The Saving Grace of Motherhood

1 Tim 2:15 But women will be saved through childbearing….

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My children remind me of my long-lost innocence. Sometimes, I imagine that I emerged from the womb knowing. I believe I was born with this weight on my shoulders, and blood on my hands. But the truth is that my eyes were clear and pure just like theirs are.

And their trust reminds me that mine was broken. Like a thief comes to steal, except it wasn’t quiet and stealthy. It was a screaming, burning, explosion. Destroyed, like the bombed-out homes of war torn countries. I was ripped open from end to end, from here to forever. Trust? Something I never heard of, yet my children extend it to me like a heavenly gift.

My arms wrap around them, keep them safe. My daughter frowns in frustration when I won’t allow her to go online. I’m protecting you. There are bad men out there, who could hurt you. She holds my warnings suspect in her mind; she can’t imagine an evil like that.

How do I protect them? How do I save them from this burden I carry? How do I teach them to love themselves, and hit back when someone touches them after “no”?

I see them clearly; beautiful like an angel’s song, pure like streams of water flowing from the tree of life. They don’t understand, how heaven opened up and love descended upon me like a dove the moment I held them in my arms. I have been trusted with something beautiful, and it made me beautiful again.

My heart, once laid to waste like a desolate city, became alive again with singing and dancing and good wine. The smell of their hair, the sparkle in their eyes, the light of their smile; it’s all a prayer to me. The fragrance of God. When they hug me, it’s the holiest of holies in my soul. They don’t even know it, but they redeemed me. They lead me to the water of forgiveness. I was born, when they were born.

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Mountain – A Poem

20170406_182751Our love is a gentle breeze

I am a mountain, tall and solid

From my soil grows all types of fruit,

Warm and ripe from the summers sun

From my ground—sharp rocks, jagged edges

You cut your feet when you try to climb me

Your hands reach for the delicious fruit

Hanging there on branches like slender arms

Your blood soaks into the earth of me,

Wet and dark

The ground is fertile like the lining of a womb

The rocks are a boundary raised from

Volcanic eruptions, earthquakes; things that injure

And kill

And our love floats up to me,

Where the white snow covers my highest peaks

It sings to me, asks me to allow you inside

Every crevice and cave

Allow you to pick any fruit you desire

Taste its sweetness

But I shake my earth like a quivering woman

In rage, in shame, in storm clouds and rain

Red fire engulfs the trees, the birds, all things

Alive and beautiful

I am covered in ashes, black as onyx stone

I cannot accept your bleeding feet, your outstretched arm,

Your longing song you sang to me

And yet, beneath the ashes of my rage and pain

The tiniest of sprigs pushes itself stubbornly

Through the hot earth

Its leaves are the newest green, soft and supple

Like the breasts of a young woman

And then it stands taller, grows wider, takes up more space

Soon I am covered in these proud plants

Then trees, and their strong branches

Where birds come to nest and raise their young

I am alive again

The mountain breathing

My lover comes again, here you are

Your feet have healed and my rocks

Don’t

Cut you

You are patient in your climbing,

Holding onto earth and tree

You find me in the quiet solace of

My highest peaks

We rest together in the comforting snow

I hear the song you sing to me

And I begin to sing it too

We live together

And the blood-soil you gave me

Has become a sign for

New things

To come and grow here

 

recoveringmotherhood3 Comments

Noemi, Daughter

Noemi

Her hair is lighter than it used to be
I marvel at her long slender legs
That were once short with baby fat
Those big eyes are still big and beautiful
And right now they are wild with wonder
And joy;
A stunning ebony butterfly, with pearl white spots
And a splash of powder blue around the bottom wings
Has flown over my 5-year-old daughters head
Her bare feet pound the sand as she runs across the beach
To catch it.
Then, little sisters come following close behind
Their exuberance angers the oldest one
Who understands the butterfly will disappear
At their chubby hands grabbing
I mediate their bickering, and soon
The fun of the chase continues.
The oldest stands still, hands out stretched
Hoping this lovely creature will grace her arms
She. Is. So. Beautiful.
The child who opened my womb
Who gave me the honor of…
Mother
Her beauty is as unique and exquisite
As the butterfly she longs to hold onto—
Even more!
My heart expands like open fields,
Like the depths of the ocean,
Like the canyons deep.
Will she know her own beauty
After the tender moments of childish innocence
Are gone?
Will she know her strength
After her heart is broken for the first time?
Will she know that a thousand years with her
Is not enough time?
Not enough time at all.
My oldest daughter,
I look at you
And I see the brilliance of creation
I see the mercy of heaven’s King
Who saw it fit to bless me
With you.
You—this girl running across the beach
And splashing in the water
Holding, loving, and confronting
Little sisters
You—the one who opened my womb
And made me
Mother
Thank you.

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Through Muddy Waters- A Poem of Remembering

Through Muddy Waters

There is a reservoir inside of me
Quietly streaming
Until words break forth and
The waters come rushing over me.
There is a secret a child is holding
So closely to her heart
That even now, it’s terrible truth is hidden;
Even from herself
What is that heavy burden you carry, child?
What a cross to bear on those tiny shoulders
Speak to me.
I am here now, waiting…
I know your fear—your trepidation
But it is safe now
Someone is listening
And I will believe you.
Because I have felt your buried rage,
Your broken will,
Your tired pain—
And I want to make it right again for you.
Those waters broke open,
And my mind is swimming in the puzzle pieces
Of memories long forgotten
But not completely.
Your trembling hands have held onto this
(bruises you are hiding, tears you keep from falling,
That heavy cross of a secret to bear…)
For far too long
Come out, child inside of me,
Whisper to me the truth I want to hide from
Because these pieces will fall into place
And I will see
His name.
And remember.
Then, the healing can begin.

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