I stood at the front of the congregation last Sunday. Mothers were lined up to my left, and mothers were lined up to my right. Shoulder-to-shoulder we stood, the front line of an army, a chorus of heralds, a chain, a wall. Our deft fingers held long stemmed roses, thorny in places, smooth in others, blooming at the end. Our collective stories would fill a library of volumes. Our tears from over the years would fill a swimming pool or two.
The woman to my left? A mother from India, her children now grown. I didn't know her name (lots of turnover in our all-expat congregation) but I didn't need to. She looked at me. I looked at her. We smiled at each other, and in that moment, as the preacher thanked G0D for mothers, she and I shared so much. In her eyes I saw, "Well done, my younger sister. You are doing the hardest job of all. You are seen. You are understood. You are loved." I can only hope that she saw, in my eyes, "Thank you, older sister, for blazing the trail for the rest of us. You are honored. You are beautiful. Be at peace."
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| Sunday School craft |
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| Small kitchen + I love cooking = spending Mother's Day afternoon making pretzels with the kids..on the floor. |
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| My momma: all that I hope to be and more. |
