Whatever He Says

I had a conversation with a friend recently who is a perfect example of the winding-road that human connections can take, and who is as head-over-heels in love with the child she calls. “daughter.” as she would be if she had given birth to her. She just celebrated that child’s first birthday, a child who came into her life as suddenly and unexpectedly as a snowstorm in a desert.  Out of curiosity, I  asked her, “How has your life changed since she burst onto the stage of your life?” Her big blue eyes locked onto my green ones, her lips pursed as she considered the question. She is hardly ever at a loss for words, or in need of thinking time before answering, but she has been on such a magic-carpet ride since her granddaughter’s birth that she hasn’t had time to take stock, or do anything more than experience the journey, one moment at a time.   “In every way!” she said, recovering her speech quickly.   “Everything is about her. Everything I do is for her. If ...

Motherhood is on my mind this week; it is a joy that never grows old. Our son is in the habit of calling often on his way home from work. He leaves work late and we are often eating supper in front of the T.V. when the phone rings. We exchange a smile and glance, point the remote towards the T.V. and mute the sound. We put the phone on speaker phone so that we can both join in the conversation, and set about putting the world to rights; it really should be in better shape by now! This morning he called as I was putting on the morning coffee. I wrote entry number 477 in my Gratitude Journal a little later: A morning call from Peter on his way to work, sharing in 10 minutes our current joys, victories, successes and our hearts. I love him and am so grateful that he is my son and that I have the continuing joy of motherhood, even at 63. And here is entry number 395: For a visit for tea from Brenda; for granddaughters who miss us, but who are happy in their own beautiful home....

Mothers I am a mother. I sometimes wound as well as heal. I unintentionally sometimes inflict guilt--and knowingly, as well as unwittingly, cross boundaries. I have the terrifying power to crush a heart with a look or a word. There are days when I feel more like a toxic waste dump of generational junk than the ideal woman of Proverbs 31. Motherhood humbles me. I find myself doing and saying things I was sure I would never do or say. I regret, repent and cannot forgive myself for some mistakes. Motherhood drives me to my knees before God. It fills my heart with a love that is a physical ache sometimes. I am overwhelmed at knowing that I would be capable of terrible things if anyone threatened my children. The violence of that instinct shocks me. Motherhood pulls out of me my best and sometimes my worst. And sometimes I wonder how God could entrust children to such blundering hands. But he does, and somehow they survive. And wonder of wonders, they find it in their hearts to love, and fo...

I don't know who wrote this poem, but it is very old. It was shared with me by my beloved Aunt Agnes MacDonald many years ago. (Thursday--my friend Claire Alexander found the author of the poem: Mary Dow Brine. The anthology it comes in is the "Poetry for Children" edited by Amy Neally. Thank you Claire!) It makes me cry whenever I read it. It is unashamedly sentimental and it touches me somewhere deep. Because this weekend we honour our mothers I am sharing it with the readers of Whatever He Says. The woman was old and ragged and gray, And bent with the chill of the winter's day; The street was wet with a recent snow, And the woman's feet were aged and slow. She stood at the crossing and waited long, Alone, uncared for, among the throng Of human beings who passed her by, None heeded the glance of her anxious eye. Down the street with laughter and shout, Glad in the freedom of "school let out," Came the boys like a flock of sheep, Hailing the snow, piled...

To you who has given birth and raised a child To you who has nurtured another, given encouragement, shelter, a meal, a kind word, or a hand up along life's journey To you who know the pain of a barren womb To you who wait expectantly till your day comes Happy Mother's Day to all who 'mother' and know the joy, challenges, and pain of care-taking. We lift our hearts and hands to you Jesus - to fill us, use us, teach us...may we walk with you on this journey. May we serve faithfully until our work on earth is done. PART OF THIS MOTHER'S JOURNEY...JUST PASSING THROUGH He looks at me, eyes hard, defiance set on his face. No words this time but every ounce of his energy is targeted in that glare. He turns and does what I ask. Not cheerfully, not with a willing heart, but because he dislikes the consequences which his inaction will generate. I ponder the nature of this wiry, blond, eight-year old boy. He's full of youthful curiousity - so many questions, his innocen...