A jelly heart. I went to wipe off the kitchen table and there it sat, amidst crumb-covered plates and empty milk glasses.
Like a beacon of messy grace and sticky love in the middle of my day.
No one made it on purpose. It was the serendipitous result of toast with jelly and a clumsy pair of seven-year old hands.
I can think of no better symbol of motherhood, of my own love in this season than this jelly heart. Life with four children requires a great amount of work, grace, and patience. But it is so powerfully meaningful, and its beauty is often masked by a glob of stickiness, by long days, by exhausting nights.
But every mother knows her own joy in the midst of her chaos. And few would trade that joy for an end to the insane hours and the children who so often take her for granted.
After its photoshoot, I wet a rag and wiped the heart away with a thread of sadness in my soul.
All this will pass away someday. In the meantime, my messy treasures are jelly hearts, spilled drinks, fights over who sits in which chair, and the way a child can wrap you around their heart with one simple word.
“Mama…”
