You begin motherhood with the grandest of intentions.  Or maybe that was just me.  

You won’t just be an okay mom.  You’ll be a really exceptional one.  Extraordinary maybe. 
And you could show others that they can be extraordinary too.  

You’re going to stay fit and healthy during your pregnancy. Your birth will be ethereal. Your love will grow a forest of meaning and beauty around your loved ones.

As they grow, you’ll be creative and fun, organized and calm. You won’t have a mess of crumbs on the floor of your minivan. In fact you probably won’t even have a minivan. You’ll maintain your enthusiasm, have a happy family, a beautiful home. You’ll be relevant and chic still. Your kids will eat their vegetables happily, and be beacons of kindness.  

Then something happens.  Maybe it’s the second kid. Or you can’t loose the extra 15 pounds, or your husband falls out of love with you. Maybe it’s a bad diagnosis for a loved one, or a medical struggle yourself.  Maybe it’s the Cheerios ground into the minivan floor. Or the endless laundry and kitchen counter wiping. Whatever it is, it happens, eventually.  

To all of us.  (Even if no one else sees.)

Your feet touch down to this reality at some point. It is part of being human.

You look around and  realize that you are just like all of the other moms. You are no better and no worse. In one way or another, you’re just like everyone else.

You’re not head and shoulders above.  
In fact sometimes it feels like you’re just barely head above water.  

You probably feel defeated and scatterbrained more than you’d like to admit.  Overwhelmed in the minutiae. Underwhelmed in the whole.  Worst of all, you realize that you aren’t quite living up to your own expectations. And you can’t shake the disappointment.  

You feel as deflated as the birthday balloon a week later or the loose skin on your belly after your last baby’s exodus.   
You’re not any better than anyone else at this. In fact, sometimes, someways, you feel that you’re worse.

But then as you look around you, something interesting happens. Transformational, even.

The more you look around, the more that you can see that yes, you are no different than the other moms in many ways, ones before you, the ones around you. Century after century of mothers. You are one in a line of many. And you are in extraordinary company.
You are divine super heroes, all of you. One way or another, in rotation, on repeat.

You look at them and you see now a reflection back to yourself.

 The scars that are there? You see the story of strength that emerged.   
The sag of the shoulders? You see how the weight of the world was carried there sometimes.  Many times. And yet she carried on.   
The hair -done or undone, messy bun or smooth.  A crown of glory, regardless.  The soft skin around the middle? She gave her body, her life as she knew it, her love, and sometimes it seems the very essence of her beauty, just to hold space for another human being.  In womb or in arms, both.

You see, in these broken, chipped, poured out vessels, that these women have carried,  and still carry, bring to bear the weight of a new world.   Every day.  A thousand times.  

And you realize.  No, you are no different.   Nor do you need to be.
You are in the company of greatness.  

These Vessels that are made of dust, they carry gold.