MERCY, MOULDED, AND MADE NEW

Great is Your mercy for me, Your loving kindness toward me, Your tender mercies I see, day after day, morning after morning. Forever faithful, always providing, when I thought I’d fallen too far, when I thought I’d never rise again.

This year began with trembling hands, a heart learning to beat alone, a mother, not of one, but of three beautiful souls. The path was not paved with ease; it was carved in tears, in whispered prayers behind closed doors, in the soft strength of “I’ll be okay.”

What does it mean to be a single mother? To many, it’s a label, a story half-told. To me, it’s a battle of breath and bravery. It’s being called the wrongdoer while you were only ever the one who stayed, stayed when nights grew cold, when love turned silent, when hands that promised safety became storms.

We were never trained to be providers, defenders, or the man of the house. We were told to nurture, to tend, to hold the home in soft palms. Yet here we are, working women, mothers, warriors, feeding, washing, teaching, paying, praying. We carry both bread and burden, both bills and bedtime stories.

This year, a year of wars and wonders, a year of moulding by the Great Potter. Broken pieces gathered in His hands, cracks filled with grace, scars sealed with mercy. He shaped us again, into vases that hold life, beauty, and divine strength.

For those who longed for children, for those who discovered heartbreaks hidden, for those questioning their worth, you still rose. You painted your face with hope, you smiled through medication and memories, you carried your crown unseen.

Now, here we stand, in November, radiant and renewed. Healthy. Strong. Determined. Whole. Mothers, sisters, daughters, and dreamers. Each of us is a testimony, each of us is a vessel reborn.

Well done, to you, to me, to us. For surviving, for standing, for shining even when shattered. The Potter’s hands never left us. And now, we are beautiful again.