I woke up on Christmas morning and laid there thinking and remembering many previous Christmas mornings with their activity and excitement. It was always stressful, but it was good stress. Then I recalled all the times I was dealing with being a mother, trying to raise children, and writing in my Journal asking, “Why did I have these children? What was I thinking? What am I supposed to do with these children?” And now I know why.
Children are a gift to oneself. They are your discipline, your mirror, your consciousness and conscience. They are your entertainers who regularly make you sit in the theater of life and laugh until you cry, or cry until you break down and change. They are your window to the world and what is currently in vogue, and your reminder that very little really changes in the span of one lifetime.
They are the companions able to convince you that you want some ice cream, and the adversaries who remind you of your ethics. They bring extraordinary gifts of patience and humility. They are powerful teachers of love and truth. They are wickedly funny at times, coax you to keep up, and provide endless surprises as they slowly reveal themselves.
Regardless of your formal career, children certify you as doctor, banker, loan officer, police officer, judge, jury, housekeeper, teacher, cab driver, psychologist, social worker, laundress, and all-around general magician. Children are your friends along the way and they map the path to unconditional love.
You will know you have done a good job when it becomes clear that they are learning everything they just taught you because their children are teaching them - for first we teach and then we learn. Children are a gift of life to the world. But mostly they are a gift to oneself.