Living with Loren

I think I can. I know I can.
I think I can. I know I can.

Am I the little engine that could?
Am I the one bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave?
Am I the dream and the hope of the slave?
Paying homage to Maya Angelou,
Am I the one that had to go before the king and request to see him without being called?
Am I the one that had to use what I had and grab a tent peg and end the war?
Am I the warrior I know myself to be?
Am I the phoenix rising from the ashes, creating myself again and again?
Not just myself, but a newer version of myself, stronger, wiser,
Because I allowed myself to go through the ashes
And not let the ashes go through me.

Am I? Let’s see. Flow with me. Tell me. Am I?
I AM.
I know why the caged bird sings.
Ain’t I a woman?

I wrote this poem in a moment of stillness—when I couldn’t explain how heavy everything felt, when I couldn’t find the right words to tell my loved ones what was stirring inside. So I wrote. I let the truth spill out the only way it knew how—through the rhythm of my soul and the legacy of the women who came before me.

Because motherhood is not just biology—it is transformation. It’s becoming, un-becoming, and becoming again.

It is an honor.
It is a privilege.
And yes, it is a challenge.

From the moment life formed in my womb, everything shifted. I protected my baby from words, spirits, foods, and energy that didn’t align with the sacred work happening inside me. A year ago today, I learned my child’s gender. What a gift. What a joy. What a fast-moving river this past year has been.

Exhaustion often sits heavy on my shoulders. Some days, it wraps itself around me like a fog, whispering lies that I am not enough. That I’m too tired. That I can’t do this.

But I look at my daughter—my answered prayer—and I remember:
I asked for this.

Not a title without the task.
Not a crown without the weight.
I asked to be a mother.

And if I had the courage to ask,
Then, I must have the faith to believe I was built for it.

Still, I won’t pretend this journey is easy.
There are days I look at my life and whisper,
“God, this doesn’t look like what I imagined.”
But I remind myself:
Faith was never about familiarity. It was never about ease.

Trust is not comfort.
Trust is stepping forward even when the path is blurry.
Trust is saying yes to the journey, even in the face of weariness.

So I pray:

Lord, equip me for what I asked for.
Help me execute it in the way You see fit.
Help me trust You when my strength is failing.
Help me believe in You even when I struggle to believe in myself.
And in my moments of doubt—Lord, help my unbelief.

Because I believe every trial, every sleepless night, every quiet tear shed while rocking my baby is a piece of something sacred. Something divine.
A puzzle not meant to be understood piece by piece, but seen clearly only when complete.

Until then, I’ll walk forward in love.
One prayer.
One breath.
One day at a time.

In the words of Biggie Smalls:

“To all the ladies in the place with style and grace…”

Happy Mother’s Day.
Enjoy the fullness of today.
Let joy kiss your cheek.
Let peace sit in your lap.
Let love wrap around you like a warm, familiar shawl.

Honor the mothers around you.
Love on the mother figures who nurtured you—biological, chosen, spiritual, and everything in between.
Let today be a reflection of the grace we carry and the divine design of the One who called us Mom.

You are more than enough. You are seen. You are sacred.
Happy Mother’s Day, beautiful!

Until Next Time,
Keep rising. Keep Living!

Love, Loren