I had decided it wouldn't happen to me. I suppose it was more than a decision, it was a fact. Being seven, I figured growing old only happened to people who weren't kids. I looked the same. My hands were soft, my skin was without a mark. I thought it strange to watch how others seemed to let themselves become old. Certainly wouldn't be ahead for me.

I'm still me. The same conversations play out in my mind, I still get scared, happy, hurt, insecure and silly. Just like before, I have the heart of a little girl.

When I became a mom I had this goal of becoming like those mom's who wrote the books, led the seminars, or wrote the songs. This was what I wanted, to become that mom who was able to help show their kids how to walk alongside their Lord. They knew how to love, laugh, discipline, teach, and sacrifice with joy. I was in the trenches as I worked day by day to master motherhood. I remember envying other mothers that had the same title as me, yet didn't spend their days sacrificing for their children.

There is this season of motherhood where more time is spent changing diapers, brushing off carseats, and managing little attitudes. When in the middle of this season, it seems never ending. I knew, at the age of 24 that growing old only happened to people who didn't have kids. Seemed perfectly possible that I would be chiseling cheerios off the floor for the next fifty years.

When did I buy the last diaper? Whatever happened to running the house while carrying a baby? Where did the little one go that daily sat in my kitchen emptying my cupboards? Why is there room for my purse to sit in the seat of a shopping cart? When did my now five year old stop wearing infant clothes? Most importantly, who are these best friends of mine that surround me through the days? How is it that these beautiful girls have the same laughter I had when I was their age? When did that little boys voice that used to cry out needing me, turn into a deep voice that checks to see if I need anything?

I was taught early on that the season of spring is a time of planting, and working in the field. I was also told that fall would come, and my harvest would be determined by what was planted and nurtured in the spring. I wasn't warned of the depth of blessing that would come if I remained faithful.

I now have this group of six who sit by me in church, tenderly love me, and make me laugh constantly. God was not kidding. The blessings are beyond comprehension.

My hands are now different. My face shows the many times I have laughed and cried. My looks are changing, evidence of a life well lived. I am growing richer with each passing day. When springtime planting comes slowly to a close, the only problem I have now, is being able to see these crops of abundance through my tears of joy.