Only love can be divided endlessly, and still not diminish.
–Anne Morrow Lindbergh
And again, the pie that is my time, my heart, my ability to attend to every need has been reconfigured. Another slice carved out and assigned a name.
Jude.
The fear that haunts so many (all?) of us mothers is that there is not enough of me to go around. That we will fail, simply out of being finite. That one more is too many. That we are unable to bear the weight of the task in front of us.
Sitting here, now, a new life heavy on my chest, I am reminded of all of this. And my heart sings this reply:
Of course.
Of course I am finite. Of course I will fail. Of course there is no way to be all, to do all, to reach the end and collect the prize.
Because it’s not about winning a race. It’s not about being the best, or even about being good enough.
It’s about being.
It’s about leaning in to a love far greater than we can imagine, handed down by a Creator far more patient than we can believe.
It’s about not diminishing, but multiplying. Every time.