by Candice Hackett




There are times when I close my eyes and picture the self I would be most proud to embody — the mama I would hope for my daughters to recount.
When I see her, she is simple, and lovely—feminine without fuss. She is intentional and practical. Always learning. Always gracious. Always singing. Always dancing. Always making. Always nurturing. Always, always loving.
When I see her smile, she is wrapped up in the arms of the ones she loves. She is collecting treasures from a garden. She is lost inside a favorite novel. She is writing love letters.When I hear her voice, it is gentle and full of laughter. Her words are full of thankfulness. And her songs are full of praise. When I see her smile, she is wrapped up in the arms of the ones she loves. She is collecting treasures from a garden. She is lost inside a favorite novel. She is writing love letters.
When I look at her life, it is full—not of possessions but moments. It is overflowing with love. She finds gladness in the every day routine, even her chores—because every task serves a family who has captivated her whole heart. When I dream her dreams, they are not for grandeur, they are filled with whimsy and wonder.
When I look to her, I find that we are on a journey to becoming more alike. Little by little, day by day.
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