These reflections first aired as part of an episode of Rose Unplugged on Real Life Network.

I've been doing a lot of thinking lately about how my life and responsibilities have changed. In a good way. A very good way. Maybe it's because I'm a grandmother now. Watching my son and daughter-in- law with their toddler has a way of pulling me backward and forward at the same time. It's made me think about my early days as a mom and the joys and challenges that came with that responsibility. And let's be honest, parenting really is the best job in the world… but it is also a very intense job.

And I've been thinking about the difference — the very real difference — between moms and dads. In fact, this is exactly what they're meant to do — be different. When a man lays his head down on the pillow at night, he's out. Just like that. He sleeps, he gets up, and he goes back out the next day to care for his family in his own steady way.

But when women lay their heads down at night? Our minds are still running. It takes us a while to fall asleep. Because every single day, as a mom, you are carrying around more information than anybody else on the planet. You know exactly where your child is. You know his schedule by heart. You know he has study hall sixth period. You know what he's going to have for lunch — not just today, but tomorrow. You know the school lunch menu better than the cafeteria does.

Moms know how to handle doctor's appointments. We know how to get them seen when they're sick. We know what soothes our children, what worries them, and what they're not saying out loud. Why? Because we're moms. And that's the job. But I also know the men in our audience — they are there, engaged. They work hard. That's why families work best when both roles are honored.When strong families are built intentionally.

And thinking about that strong family unit brought back a memory for me. Years ago, when my son was about five, I wrote a letter to my dad. I don't remember every word, but I remember the heart behind it. Even then, I understood that while Mom was holding the details of our days together, Dad was the foundation.

I remember going fishing with him. I don't remember if we caught a single fish — but I remember the ham and capicola sandwich, and the cold can of Coke we packed for lunch. I remember how excited I was to just have that time alone with him. I remember the sacrifices. I remember the day he had to sell the car he loved when the steel mills began shutting down in Pittsburgh. He owned a design business that had worked with many of them, and when that industry faltered, so did his livelihood.

After he sold the car, I can still see him counting the cash out on the table. I think he sensed how badly we felt watching him give up something he really enjoyed. So, he suddenly tossed the money into the air, just to make us laugh. I was sad for him — but relieved when he did that. He did what he had to do for us. And because he was a resilient man, he redirected, rebuilt, and his business thrived until the day he retired.

Aristotle explained: “A multitude of great events if they turn out well will make life happier … while if they turn out ill, they crush and maim happiness … Yet even in these — nobility shines through, when a man bears with resignation many great misfortunes, not through insensibility to pain but through nobility and greatness of soul.”

I remember hard moments, too. Sitting in the front seat as he drove me to the hospital after I fell down a hill. I was crying, asking if I was going to die. Yeah — I was always dramatic. Dad answered with such calm assurance — even though I could see the worry in his eyes. And that's the thing about fatherhood. So much of its impact is quiet. You don't always see it in the moment — you feel it later, when you realize how much of what steadied you was simply someone showing up day after day.

And there's another memory that shaped me just as deeply. I remember sitting at my mother's bedside as she was dying from non-Hodgkin's lymphoma. I was the oldest of four — all of us rather young; heck, she was young. Only 48 years old. I told her I was so sorry for all the trouble I caused her as a teenager — and let me tell you, I caused plenty. I was rebellious, strong- headed, and well — a bit wild.

Do you know what she said to me? She said, “Do you think I don't know how teenagers are?” That moment was grace. It was forgiveness without a lecture. It was a salve to my spirit. And what's remarkable is that years later, as I was parenting a teenager myself, I heard her words again — steadying me, softening me, reminding me what love looks like in hard seasons. Because parenting is a long game. I remember when my own five-year-old once said, “I don't like you, Mom,” after I had to discipline him. It hurt. But then I thought about my parents. And I realized something — children don't always understand love in the moment. But they remember it over time.

I remember far more now than I did then. And I honestly believe I wouldn't have the joy, the home, the fulfillment I have today without my parents — and without God's faithfulness woven through it all. That's what I want to dig into here — the mother's heart, the father's role, and the strength of the family unit. There is a poem written by Maureen Hawkins called The Miracle of Life, and there's a line I read while I was pregnant that has never left me: “Before you were conceived, I wanted you. Before you were born, I loved you. Before you were here an hour, I would die for you. This is the miracle of life.”

It truly is the miracle of life — a truth every mother recognizes, deep in her bones, long before she ever has the words for it. While preparing for my show on parenting, I was reminded of Jochebed — Moses' mother. She's mentioned only briefly in Scripture, yet her obedience and courage changed history. Her love didn't just save a child — it contributed to leading a nation out of slavery.

There was a new king of Egypt who didn't have the relationship with Joseph that the previous king had. As a result, over time the Israelites were no longer favored guests in their land. The Pharaoh began to imagine them as the enemy, and as a people to be feared should they rise or join forces against Egypt. Out of fear and growing hatred of the Israelites, Pharaoh first enslaves them then commands the death of male children. Exodus 1:15-21 reads: “The king of Egypt said to the Hebrew midwives, whose names were Shiphrah and Puah, ‘When you are helping the Hebrew women during childbirth on the delivery stool, if you see that the baby is a boy, kill him; but if it is a girl, let her live.’”

The midwives couldn't bring themselves to obey Pharaoh's command. When they were questioned, they answered with remarkable courage and wisdom. They said in their defense that the Hebrew women gave birth so quickly the babies were already born before the midwives arrived. I love that. Very clever. You must admire their boldness — their cleverness, their reverence for life, and their fear of God. And Scripture tells us that God honored their faithfulness by blessing them with families of their own.

During the time that Jochebed gave birth to her son Moses, Pharaoh ordered all Hebrew boys thrown into the Nile. So, she hid her baby for three months. When she could no longer keep him safe, she did the unthinkable — she placed him in a waterproof basket and set him among the reeds. Can you imagine the heaviness of her heart? Keeping him meant certain danger. Letting him go meant uncertainty. But one choice offered a chance at life. That's what mothers do — risk everything for their children.

God honored that trust. Moses was discovered by Pharaoh's daughter, and through Jochebed's daughter Miriam's quick thinking, Jochebed was chosen to nurse her own son — was even paid to do so. God allowed Moses to be loved by both his biological mother and his adoptive mother. What compassion. What grace. Especially towards Jochebed.

Moses is remembered for leading a nation out of bondage. But behind that story is a mother who trusted God with what she loved most. Jochebed's story is really a story of surrender. Of trusting God to take an impossible situation and turn it into something miraculous. I remember the day Iplaced my fears for my son into God's hands.

I had given my son my very best. I raised him up in the way he should go, I loved him, sacrificed for him. But there comes a moment when we must do what Jochebed did. We must entrust our children to the One who loves them even more than we do. I remember telling God: I love my son so much — but however much I love him I realize that my love cannot possibly compare to the love that you have for him.

Setting our children free to be what God intended them to be is, at some point in their lives, the right thing to do — the only thing to do. Setting our children free to become who God created them to be isn’t easy — but it is right. And like Jochebed, that act of trust becomes part of our own story too.

I began with a quote about a mother's love. But it also echoes the heart of God toward each of us: “Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you; before you were born, I set you apart.”

Women — we must trust our child's life to the One who gives life. And that same God still holds our children — and us — in His hands.

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