Kiss Your Miracle

It was 39 degrees when we woke up this morning. As the sun rose outside, you could even see a touch of frost on the grass outside, which is definitely not typical here in central Florida. I realize that God doesn’t think of just one person when he creates the weather, but the chilly temperature felt like an early Christmas present he put together for me.

As we got ready for church I dressed Sky in thick tights beneath her skirt and went to get her puffy blue coat from the closet. Then I remembered another coat we had – a bright red dress coat – that would go much better over her church clothes. It originally belonged to me. When I outgrew it, my mom passed it on to a neighbor, and her daughter wore it for a while. She never gave it away though, and a few years ago when she heard Adam and I were expecting a baby girl, she gave the coat back to my mom and told her to pass it along to us.

I laughed when my mom lugged it all the way down to Florida after Sky was born. It seemed like a lot of effort to go through for a heavy coat I doubted Sky would wear much. I can’t stand clutter, and I’ve always been much more likely to give old clothes to Goodwill or toss them than to store them. But this morning when I remembered that coat, I immediately dug it out of the back of Sky’s closet, excited to see if it might fit her. It was a bit large, but she looked cute in it anyway. And she liked it too. “Take some pictures!” I told Adam, even though we were running late.

Seeing Sky in that coat reminded me of my own days as a little girl. Every week, whether it was freezing cold or hot and humid, my parents dressed us up in our Sunday best and took us into the city for church, usually followed by a big dinner with our extended family. Since my dad’s death in November, I’ve found myself thinking more about my childhood, and all the good things my parents gave us. Parenting seemed easy before I started doing it myself. I’m more aware now of how hard my mom and dad worked to provide their kids with the stability we took for granted.

My innocent childhood memories keep me on track when motherhood isn’t fun, and I’m thankful for them. I’m thankful that I’ve always known how much my mom loves being a mom despite the sacrifice it requires, and I hope that over years I communicate that same message to my own family.