Still Their Mama - Day 7

Still Their Mama - The Things I Didn’t Get To Teach You

Still Their Mama - Day 7

The Things I Didn’t Get To Teach You

“Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.”

— Romans 8:1 (NIV)

I didn’t get to teach you how to drive a stick shift without burning the clutch…

I didn’t get to teach you how to keep your hands steady when life made you tremble.

I didn’t get to show you how to shave your face, or prepare for a job interview, or how to hold your heart when it shatters and you’re still expected to show up for work.

I didn’t get to teach you how to cry, or that it was okay to do so.

There were too many days I was trying to hold the whole world together with nothing but prayer, duct tape, and a smile that fooled almost everyone… even you.

I didn’t get to teach you about budgets, boundaries, or brokenness.

And by the time I had learned about them, I had already taught you survival.

So softness looked like weakness.

And rest looked like laziness.

And joy felt like a trick we couldn’t trust.

I didn’t get to teach you how to let someone love you without suspicion.

I didn’t get to teach you how to feel safe when everything in you is screaming.

I didn’t get to teach you what to do with anger, the kind that builds up and breaks out; the kind that destroys your body before your fists ever reach a wall.

I didn’t get to teach you how to stop the cycle…

because I was still caught in the storm.

And every time I thought I had caught the light,

the shadows pulled you under anyway.

But…

I taught you how to fight for your life.

I taught you how to listen when God whispers in your wilderness.

I taught you what it means to rise again,

even when everyone around you says your story is over.

I taught you that prayer can be both loud and wordless;

and that God speaks both languages.

I taught you that you can be both wounded and worthy.

I taught you how to find joy when it costs everything.

And how to love people who weren’t ready to love you back.

No, I didn’t get to teach you how to tie your shoes and cross the street…

But I did teach you how to walk through hell barefoot,

and still come out holding hope in your hand.

And I’ll keep teaching you, with every breath I have left.

Because I’m still your mama.

And I always will be.

Prayer:

Jesus, You see every place in this mama’s heart where regret still aches and guilt still whispers.

You know the moment she wishes she could rewrite, the words she would take back, the choices she would change if she could.

But You also speak a truth stronger than her memory:

There is no condemnation for her in You. None.

Not for the past she can’t undo.

Not for the seasons she barely survived.

Not for the ways she fell short while trying to hold everything together.

So today, Lord, silence the guilt that is not from You.

Lift the shame that never belonged to her.

Let Your mercy wash over every place that still stings when she thinks about her child.

Remind her that she is forgiven.

Remind her that she is covered.

Remind her that she is Yours; fully, freely, forever.

And as she walks forward, wrap her in the freedom You purchased,

steady her with the grace You promise,

and let her breathe again without fear.

Because in You, Jesus,

condemnation has no home

and shame has no voice.

Amen.

You are still their mama, and God is still holding both of you.

Carry this truth with you today:

Love endures, God protects, and restoration is never beyond His reach.