From the very first time I saw the lines of a pregnancy test flash positive, and I heard the first sounds of life, beating fast and fierce from the depths of my womb, I knew I needed a son.

I knew I needed a son, because I felt I could not raise a daughter right.

Raising a son would be simple, easy at it’s best. See I thought men were born knowing their worth, their value mapped and wrapped in their DNA. Men who enter this world through the loins of a woman, clothed in valor, marked by dominance, know the world belongs to them, laid open wide at their feet.

If God gave me a daughter, rearing her would be difficult, hard at it’s best. A girl searches the mirror not for her reflection, but for her appraisal. She takes every label, every hate-filled word spoken by tongues of the wicked, the lustful, the spiteful, and she swallows them whole. They cling to her insides, eating away at the very core of her being. The lies, the labels, the looks, and gropes can break a girl down. They can make her something new, something ugly from the inside out.

To raise a daughter right, I would first have to know my worth. I would have to believe that I am more than the size of my waist and bust. I am worth more than what my body can offer. I am more than the lies I ate, with a mouth open wide, and I would know my true value, so she would know hers.

As the universe would have it, God gave me a daughter first, and then a son. Now, my children need to know that their mother had it all wrong, so wrong. Raising a child, any child, boy or girl, is hard. It takes work. It takes perseverance, and more than anything, it takes sacrifice. As parent’s we are given 18 years, 216 months, 6.570 days to give this parenting gig our very best. It seems like a lifetime to a child, but not to a parent.

The clock is always ticking, her hands are always moving, and we know there are lessons we should be teaching, and words we need to be speaking, but they all get lost. Lost in the laundry, dirty dishes in the sink, food on the stove, in their mouths, on the floor, and we are wiping , cleaning, and screaming, but not teaching, at least not right.

I know I am going to get a lot of things wrong. I am going to make mistakes and mishaps, but I am not alone. Watch the nightly news, the daily papers, search the web and you will see, we are all faltering, tripping, and stumbling.

Marathon runners run their last race on two legs, horror movies become real in theaters, and God help us, children lose their lives by attending school, and we all ask why?

We all know life begins with a mother. A mother to conceive and carry an unborn life. A mother, to labor and deliver a child. A mother to nurse and nourish a child, and a mother to nurture and teach a child.

Today, more than ever, mothers and fathers alike need to teach their children the value of human life. From the unborn fetus to the aging man with one foot planted on Earth and the other in heaven, from the feeble daughter to the strong son, from the man whose pockets are always full to the widowed woman who has none. They all count. They all matter. They all deserve to be loved and held and cherished and treasured. A message we need to keep teaching and repeating…