Yesterday was Mother’s day. A day that I have always tended to approach with fear and trembling- for it is true that most mothers feel like abysmal failures at one time or another. I have made more than my share of mistakes over the years- mistakes that arise from my own brokenness, from my limited understanding of the big picture, and from my desperate desire to “do it right” and avoid inflicting the same wounds that were a part of my childhood experience. I wonder if God has ever felt like me. Does He worry about the effects that His actions have had on His children, for surely He has acted in what some might view to be a capricious manner at times? Like Jacob, I have wrestled with the strongman of my past, and found it to be an angel of the Lord; I have held fast onto the ankle of the Wounder, and said “I will not let you go until you bless me”. And, like Jacob, the blessing has left its own dislocation upon my spirit, ere so I go onward with a limp of humility. But I do not take for granted the honorable title of ‘mother’- a word that has so often felt foreign on my lips when addressing it to another. I have searched all of my life for “mother”- and have had the privilege of having many surrogates. I am the composite of what I have learned by rote, and what I would have liked a mother to have been for me. I have found her reflection in the faces of dear friends, and on occasion, in the mirror. When I hear words of love spoken to me by my sons, I am overwhelmed with joy and gratitude for this amazing gift of holy life. I remember the first look, that sense of awe and wonder at the perfection of fingers, toes, and the world contained within 7lb 15oz of slumbering beauty. How strange to be ‘mother’-what was I supposed to feel? I doubt that I could ever distill into words that profound sacred moment. There are no perfect mothers- only broken vessels that spill out their offerings of heart and devotion- “loving forever, liking for always, as long as I’m living your Imma I’ll be…”

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