I have been a mother since June 2015.
I prefer they call me mama.
But the toddler shrieks and giggles mom.
Happy Mother’s Day
I find the sentiment sweet. My husband, in all his splendid cookery skills, is planning up something delicious. Maybe even bedside. And I anticipate spending the day with a lot of joy and rest, and also the tantrums and boo-boos, and nursing the daylights out of my breasts. Which, I not so secretly, love.
It is good, it is full.
But so is the day to day, when I am also –always on — as mom.
Motherhood has changed, it is a constant flow.
Of giving and receiving, of laughter and firm. It is the ebb of letting go and the flow of nuture meeting discipline meeting unconditional.
It is the flow of milk and tears and language and curiosity.
Of the body’s strength and strain and re-shaping.
Of all that I put in and let in, take out and bury. It is growth unending, with grace as my greatest leaning.
It is aching for all the time with my two on earth, and longing to know my tiny bean in heaven.
It is self-denial, self-exposure and self-becoming.
It is the flow of an other-worldly head on collision with the deepest, most profound kind of love that I keep on discovering and softening to.
Motherhood is the flow of here and now,
and the flow of the gospel-need within me.
Beyond theology and foundations, beyond text and word,
beyond worship and teaching, beyond anything truly,
mothering on bended knee is my clearest understanding of the gospel love we sing of from the dinner table.
Knees bent on prayer when my cup is dry
Knees bent low to meet tears as I clean the scrapes of trusting eyes
Knees bent to pick up crumbs and tidy the toys,
like a merry go round of doing
Knees aching for the joy of playing and
the small pop of joints knowing early morning stairs
Knees bruised and knees waiting, showing up every day
Teaching kind words and forgiveness
Knees bent on labor and breath
Seeing life for the first time
and knees regaining brave after loss,
the giving up to heaven
knees hitting the firm floor reminding me that
all of this
does end in something lasting
Knees bent before the cross. Holding my sons, palms open, towards His.
I am mama, they call me mom.
What will they know from me?
I hope they know my fierce love for them.
And that every square inch of my love can’t cover the love of their God.
I hope they see me doing my best, living gentle and strong, fighting the noise with grace, looking at their dad with eyes of respect, taking each step forward, remembering littles they’ve yet to meet, sharing story in community, serving with unclenched fists, aging well in wrinkle freedom, living apart from the gray, pausing to rest, being generous to mess, and kind to all my folds, seeing the people in front of me and knowing them with intention, working hard and breathing into dreams, hoping big and praying bigger, unafraid of my heart, unafraid of myself, aiming high towards heaven
and seeing God in me
as I do them,
every day that lasts till home.
They call me mom. I’ll never get over this gift.