My first son was born on a cold, winter day.
This was the day I became a mother. My best day. My hardest day.
Now, I was responsible for him. I had to figure out how to grow that little, precious boy into a fine man. My best day because I got the joy of watching his growth unfold.
Now, I had to care for him and nurture his little soul. My best day because I got the privilege of doing that task.
This day was the day I worried about, the day I waited for and the day I was excited to experience, and it finally came.
The day God brought a piece of Heaven down to my arms. It was truly my best day.
Wait … perhaps my best day was when my second son was born. Or maybe it was when my third son came?
They were each my best day; for all of the same reasons and for very different reasons.
I remember smiling into each of their little faces and feeling humbled at the thought that the God of the Universe chose me to mother their little hearts.
What an experience—each of the three. My Best Day.
What’s your Best day?
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