Earlier this week, I had a moment that stirred a mix of pride, doubt, and deep reflection. We were on our way to get Zeke’s senior yearbook pictures taken. As we drove, my eyes kept drifting to his hands—working hands. Hands that looked so much like my dad’s, those rough, calloused hands that told a story of a lifetime of hard work. Hands that reminded me of Brandon’s hands in the early days of our marriage.
Hands that carry the marks of honest labor.
At the studio, as we waited in line, I looked around and noticed the other kids. They wore letterman jackets and class rings—symbols of high school milestones. Their hands were clean, manicured, polished. And then there was Zeke, with his stained hands, evidence of summers spent working 30 to 40 hours a week in the heat.
A lump formed in my throat.
I felt that familiar pang of the “mommy comparison game”—that relentless whisper telling me I hadn’t given him enough. No letterman jacket, no class ring, no new car. Did I fail to show him love because I couldn’t or didn’t provide those things?
That night, I cried. I reflected deeply and questioned myself as a parent. Was I enough? Had I done enough?
I apologized to Zeke for feeling that way.
He just laughed and said, “Mom, why are you sorry? Because you taught me to work hard? Because I know the value of a dollar? Because I don’t think I deserve everything handed to me?”
His words lifted the weight from my shoulders.
My sister reminded me something I needed to hear: the best things in life aren’t things. They’re relationships, values, and grace. And any shortcomings I feel are more than covered by God’s grace.
To every mom struggling with comparison—I see you. God gave you your child because He wanted you to be their mom. Not someone else.
Today, I’m proud beyond words. Zeke took his little brother shopping for a canoe, paying with money he earned himself. He drove a vehicle he fixed with his own hands, filled it with gas he bought, and showed a kind of independence and responsibility that can’t be bought.
I’m not ready for him to grow up. But I see he’s ready for the world—and so am I.
Zeke’s hands tell a story of hard work, humility, and love. And that story is one I’m proud to share.