How Great Thou Part

My kids always roll their eyes when I tell them we are going to write down our goals.

I know, most people believe goals are for adults.

Only, I always loved to see my children write down their hopes and their dreams. A little peek inside exactly who they are and are meant to be.


You would think by the classic eye roll that I made them do this to the point of duress. When in fact, it was about once a year.

I would buy several notebooks usually before New Years. A few times; however, I did it just as a fun thing in the summer when we went out to dinner before the new school year.

You get the point. Essentially, it was before new beginnings in their lives.

I wanted to know what they were thinking because I felt as a mother it would help me to help them. A manner of actualizing their dreams. It didn’t come from a helicopter mom nor did it come from a nosey mom nor did it come from a controlling mom.

I just have always been a believer in dreams.

In part, because it is intrinsic to who I am and in part because my mother was a realist.

She didn’t subscribe to asking me what was in my heart. Instead, her fear for me one day being a single mother (just as she became) made her quiet those dreams in favor of a solid plan.

I never snooped inside my children’s dream notebooks. I knew their hopes because we shared them. We would all start writing our resolutions, goals or bucket lists and then we would share them along the way. In between bites of food we would laugh to see what one another wrote or be silent enough to respect them.

I love that about my kids. I love how respectful they have always been. They knew exactly when to have a good-hearted chuckle when listening to one another and they absolutely knew when to respect one another.

Some goals are light-hearted and fun and others, well they come from the soul. A place of deep longing. A place which demands respect. A place that says ‘this is who I am’ and I need you to know that.

Perhaps, this has been one of the most profound benefits of encouraging my kids to write their goals from a young age. They grew up around it and came to honor what one another hoped for and not just diminish it.

Recently, I  was sifting through some memorabilia and I found a few of those notebooks.

There is quite honestly, nothing more honest and heart rendering than looking at the scribbled notes of the babies you raised.

The evolution of their hearts literally rendered in their handwriting. The only other greater gift is the evolution of their hearts in scribbled pictures.

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I imagined for a moment the in unison classic eye rolls.

What a great memory and how I wonder if they too, will one day feel the same. I am no naive mommy. I absolutely realize that one or all of them will forever be goal writers or one or all of them will hate it because their mother loved it so much she made them do it.

But me, the mommy, will always love the moments when they told me who they were with their words.

A gift to any parent. A peek inside their youthful souls.

I gingerly opened each of their notebooks. Hoping to find how they evolved into who they are today. Since it had been some time since I had gazed upon these pages.

In between, better grades and going to certain colleges, there were words of substance. The type of thing that makes a mother proud.

To be better to their brothers.

To make a difference.

To try harder.

All along I believed my children writing down their hopes and dreams would be helping them achieve what they wanted to do in life. An exercise for them and for me. I would teach them how writing down their goals magically achieved them. And how me knowing them would position me as their best support system.

In hindsight, it did exactly what goals are truly meant to do.

Be a window into a person’s soul.

It showed my children’s intrinsic goodness (which of course I already knew) and it reinforced that as they were tiny people growing up, they did not just…

Reflect on what they hoped the world would promise them.

They reflected on what they hoped to promise to the world.


(Photos courtesy of Pexels)

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