By guest author Yvonne Strachan

My injured back sentenced me to six months of limited mobility. After weeks of lying flat on the couch in my living room, my view became distorted and hope felt as if it was slowly fading away.

The physical pain was a fraction of my concern; quite faint, actually, when compared to the sandpaper scrubbing my heart felt as I witnessed others fold laundry, make meals, and tend to my baby. After all, as mom, wasn’t I supposed to be the person to conduct the well-orchestrated performance of homemaking and caring for my children?

Although this experience was very difficult, it allowed my heart to be scoured of bitterness, and my aspiration of becoming superwoman washed away. My newly cleaned heart allowed me to see my situation differently. Refined with humble gratitude, my eyes were opened in new ways to see the love of those surrounding me: my husband who managed his work, our home, and my care; friends and family who offered a helping hand; and my children’s willingness to tend to household maintenance while bringing toys, cuddles, and laughter to my chamber. 

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