Wednesday, May 11, 2011

A Taste of God's Love: A dedication to moms

I woke up this morning to yet another crazy dream. People that I admire, that I look to for guidance, making appearances and I am left to wake up questioning what it all means.

Dreams have that mystery to them, the secret language of God. Like a whisper, it fades into the night, into our pillows, into the soft awakening of our eyes as they absorb His glorious morning light. I've awakened to dreams already dreamt many lives ago. They return to me in circles, cycles, dizzy messages that I just can't seem to understand. Little whispers so very hard to hear.

And so I rise, one foot at a time, off the temporary deathbed of night to welcome yet another day filled with more whispers. The bird songs and noisy labor of woodpeckers. Little rodents who've heard their soft whisper at dawn, scurrying for life in nibbles of nuts. I water my plants, I greet Him and His mother and give thanks for the new day. I run through my list of responsibilities, hoping to remember to pray at every interval and as I hear the tip-toeing of small feet heading my way my hearts fills with a child-like joy.

Thank You for my children dear Lord.

Small arms envelope me and a her face buried on my tummy, at the wall of her former home, recognizing it every morning. And we kiss and rub noses, our morning routine. A whisper of love almighty. And just like my dreams, she runs to her duties and leaves me empty armed, feeling voids where a second ago her hands warmed me, a warmth that fades into the distant sound of her feet.

What's a mother to do? I ask myself, what will I do when I no longer have my dose of her? How to fill those empty spaces they keep leaving each day they grow. How I remember when she clung to me, to my very own breast and now I have to soak up small nibbles of love and affection growing less and less as she gets taller and taller.

I write her love letters, sing her songs, talk to her with love at the tip of my tongue and lips, kiss her boo-boos, drink in her weeping, always, always whispering His name, reminding her that He lives and will be with her when I no longer can. In my heart I am reassured, but my arms, my eyes, they see her and miss her already. Those mornings when I wake up to water plants, hoping to be watered by her affections only to remember that she'll be somewhere else one day.

This is selfish of me. This is a tale spun time over time, sung over and over again, a mother's love clinging to what was once solely hers, yanked and cut from birth and from then on it becomes a game of take and release, little by little. A game of letting go. How teasing it is, carrying, caring for a soul inside of you, loving violently with all your being, knowing soon that it will leave you, coming back for a drink of you, this elixer of mother's love, only to leave once again.

How did Mary do it? How did she, knowing that inside her womb she held God Himself, knowing that one day she would have to let Him go? How I cling to God, hoping to never be apart, not even for a whisper and yet Mary, despite her need to have her love stay, lets Him go.

And she watches Him suffer. And she holds Him as she dies, recalling all His childhood dreams, all the sweet whispers, filling hugs and small kisses. I'm sure, as every mother does, she remembered how God needed her, opened His mouth for food and released tears when He hurt. I'm certain she missed Him and the fullness of motherhood only He could give her, slowly distancing itself. I wonder Mother Mary, if you too held on to nightly dreams of your Son and woke only to find that He wasn't home any longer, that He was out feeding and nurturing the world.

How did you do it? How did you cope?

Because I find it very hard to let go. I find it's hard to pretend as I wave goodbye to the school bus. It breaks my heart when I hear "I can do it mommy," instead of "Mommy I need your help." Why do I need to feel needed? Why is it so easy for them to let me go and I am finding it so hard to do the same?

Perhaps God is giving me messages of hope, each whispering dream showing me how to carry on. She's only six, yet He knows my anticipation, my anxieties, and I know He is softly telling me how to rise from this pain coming. I promised myself I would never be this type of mother and yet here I am, fearful of the day that I will no longer hear her feet in the morning or kiss her soft cheeks and rub life's pain out of her chestnut hair.

God signed His name on my soul with this fervent love because this is how He loves us. This is how He longs for us, like a mother to her child, even more so. This love and heartbreak I feel for one, He feels for thousands. This emptiness I feel for her voice, He searches for in our prayers. This longing to be close to her, to always be near her, to always be of service to her is a product of His longing for humanity. God, Our Father, although in heaven, longs for us, smiling proudly as we succeed and grieving in our struggles and pain. He craves for our return home to His longing arms, hoping to feel our small arms, breathing in our I loves You's, I love You's.

But while we are living we run. We strive to live as individuals, saying, "I can do it God," when all He longs to hear is,"God, I need Your help." And just like a mother, He runs to us, picks us up, dusts us off when we call for Him, each moment a soft whisper of love, just so to watch us run away.

As a mother I understand now, just a little bit, of this love God has for me. It's painful when it isn't there and it instantly fills when it comes back. And as You watch us leave on our very own school bus of life, You wave, You must whisper, Remember Me, please. Come back home to Me because this world offers pain, but My arms offer You love, the only love You will ever need.

God bless all mothers. God gives us the gift of tasting the love He has for each of us. It is a special gift from Him.

God bless!

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