Learning Mom

You rise before the doubt has learned your name,
hands full of quiet work, heart lit like flame.
While the world shouts fast, you choose what is true—
love taught in moments, roots growing in you.

Your days are stitched with patience, ink, and prayer,
small faithful acts that shape tomorrow’s air.
Do not despise the slow, the unseen, the long:
oak trees grow silent, yet they grow strong.

When weariness whispers, “You are not enough,”
remember—breath itself is grace, not bluff.
You are becoming by showing up again,
and heaven smiles at that steady amen.