My heart is full this morning, the day after Mother's Day, one week after I attended the National American Mothers convention in Washington, DC with my mothers, daughters, and sisters. (I only have 11% battery on my phone as I type quickly, and more importantly, my toddlers are alone downstairs possibly wrecking havoc unsupervised when Wild Kratz looses it's appeal.)
I have spent the past few months, even the past 39 years, analyzing motherhood. And, I'm overwhelmed.
I feel the great power and influence of mothers. I feel my own ability to do great things.
Motherhood, womanhood, strength, grace, charity, power-- these concepts pulse through my soul!
Oh, women! What a great work we have to do. And yet, I'm here, in my bed, with 9% battery unsure what comes next.
I have been so touched lately by Mary in the first and last moments of Christ's mortal life.
When the angel Gabriel appeared to the young virgin girl announcing to her that she was going to have a holy baby, he said to her, "With God, nothing shall be impossible."
Mary responded "Behold the handmaid of the Lord; be it unto me according to thy word." (Luke 1:38)
As Mary watched her son take his last suffering breaths in his mortal body, He spoke to her. He cared for her. She was His last act of mercy.
26 When Jesus therefore saw his mother, and the disciple standing by, whom he loved, he saith unto his mother, Woman, behold thy son!
27 Then saith he to the disciple, Behold thy mother! (John 19:26-27)
I feel this call to act deep in my soul. With so many opportunities to serve I often pray to know where God wants me to serve today. w
What comes next for willing hands to do?
I received an email from my friend Delphine. A beautiful, immigrant, New York mother who read my profile and came to DC because she "wanted to be on my team." I love her. I'm still not sure what our team is going to do.
Here I am this morning. I am a mother. Perhaps today, more than any other moment of my life, I feel my power and potential, while at the same time absolutely recognizing my limitations and weakness.
God has tried and tested me over the past 39 years. He knows me, and because of life's trials, I know me. We both know that I am brave, optimistic, funny, and genuinely kind. We know that my faith is stronger than my fear. We know that I am completely devoted to following the voice that speaks to my heart. I will do what I feel is right, even if it kills me. My mind and body are strong and fragile. I have choosen my priorities and carved those priorities on every surface of my body and my soul. He knows my strengths and understands when I'm not strong.
I believe mothering is noble and holy. But, I also believe time is sacred.
I believe in mothers. I am not afraid to do big things, and yet I find greatness in small things. I know that this world is full of good, good people. I know that only God knows how to move His army forward to build His kingdom.
I trust Him. I know Him.
I know He can cure me in an instant, or take me. He can fill my words with power. He can clear my mind. He can touch my children and bring peace to our home. I also know that His Plan, the great plan of happiness promises that growth comes from hard work and joy comes from pain. The one who loves us most, simply will not remove from our path the hurdles that He knows can bless and mold us.
I know He loves me.
I know He loves you.
I know He is the conductor.
I'm just not sure what comes next.
13 And his servants came near, and spake unto him, and said, My father, if the prophet had bid thee do some great thing, wouldest thou not have done it? how much rather then, when he saith to thee, Wash, and be clean?
(Old Testament, 2 Kings, 2 Kings 5)
I would do some great thing.
And I will gratefully wash.
I choose to be here.
I choose to be quiet.
I choose to spend my days weeding, organizing, feeding, and mothering my own flock.
But, my ears are open, my eyes are watching, my hands are willing and I am waiting on Him.
I know His voice.
I know His call.
I trust His plan.
Behold, the handmaiden of the Lord.
Behold, thy mother.