Before God and My Mother
BY: Abigail Wurdeman
My mother goes in for back surgery this week (prayers welcome!). I spent a chunk of this past weekend trying to put together a care package for her . . . something that would bring her warmth and a little entertainment during the recovery process. While putting it together, I found myself looking to her for inspiration. My mother always had the best cure for what was ailing me.
When my cousin and I grew bored on a family vacation, she guided us to a moss-covered corner just outside our cabin and got us started on constructing an elf village—a project that kept us occupied for the rest of the trip. When I forced myself to hole up in the home office to get work done on a final project for school during my Thanksgiving vacation, she snuck in with a cup of my favorite tea. And when my college boyfriend and I broke up, she set to work right away at determining which night of the week she could afford to stay up late so she could listen to me analyze my past relationship after a tear-stained viewing of The Way We Were.
The woman is magic. She always knows exactly what I need.
I think I can get pretty close to the mark with her, but there's no way I can compare. Were the tables turned, her care package would speak volumes of how well she knows me. The gifts would reflect not only my tastes, but also my emotional needs and my own personal style of healing. Somehow she knows when I need comfort and when I need affirmation, when I need to wallow and when I need to move on.
I suppose motherhood gives her this edge. To me, my mother has been a slowly unfolding mystery; as I enter adulthood, I understand her in ways I could not as a child. She, however, has been watching me all my life, my mysteries unfolding to her at the same rate at which they unfold to me. Now, as I am half a land mass away from her, there are details of my life that she cannot witness, little incidences that she has no knowledge of. But she still knows who I am.
And even still, she does not come close to matching God's knowledge of me. What a terrifying blessing to be known completely and entirely, inside and out, and to be loved anyway. Even more than my mother, God knows what I need. He knows how to show me peace, and how to communicate His love and His admonishments in ways that I will understand. In return, I offer my love clumsily and sometimes in misguided attempts to demonstrate how well I know Him. Like my mother, He smiles patiently, unfolding Himself gradually as I mature to greater understanding.
It's humbling, at times, to be a child, but there's no greater blessing than the incessant love of the One Who knows
There is no part of me
You cannot see.
You know my guilt.
You know my joy.
You know my fear and my hope.
I cannot pretend to be holier,
to be purer
because You already know who I am
and You can find me where I am hiding.
But why should I hide?
Your knowledge of my secrets
frees me from the weight of them.
Your knowledge of my soul
brings me closer to You.
You know me completely,
and still You love me completely.
There is no part of me
You cannot see.
This only means
there is no part of me
You cannot hold.
Daily Joke: Sauerkraut
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