God's timing is impeccable. When I pause long enough to ponder, I become aware of the relationships between what happened yesterday and today. I am amazed. 

Last week I was the recipient of a tirade. The speaker had complaints about me, and made no bones about delivering them. I was shaken, trying to sort out those flaws that reflect reality, from some that do not. It has been my intention since Lent to resist being defensive. Yet putting down our armor does leave us vulnerable. Still I wanted to hear the pieces that are true for the speaker, even if they have sharp edges. While some reflect the past in ways I cannot change, maybe I can receive the message in a way that helps me behave better. 

Then, as God is wont to do, a sweet conversation arrived like a bouquet from a florist. 

"Hi, Mom, I'm reading the book Rise Above It, and am in the fourth chapter about honoring your mother and father. I wanted to say thank you for being a great mom."

I cried, not to find out that I am an award winning parent, but because my lowered armor rendered me susceptible to a tender sentiment. 

Kipling's poem If articulates the paradox in a way that has given me balance since I memorized it in middle school. 

"If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster and treat these two imposters just the same..."

Chasing some elusive proof that I succeeded as a mother, as a person, is a fickle quest. If that is the sole wind in my sails, I will never make it across the pond. But neither is it wise to let a blast of criticism scuttle my boat.