Being Mother

Like a beautiful light shining amidst stars in the darkness, so is motherhood—

Happy Mother’s Day!

Aurora in our Jessamine back yard

Paradox

By Loretta Goddard

 

You are me—

I shed a bit of me

the day you were conceived.

I shed a hunk of me

the day you were born.

I shed a bucket

When you went to school,

Paper pocket in tow

I let you go

And split

In half.

The day we gave you away

You walked down the aisle

And out the door,

2 daughts gone

And I am a shell….

 

But

 

I felt a new spark

The day you were conceived.

I grew anew

The day you were born.

I delighted in life the day we,

Together,

Crafted your paper pocket for school.

You brought me a son

The day you walked

The aisle.

Heart overflowed when you invited me

Into your home

Around your table,

Dad and I,

2 new sons,

2 beautiful women…

 

I am More.

Childbirth

I find myself praying today for a friend’s imminent childbirth. Giving birth is such a thin place, where we join in creation and fall simultaneously. It’s a miraculous space: liminal—in-between. The father, mother, and child, pass through a limen—a doorway—from unknown to known and from known to unknown. There is a change in “I am-ness” to each participant—even for every sibling and every grandparent.

When my first grandchild was born, I stood at the head of the bed and experienced the miracle unfolding. I saw my dear daughter rock in pain with contractions and reach in joy for her new writhing, crying, little human-gift. I observed the furrowed brow, outstretched hand, and deep concern of my son-in-law at bedside; then the outrageous excitement of seeing the emergence from dark to light of his firstborn, Hazel—with a holy hush followed by one last push.

When my second grandchild, Julian, was born, I stayed at home with Hazel. It was a different kind of vigil—from far away. It was hard not being present and I was grateful to God and His sure presence with me and with my daughter simultaneously, and His constant bent-ear, listening for our intercessions and supplications. I wrestled with the thought that my daughter would need to struggle with pain, maybe blood, and difficulty for this birth, and I recalled the reason that the Bible gives to aid in answering all, no, most, of my questions.

The night before Julian’s entrance, I birthed the following thoughts. I pray they might help you or your loved one in grappling with, and entering past the veil into, this angel-filled, Trinity-immersed, Cloud of unknowing which we encounter at the emergence of every new life…if we have eyes to see.

Julian’s Exodus

And now

As we turn toward this event

This liminal passage—

A new life liminal passage—

We remember that You Lord, are a Parent

A Father and “Mother” to a boy, Adam and girl, Eve

Formed long ago in the womb of your garden,

“born” into your household.

And even before that

(really not before, but always)

Your only Son—begotten, not made—of one Being with You.

 

But there came a fall—

Jack and Jill tumbled

And pain in childbirth came,

Not the original plan,

But a consequence.

 

So now we embark on a new in-between space

One that, despite our knowledge and advancements, will likely bring some

Pain

Squeezing

Peril

Need

Perhaps groaning.

 

“Like the pains of childbirth,” we often say:

A groaning of earth in an Eve-like form.

 

We come here through remembering also that you overshadowed blessed Mary—

Dripping in Eve-ness—

To bring hope and healing

To bring back full joy and to ease the pain of Eden’s losses.

 

And with your Husband eyes[i]

And Father eyes

And Maternal eyes[ii]

You oversaw it all:

The angelic visitation,

The miraculous implantation,

The weaving together of God and man

Who would be Adam 2

Adam Jr.

Who would be Your precious, deeply-loved Son.

 

You watched the journey,

The uprooting,

The placenta pulling away

In the birthing room

That was a stable.

You sent shepherds and wise men for the baby shower.

You watched as the wet, crying and cooing boy emerged from the nine-month hiddenness.

You sent angels to say,

“Do not be afraid!”

You said, “My peace I give to you.”

And, “I will never leave you or forsake you.”

 

 

And so we pray to You—

Who are a Father

And a Son

And have a maternal heart

And are a great Physician

And a Summoner of angels.

 

We look to You

To bring the Light –Da la Luz!

Of Your presence

Your face

Your touch

Your attention.

 

We ask for safety for all during labor and journey through the underwater tangles, the unknown, the Red Sea’s partings, little Julian’s exodus into this world.

 

We look to You.

We trust in Your great love,

In Your deep knowing—conocimiento—that is owned by a Parent’s heart and soul and body.

 

In Your Son Jesus’, name,

Amen


[i] Jesus is the bridegroom and the church is His bride.

[ii] Many places in the Bible God is portrayed as having motherly affection and care:

God: “As a mother comforts her child, so I will comfort you; you shall be comforted in Jerusalem.” Is. 66:13

God: “Can a woman forget her nursing child, or show no compassion for the child of her womb?  Even these may forget, yet I will not forget you.” Is. 49:15

God: “For a long time I have held my peace, I have kept myself still and restrained myself, now I will cry out like a woman in labor, I will gasp and pant.”  Is. 42:14

Jesus said, “How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing.” Matt. 23:37 and Luke 13:34

A Healing Place

We disappear in trauma.

Not all of us–the outsides stay whether they want to or not.

The insides stone up, wall up, shut down.

They’re like Addison…”What the…?”  or less sophisticated, “Ouch!”

When or whether we reappear is up for grabs.  Sometimes the healing necessitates, or dictates, staying inside the shell.  Changing routine, changing bandages, changing hope–they all cost and our insides pay a high price–often more than what is in the wallet.

But God is there.  And He has the extra we need.  We need only ask…if we can keep from walling up on Him.

There are places, spaces, where it is easier to open to Him:

walking the woods or pasture,

standing near a mossy log,

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counting dew drops on soft plant leaves,

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revisiting a field full of memories,

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smelling mist, hearing trees, admiring all He has made.

Here He invites our bidding–our reawakening.

Here He brings our healing.