your joy. Yellows and greens. Hopes and dreams.

The door of your doctor’s office. The ultrasound room a delightful threshold. Anticipation. Waiting. Faith.

The door of the birthing room. Sharp pains forgotten. His first cry. Staring at him counting fingers and toes. Sleepless nights. Blue bibs and blankets.

Bright colored doors . . . the first step he takes. Blocks and trains. Lego airplanes hang. Songs and prayers. Sitting in the steamy room while he chokes out his cough.

Welcoming children into your home. Applauding each stage. Books and Bibles. Trikes and sidewalk chalk. Diapers and laundry, your days are filled.

The Kindergarten door . . . Crayons, swings. Be kind. Bible School and summer camp. Scraped knees and playing catch. Bicycles.

The door of the sporting event . . . the camera charged up. Shoes squeak across the floor. Knee boards near Lake Michigan. Shivering under beach towels. Skateboards and monster trucks.

Your slider door. Laughter and hollering of school boys in your backyard pool. Pizza and soccer. Smelly socks and dirty dishes. Smiles and arguments.

Slamming doors. You hope to get through the stressful days.

Now the bikes have motors. Homework and girls. Snowmobiles roar. You pray like never before.

Pushing the hospital door open. Your heart can barely stay in your chest with thankfulness. The car demolished. He’s walking beside you without a scratch.

The door of the high school gymnasium . . . on graduation day. Tears of happiness and bewilderment how fast the years have flown. Fear, wondering if you’ve done a good enough job.

The door of the first dorm room. Building the loft with power tools. The ride back home in tears and silence. They tell you, “You brought them up to let them fly!”

Guilt, not feeling the way you think you’re supposed to feel. The heavy blanket holds you down.

The front door of the condo. The first home he buys. You’re proud of him but you know this is the most definitive door you’ve ever passed through. The end of an era. Your heart feels tangled.

Thankful and deeply sad at once. You know other moms have had much more pain in their lives. You know the expectations. Part of you wants time to go backwards.

The door of his car closes. He’s drawn to the mountains out west. He waves and has to go.

You’re told the empty nest is grand and wonderful. Adjustments and time necessary, no matter how solid the marriage.

A mother for many years, you learned what to do. The end of the care-taking season in mothering. How to climb from summer to fall. Not sure of your identity now.

The door of a downsized home. Hobbies and vacations. Roles evolve. Experimenting with purposes in your life.

Finding new ways to glorify Him, doing what you can for the Kingdom. Discovering a new season. A quiet home.

Now a support role, prayer warrior, letters, texts and phone calls, holiday meals simmer. Still cheering them on. You look up and see a child in the grown man’s eyes.

Shades and hues of your doors are different but similar to mothers world-wide.
The kindergarten door, the dorm room door, the condo door . . . all strangely alike.

You lift your eyes. Older mothers are waving you on through.

“See that bright point? Here’s a walking stick to borrow!”

There are more doors ahead . . .

What are some doors of motherhood you’ve walked through?