A Mother's Anthem

Over the past five years I have came to the realization that we, as mothers, have an overwhelming need to protect, mold, and guide.
Our children possess the eyes formed of our body but see differently than we do. Their brains are developed by us but function apart from us. Their hearts share a similar beat but experiences emotion within its own walls. We are the curator of another being who, because of us, can see, think, and feel as they choose to. Being a mother brings with it the delight of being able to witness a world which we had forgotten.
Children, as a whole, regret very little. Foreboding and fear do not cripple them as it does their older counterparts. They have, in their tiny hands, the ability to create without knowing, to love without fear, and to step foward without looking behind them. Everything is an adventure to them. They see possibilities and seek to secure them as their own. To hold, if not hug, the air of enchantment instead of snarling in its face. This innocence and bright eyed wonder of youth is a true treasure that is lost far too soon.
Children do not seek truth, they seek only beauty. Could it be that perhaps truth is beauty? The moon's phases to them, possess a magical and intoxicating appeal. Without former knowledge, any child could give you a reason for these phases that have, with it, beauty and cadence of thought. But fact? Fact holds no appeal for these scholars of beauty. Science strips the wonder from their world and brings with it doubt.
They love without this doubt. They do not question motive or entertain the possibility that love is tentative at best. They know only that today, they love and are loved. Children grasp the hand of kindness and carry it full swing. To love is to be held, to be enveloped with a blanket of contentment and to see the world with unjaded eyes.
To live in the presence of this vast and monumental force is overwhelming at times. I am not guarding, I have been the keeper of life. Instead of teaching, I have become the student of kindness and patience. Rather than molding, I am the river bed of the wild waters that flow from her. In thinking that I will be the example by which she lives, I have instead become the center by which this being gravitates. I can no more contain her ideas than she could mine. We live in harmony rather than two single forces striking out. We exist because of beauty and for beauty. Children embody this beauty.